The Marsh Madness

In an attempt to gain Brownie points, since he’d been so unavailable during my last brush with murder, he’d been working hard to make sure I knew he cared. We’d had romantic dinners, long walks, longer talks and a promise to always be there for me. No flowers though, except for Valentine’s Day and a shamrock on St. Paddy’s.

I said soothingly, “Obviously, they were live roses that took the scenic route. I’m letting you know, so you can get a refund.”

A silence drifted over the phone. Then Tyler said, “Is there some occasion this time of year that requires roses? The Ides of March?”

“The Ides of March? Not what I would consider a festive occasion. Anyway, that was two weeks ago.”

“No special occasion at all? Not some anniversary I might not have been aware of. Our first ice cream cone or something?”

I had to laugh at that. “I thought you were being romantic.”

“I do try to be . . .” He cleared his throat. “But, I really didn’t send them.”

“Well, no worries. Just so you know, you don’t ever need to send me roses, alive or otherwise. And I won’t spring silly and previously unmentioned anniversaries on you either.”

“But who did send them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was there a card?”

“Yes. It said Guess who?”

“Maybe they were intended for someone else.”

“Well, they had my name. So that’s weird.”

He said, “Huh. That’s expensive and usually implies, um, an intimate, um, involvement.”

“There is no intimate involvement with anyone else, Tyler, even if it was implied.”

“Well, I guess you’ll figure it out. But it wasn’t me and you can cross me off your suspect list. But I’m still sorry you got them.”

I knew he’d been blushing to the top of his cute blond head. I felt like a heel. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s some sort of screw-up. I’m not the only Jordan in the world, and possibly they got the addresses mixed up at the florist.” But that didn’t wash, as the roses had clearly been addressed to Miss Jordan Bingham at the Van Alst House address, correct down to the zip code. Nobody had sent me flowers in all the time I’d lived in Harrison Falls. I’d been given some, but delivered? Never.

“The box is from Flora’s Fanciful Flowers, but I’m not sure where they are. The label’s smudged.”

“Nobody would purposely send you dead roses, Jordon. You’re absolutely sure I didn’t miss some kind of special event?”

“Nope. You did a great job on Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s, and there’s been nothing since.”

“Want me to try and find out who they came from or who was supposed to get them? I can contact the florist. They’d remember a delivery to Van Alst House.”

“I don’t think there’s much point.” But I knew Smiley and I also knew he’d be on that case. I was pretty sure it would boil down to one of those weird things that happen.

I was lucky to be going out with Tyler, even if my uncles thought it was the worst idea ever for one of the family to be romantically linked to a cop. They’d much prefer that I was arrested.

“I’ll call you,” Tyler said. “When are you back from wherever you’re going?”

“We’re just there for lunch. And it’s at Summerlea, that secluded estate on the far side of Harrison Falls, near Grandville.”

“I don’t know it.”

“That’s right. I keep forgetting you’re new here. If you check a map, you follow County Road 36 and the property is not far from where the ravine cuts through that beautiful stretch of woods. The woods and ravine are all part of Summerlea. And there’s even a lake, although I haven’t seen that yet.”

“Sounds pretty fancy. No wonder you’re so excited. Not that Van Alst House isn’t fancy.”

“It’s only for lunch and it is business for Vera. And I am not ‘so excited.’” I was almost hovering in anticipation, of course, but it did sound goofy when he put it that way.

“My mistake.” I could feel his cute smile through the phone. “Be careful. You know how you seem to attract trouble.”


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