Carnations and Chaos

Lacey 'Pink' Pinkerton, the local flower shop owner, is thrilled to supply colorful flower arrangements for the Third Annual Food Fair being held in the Port Danby town square. But when one of the well-known but not so well-loved bloggers is found dead in her motel room, Lacey steps in to help Detective James Briggs solve the case. (Whether he likes it or not.)

Clouds had hung low in the sky every morning for the past week, but this morning a crisp blue sky showed up to coax me out of bed. But my limbs and back hadn't been quite as eager to exit my downy blanket cocoon. I'd stayed late at the shop, well past dark, to finish the floral arrangements for the Third Annual Food Fair to be held in Port Danby's town square. It had taken one interminably long shower, a cup of coffee and one of Elsie's blueberry muffins to get me out the door and onto my bicycle.

It felt as if I'd just left the shop as I pedaled along Harbor Lane. My pet crow, Kingston, had flown on ahead of me. I could see his shiny black silhouette as he perched on the edge of the shop roof. The flowering plums that lined Harbor Lane were almost completely devoid of foliage, so Kingston had no place to perch and scare songbirds and pretend to be a real crow.

Oddly enough, an unusually long line of customers seemed to be snaked along the sidewalk in front of Elsie's Sugar and Spice Bakery. The tail end of the line was in front of my shop. I got off my bicycle and maneuvered my way through the people. I hadn't noticed that my friend, Lola, was standing amongst the other customers until she called my name.

"Pink, you're here early. Join me." She was near the end of the line. I leaned my bike against the flower shop door and walked over to her.

"What are you doing? Is this all for the bakery?"

"I would have thought you'd already guessed it with your super nose." I wondered how long it would be before the people of Port Danby would stop referring to my nose as super. I had a heightened sense of smell, but it was hardly super. Well, maybe a little super.

"Elsie made some of her famous cinnamon rolls. She only makes them a few times a year because she says they just take too much work and time and space in her ovens. And if you sit at one of her tables to eat one of her magical cinnamon rolls, you get it for free. Which is why there's such a long line. Everyone is waiting for the tables to empty so they can sit and eat."

"I can't decide if that's a genius or ridiculous marketing scheme. I'm going with the latter because after all that work and the expense, Elsie isn't going to make any profit." I looked along the line of anxiously waiting cinnamon roll eaters. "In fact, I'd say she is going to be in the red on this one."

I glanced over to the Coffee Hutch. Elsie's brother, Lester, had almost no customers, and his tables were empty. Unfortunately, I had been the catalyst for The Great Port Danby Table War. My flower shop, Pink's Flowers, had once been Elsie's bakery. She had moved next door because it was a bigger building for her very successful bakery. Now my shop sat between the bakery and the coffee shop, each with its own set of tables and chairs. A healthy dose of sibling rivalry, that apparently never faded with time, not even when the siblings, twins in this case, were well into their sixties, had both shop owners competing to fill their storefront tables. It was usually sort of amusing, but today, it was impacting the entire sidewalk. And poor Lester's mood. Lester stared out the front window of his shop, looking a little droopy. Even though I'd had a cup of coffee at home, I decided to walk over and buy one from lonely Lester.

I unlocked my shop door to push my bicycle inside. Behind me there was a short gasp from the people in line. I ducked and felt the breeze from Kingston's wings as he flew inside to his window perch.

I couldn't hold back a smile when I saw the colorful flower arrangements I'd created for the food fair booths. What better way to pay homage to autumn than with a small bouquet of red, orange, yellow and lavender carnations. I'd placed each colorful bundle into a sleek, slim necked vase and tied dark purple ribbon and orange paper raffia around each one. I hoped that Yolanda Petri, the councilwoman in charge of the fair, would be pleased.

"I'll be right back, Kingston," I said and then silently asked myself why I always felt the need to let my bird know my plans. I let my cat, Nevermore, know too. As if he cared. As long as I wasn't taking the couch or his bowl of food with me, he never even blinked a cat eyelash at seeing me walk out the door.

I circled around to the Coffee Hutch with its sadly empty tables and chairs. The shop itself could hardly be described as sad though. The Coffee Hutch matched its name perfectly, neat and to the point. It was an understated little shop with one flashy concession, a long awning with coffee brown stripes. The brown and white trim on the front window matched the colors of the awning. The front door, which was mostly wavy glass, was trimmed in the same brown. Even the sign above the door was painted in brown and white. With the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee consistently drifting through the windows and door, there really wasn't a need for flashy decor out front. The perpetual aroma was its own pleasant, comforting form of advertisement.

Lester was behind the counter stacking paper cups when I walked inside. The interior of the Coffee Hutch was tiny, but Lester used every inch of space available. Aside from the three tables out front, two long picnic style tables, complete with benches and scarred surfaces, took up the center of the space. But the heart and brains of the shop were tucked, layered and stored neatly behind the shiny black order counter. Two metal pendant lights hung over the coffee brewing station giving the place an appropriately industrial vibe.

"Morning, Les."

"Hey, Lacey. How has your morning been? Better than mine, I hope." A retired fireman and widower, I had hoped that Lester would eventually come to his senses and realize that there were far more important things in life than having more customers at his tables than his sister. But those hopes were dashed when the man, a highly sensible person in every other respect, invested in expensive upholstered chair cushions for his outdoor chairs. Unfortunately, in his quest for elegance and plushy comfort, he'd forgotten to buy weather proof cushions. So the brightly colored floral cushions (a conscious choice by a man whose everyday apparel included a Hawaiian shirt, no matter what the weather) had to be brought in every evening and then carried out the next day.

"I'll have a mocha latte with extra whipped cream." I decided a little indulgence would help get me through a long morning with the energetic, effervescent Yolanda Petri.

"I'll mix that right up for you." Lester turned to his barista work station. "How come you're not in that long line for the cinnamon rolls? I hear they're free. As long as you sit at the tables," he added with a grumble that I was sure was only meant for his own ears.

"From the looks of it, Elsie is not going to make much profit today. Everyone's waiting for a table."

He spun around looking a little more cheery than when I'd walked inside. "That's what I told the silly woman, but she's more interested in getting those tables filled. It's ridiculous."

I cleared my throat. "Said the man who spent the first fifteen minutes of his work day tying expensive cushions to his outdoor chairs."

A sheepish grin crossed his face beneath his cloud of snow white hair. "I suppose it is getting a little out of hand."

"A little."