A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn by Patrice Greenwood Page A

girlfriend will have an easier time of it now.”
    â€œYou’re not suggesting—”
    â€œNope. Not suggesting anything. Just cogitating. Hell, I don’t even know if we have a crime here. She could have picked it up accidentally. Botulism exists pretty commonly in plain old dirt, the M.E. told me.”
    â€œShe was a gardener,” I said, thinking of our brief conversation about roses.
    â€œYeah? So maybe she got a cut dirty. Could just be bad luck.”
    â€œIn that case, why are you interviewing her family?”
    â€œHey, it’s job security. I’m told to investigate, I investigate. Speaking of which, I need to talk to the grandson.” He consulted his notebook. “Julio Delgado.”
    â€œHe's gone home for the day. He comes in early.”
    â€œOK, I'll catch him later.” He stepped past me into the upper hall. “Thanks for the use of your office.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    â€œSee you in a couple of hours.”
    His eyelids drooped a little as he said that, very sexy. My pulse increased a bit.
    â€œWhat should I wear?”
    He shrugged. “You always look great.”
    â€œI was thinking along the lines of motorcycle or not.”
    â€œOh. Not.” He grinned. “See you.”
    He took the stairs at a run, though he didn’t make too much noise. I, being in Proprietress mode, made a more dignified descent, arriving at the ground floor just in time to see Tony holding the front door for three elderly women. I smiled and went to greet them as Tony headed out.
    â€œGood afternoon. Do you have a reservation?”
    The tallest, who looked smart in a pink linen suit and matching hat, said, “Timothy. Joan.”
    I stepped to the podium and checked the reservation list. “Ah, yes. You’re in Jonquil. Right this way.”
    The ladies made admiring noises as I led them through the parlor to their seating area. A breeze was disturbing the lace curtains in Jonquil and I lowered the window, leaving it open just a crack.
    â€œThis is lovely,” said Ms. Timothy. She waved a hand, taking in the whole parlor. “Tell me, do you ever open up this room for larger functions?”
    â€œWe can, yes. We also have a dining parlor that seats up to twelve.”
    She exchanged a glance with one of the other ladies, who shrugged. One of them, whose dress was a floral print with a white, lace-edged collar, said, “That would work for a board meeting, but not for the whole group.”
    â€œAre you planning an event?” I asked.
    Ms. Timothy smiled. “We have an annual dinner, and we thought we’d do something a little different this year. Perhaps a tea.”
    â€œEveryone expects a dinner,” said the third woman, who wore a simple dress of green cotton and looked a trifle grumpy.
    â€œAnd I do think this place is a little small,” said the woman in the floral dress in a worried tone. She glanced at me. “No offense, but it’s fifty people or so, usually, at the dinner.”
    I nodded. “I understand, though we had close to seventy at our grand opening. That was more of a reception, with a full afternoon tea. We used this room and had overflow into the smaller parlor and the dining parlor. Now that the weather’s warmer we could also overflow out onto the portal .”
    â€œHmm. That might work.” Ms. Timothy looked out the window at the wisteria-shaded portal . “The setting is certainly perfect. You have beautiful roses. Do you do your own gardening?”
    â€œYes, I do. Thank you.”
    â€œYou should consider joining the Rose Guild,” said the worried woman, smiling at me as if to make up for her doubts about having an event here.
    â€œYou’re the second person this week to suggest that to me,” I said.
    â€œReally?” said Ms. Timothy. “Who was the first?”
    Too late, I realized the awkwardness of bringing up Mrs. Garcia. I held