Free The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) by Sujata Massey

few harmonizing curves of Mari's vines.
    "This isn't what you planned, is it?" Natsumi Kayama pointed a French-manicured fingernail at the rippling lines of bamboo. "Koda-san told me about your original plan, but this is different."
    "The florist sent lilies that were not worthy of the exhibition, so we have improvised," Norie said in the falsely cheerful voice that had been driving me crazy.
    "Somebody's going to have to rewrite the place card going in front of the flowers, because it says lilies, while you're really working with rabbit-ear irises." Natsumi sounded aggrieved.
    "Actually, the flower is roof irises," Aunt Norie corrected.
    "How many kinds of irises are there?" I was amazed.
    "Our school's ikebana handbook lists seven. There is dwarf iris, and fringed iris, and Dutch, German, and Japanese varieties," my aunt counted. "Anyway, I will take care of changing the place card."
    "Oh, no, the calligraphy must be consistent!" Natsumi would not relent. When I'd first met her and she clued me in on my ruined stockings, I'd thought she was being kind. Perhaps she'd done it because she delighted in pointing out flaws or was obsessive-compulsive.
    Striving to distract her, I said, "You have so much to do, Natsumi-san. It must be really tiring to be here after all your hard work in the women's designer section."
    "The Nicole Miller dress display." She made a face. "The bouquets I made for it are supposed to make shoppers aware of the exhibition. It's rather pointless work."
    "I don't think so!" Norie said, as if to make amends.
    "Young women aren't going to want to spend the time or money to walk around our exhibit." Natsumi was filling out a new place card for our installation, drawing clear kanji characters with a green marker. "They'd rather spend a thousand yen at Mister Donut."
    I thought of my own recent meal at the local chain. Was Natsumi also a fan of their French crullers? Her stomach was so flat, it didn't look as if there was room for even one.
    "Attracting young students is a challenge," Aunt Norie conceded. "In my generation, most girls in their twenties had to study ikebana."
    "That was because they had to get married," Natsumi said. "Didn't you study in order to catch your husband? And then once you had your children, you stopped. Because your nest is finally empty, you've come back like all the others."
    "I have always loved ikebana." Aunt Norie's voice shook slightly. She was not afraid to show her displeasure with me, but it seemed that she was being very careful with Natsumi Kayama. "Even when I could not travel to the school, I practiced at home."
    "My aunt has her own group of students," I said, feeling defensive of Norie. "Several women come to her house to study each week. She's a real professional."
    Professional. I had just used the word with Mari Kumamori. Even though Mari and Aunt Norie were called housewives, they were certified teachers of flower arranging. The problem was that they gave the token payments from their students straight to the Kayama School. From listening to some of the other flower arrangers' conversation, I'd learned that everyone making flower arrangements in the exhibition had paid a fifteen-thousand-yen "creative fee" to the school. I would have to figure out a way to reimburse Aunt Norie, who had paid my fee in advance. It pained me to think she had spent close to $250 just to be twitted by this bitchy young woman into whose pocket the money was headed.
    * * *
    Leaving Mitsutan an hour later, I caught a glimpse of a TV camera crew outside the main doors. They must have been denied access upstairs and were simply waiting for Kayama School flower arrangers to emerge. Fortunately, my cousin Tom had brought the family car to the store's underground parking lot. I said good-bye to him and Aunt Norie, sure that they'd escaped media scrutiny.
    Now it was my turn to be evasive. I turned around from the main entrance and found a discreet employees-only exit.
    "No hablo Japones," I