Roots of Murder by Janis Harrison Read Free Book Online Page A

all come out ahead.”
    I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. My, my. It seemed that everyone had plans and deals for Isaac’s flowers and the poor man was still above ground.
    I dropped my gaze to the bouquet Allison held in her hands. Apparently, she’d been on her way to make a delivery when she’d spotted me. The florist in me perused the arrangement. Not bad. Good lines. Too sparse
with the filler and greenery for my taste. The card read Isabelle Quigley. If those flowers were from her daughter, I was pissed. I usually got that order.
    Allison was known for going to her competitors’ customers and asking them outright to give her shop a chance. If they took her up on her offer, she’d add extra flowers the first few times. In the end, her parsimonious ways would take over. The customers became dissatisfied and went back to their original place of doing business.
    The name of her shop, “Pick a Posie,” was at the top of the envelope. Posie? You don’t hear that word too often. Yet today I’d heard it several times.
    A direct attack on Allison would net me nothing. On a whim, I decided to fish for information. I cast my line. “Who would we hire to work the field?”
    Preening, she said, “As it happens I have someone in mind.”
    â€œOh, really?” I jiggled the line. “We’re talking quite an investment. Can we trust this person to do the work?”
    She ignored the bait to look up and down the street. “This is poor business discussing something so important out here.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve talked to the other four shop owners. They’re interested.”
    â€œBusy, busy,” I muttered.
    â€œWe have to jump on this. Measures have to be taken to preserve the quality of the flowers. They’ll go downhill if left unattended.”
    I wasn’t asking the right questions. I reeled in my
line and beefed up the lure. “I might be interested if I can be convinced we’ll find someone suitable.”
    Allison beamed.
    Not a pleasant sight. Allison pleased with herself is more annoying than Allison in a snit. “Before I decide anything, I’d want to interview this … uh … person.”
    She nearly wiggled with success.
    I sank the hook, then watched her flounder as I laid out my conditions. “He’d have to be sharp, personable, have references. A college degree wouldn’t hurt.”
    Allison struggled helplessly. “Well, now … Bretta,” she began slowly. Her words gathered speed as she tried to slip free. “Keep in mind we’re dealing with a man of the soil. He’s used to having dirty hands. We can’t expect him to do the work in a three-piece suit.”
    I put my car in reverse. As I backed away, I landed her, left her gasping for air. “I don’t imagine Leray Hodges owns a three-piece suit, Allison.”
    Her jaw went slack. She recovered enough to demand, “How did you—”
    I cut her off in midsentence by squawking my tires on the pavement.
    â€œDamned woman,” I said aloud.
    There were three fast-food restaurants in the ten blocks to my flower shop. In my present mood, I saw each of the three as pitfalls. I passed the first, my eyes straight ahead. Before I lost weight, I’d head immediately for food when my emotions got out of kilter. It didn’t matter what I ate. Half a box of Hostess cupcakes—a bag of chips. At the second restaurant, I hesitated,
even went so far as to reach for my turn signal. Still I drove on.
    After my encounter with Allison, I felt that same old need to stuff my face. I told myself I was frustrated, irritated, and aggravated. I was not hungry. I guess I wasn’t very convincing. At the third restaurant, I moved out of traffic and zoomed into line at the drive-through window.
    I fumed as I waited for my turn to order. Leray and Allison. Who’d contacted whom? A strange alliance,