Dirty Rotten Tendrils: A Flower Shop Mystery by Kate Collins

By Kate Collins

The latest Flower store secret whilst high-powered attorney Ken "the Lip" Lipinski is located useless from a suspicious overdose, florist and beginner sleuth Abby Knight unearths it tough to swallow that his opposing counsel-and her previous boss-is the assassin.

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CHAPTER THREE I was dying to sit in the courtroom and watch Dave match wits with the Lip, as many people were doing, judging by the line at the rear of the courthouse, but the practical side of me, the side that needed to pay rent and buy groceries, decided to go to work. After the hubbub outside, my flower shop was a haven of bliss. Closing the door behind me, I inhaled the sweet, heady aromas of fresh blossoms and glanced around in never-ending delight. Tables, shelves, and armoires spilled over with colorful floral arrangements and gift items.

I climbed back onto the stool. It wasn’t going to be a quick explanation. ” “My brothers the successful surgeons. In Rafe’s case, he feels compared to you, so he asked for my advice on how to cope with negative self-esteem issues. ” “Okay, I may have used that word, but he took it out of—wait. What? ” Marco lifted an eyebrow. He did half of his communicating with his eyebrows, like a semaphore system. In this case he meant Of course I knew. ” I asked. ” Whew! Close one. “When I told Rafe to do something different and, okay, surprise the family, I was referring to how I became a florist instead of a doctor or lawyer.

She was standing with her hands on her hips, shaking her head as though she thought we were silly. “Don’t tell me you never kissed anyone in this bar,” Marco said to her. “Honey,” she replied in her scratchy voice, “I could tell you stories that’d make a sailor blush,” then went straight into a coughing fit, caused by a lifetime of smoking. “You’re early, Gert,” Marco said grumpily, putting me down. “You told me to come in early, boss,” she answered. ” I exclaimed. “Lottie and Grace will be wondering what happened to me.

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