Buzzkill (Pecan Bayou Series) by Trent Teresa

Author:Trent, Teresa [Trent, Teresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

During the next week, my life resumed a bit of normality. The rain continued off and on while Leo and Tyler headed back to Dallas and Zach and I returned to school and work. I concentrated on writing a series of columns on homemade lotions. In this article, I was trying to make a simple hand lotion out of glycerin and rosewater, two ingredients I picked up down at the drug store.

After learning of Lenny Stokes’s death, Mr. Andre said he would call in our flowers at Baskets of Bluebonnets. I decided to call them to get an idea of the price. Hopefully they wouldn’t cost too much more than Lenny had quoted.

“The Livingston/Fitzpatrick wedding, you said? Let me check,” said the florist.

I heard a scuffling of papers in the background and then a clear curse word.

“Miss Livingston? I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but your sales order got stuck to another. I told Jimmy not to eat at the register. We peeled it off the Olin invoice.”

“Oh, well you have it now. That’s all that matters. You scared me there for a minute. I can’t imagine not having flowers for my own wedding,” I said. There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end as the florist cleared his throat.

“Well, here’s the thing. We didn’t realize we had your wedding order, and since the time that it was called in, we’ve become fully booked. Between Prissy’s wedding and the holiday, every floral designer we have is busy. Ma’am, you do know what day of the year that is? Valentine’s Day is every florist’s Black Friday. I appreciate your business and all, but I’m not going to sugar coat it – our store is crazy that day. There won’t be a daisy to be had. Do you have someone in your wedding party who can arrange flowers?”

“Well, we were going to go with Lenny Stokes and … he’s no longer available.” I didn’t want to go through explaining Lenny’s death on the phone and hoped the man would think he had at least scraped a little business from him.

“Don’t tell me Lenny has so much business he can’t handle it,” he said. “Without him, we’d never get through the slow months. I think he’s personally riled up half the county. The man has absolutely no sales skills. Shoot, he doesn’t even have people skills. So what happened with him, or do I even need to ask?”

“He died,” I said quietly.

I heard a coughing noise on the other end as if the florist at Bluebonnets had taken a drink of coffee between rants on Lenny Stokes.

“He died? What did he die of? That old coot’s too mean to die.”

“Bees. He was stung to death.”

“I’ll be. Hold on a minute.” He yelled the news of Lenny’s tragic death across the shop. I thought I heard the faint echo of clapping. The florist then returned to the phone. “Well, it’s a shame,” he said. “Some of our best customers have been people Lenny burned.

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