Free A Root Awakening: A Flower Shop Mystery by Kate Collins Page A

I worked, so completely absorbed in my task that I was unaware of the bustle of business happening on the other side of the curtain. I finished the arrangement, wrapped it and set it in the second cooler, then pulled another order and began the process all over again.
    An hour later, I stopped to stretch my back and roll my shoulders, then remembered that I’d wanted to call the Maraville School Corporation. Using the delivery ruse again, I was able to discover that Norman Jones worked as a janitor at Central Elementary School, with hours from seven o’clock in the morning until five in the evening, making it difficult for me to sneak away to interview him.
    Fortunately, he worked until nine o’clock on Fridays because of their roller rink and swimming pool facilities. That meant I could make a trip out there after supper on Friday and Marco would never know.
    My second call was to Tara, who was no doubt on her way home from school.
    “Hey, Auntie A, what’s up?” she chirped, then said, “Hold on. I’ve got to answer this text.” She was gone all of twenty seconds, then came back with, “Okay, so anyway—oh, wait. Hold on.” She was gone again.
    When she came back, I said, “Tara, I can’t wait all day. Who are you texting that is more important than my call?”
    “My best friend. She’s having a boyfriend crisis.”
    “Didn’t you just see her at school?”
    There was a big sigh. “You don’t understand how it is, Aunt Abby.”
    “Right. I was never in high school. Before you get another message, would you please do an eBay search on furniture made from skis so I know how to price Grandpa’s bench?”
    “Are you serious?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “That is so cool!”
    “It is?”
    “Well, yeah! Way to go, Grandpa.” There was a dead silence, then, “Sorry—I had to take that. Okay, I’ll get back to you.”
    I had just put away my phone when Rosa carried in a cup of tea. “Grace said it’s time for your break, Mrs. Salvare.”
    Without looking up, I said, “Thanks. You can leave it on my desk. And call me Abby.”
    “Okay—Abby. Is that short for Abigail?”
    “Yes, but that’s too formal. I don’t care for it.”
    “Oh, but you should. Do you know that in Spanish the name Abigail means ‘happiness’?” Rosa lifted her arms and turned in a circle. “And look what you do here. You bring happiness into many people’s lives.”
    That was a different way of looking at it. I found myself smiling.
    She perched on a wooden stool, put her chin on her hand, and watched me insert red carnations into an arrangement. “How did your talk with Adrian Prada go this morning?”
    “How did you know about that?”
    “Mr. Appleruth told me. I called to update him on Sergio’s condition, which is sadly the same.” She heaved a sigh and was silent for a long moment, lost in her thoughts. Then, picking up a stray pink rose petal, she asked, “So how did it go?”
    “Adrian was cooperative. He talked with us for about ten minutes.”
    “Did he confess?”
    “No.”
    She sighed again. “I didn’t think he would crack soeasily.” With a pound of her fist on the table, she said determinedly, “We will have to come up with something that makes him talk. We can’t let him get away with attempted murder.”
    We
weren’t going to do anything; clients didn’t run our cases or participate in our investigations. Besides, the only thing Marco and I knew for sure about Adrian was that he was guilty of making passes at Rosa.
    “Actually, Rosa, until we spoke with Adrian, he still believed that Sergio had suffered a heart attack.”
    “Or so he says. El Diablo is not trustworthy—believe me. But he is cunning.” She fingered the sterling silver lightning bolt pendant I’d seen her wear before. “We will need a clever way to outsmart him.”
    There was that
we
again. I had a feeling it was going to be a problem.
    To change the mood of the conversation, I said with a smile, “Adrian has quite