Seed No Evil by Kate Collins

Frankenstein. And then there was the beaded jacket, made out of giant wooden beads, and the brightly hued feathered picture frames. So I braced myself as she pulled something out of the bag.
    â€œTa-da!” she said, holding out a rooster-shaped water pitcher.
    It looked remarkably like the one on a display shelf behind her, which was handcrafted in Italy. My version had a rose-colored cock’s comb, a soft yellow beak, and a leafy vine in a pale green that twined around it. The top was open, as was the rooster’s mouth, which functioned as a spout. I had it displayed as a vase.
    Mom’s rooster, on the other hand, had a bright red cock’s comb, a shocking yellow beak, and neon green leaves on the twining vine.
    â€œWhat do you think?” she asked, hope shimmering in her eyes.
    Bunching my shoulders into an
I’m so sorry; please don’t hate me
shrug, I pointed to the pitcher behind her.
    She turned around, saw the Italian version, and her shoulders slumped. We Knights were definitely shoulder people. I wondered if the medieval armor makers had problems suiting up my relatives.
    â€œWell, that’s that,” she said dejectedly, letting her rooster dangle from her fingers. “I still don’t have my creativity back.”
    â€œYou’ll get it,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Give it time. And meanwhile, I have a request. Would you make a list of all the volunteers who work at the shelter? With phone numbers?”
    â€œOf course, honey. Anything to help.”
    â€œWhile we’re on the subject,” I said, “did you hear that the vote to start euthanizing was postponed until the next board meeting?”
    â€œYes, I heard it from Susan O’Day, and we’ve already organized a protest for the meeting.”
    I gave her a hug. “I knew you’d be on top of this.”
    â€œI’m worried, though, Abigail. When Dayton Blaine pushes for a change, she’s usually powerful enough to make it happen.”
    The phone rang and Lottie answered at the cash counter. “Bloomers Flower Shop. How may I help you?” She listened a few moments, then said, “Until five o’clock. You’re welcome.” She hung up and glanced at me with a smile. “Wedding customer coming in later.”
    If my mom hadn’t looked so down in the dumps, I would have done a pirouette.
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    At five minutes before five o’clock, Marco called to see what time I would be down for supper, as though there had never been a question about me coming at all.
    â€œI can be there in five minutes,” I said. “Business has been slow today.”
    Not only slow, but disappointing. The wedding customer was interested only in shopping for prices, so she’d been in and out in thirty minutes.
    â€œGood,” he said, which I thought was pretty insensitive. Or was it just another example of him not paying attention? “I’ve got an appointment set up with Emma Hardy here at six, and that will give us time to plan beforehand.”
    â€œShe agreed to meet at the bar?”
    â€œShe seemed pretty eager to clear her name. She said she and her friend were looking for a place to eat anyway, and she’d never been to Down the Hatch.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll see you in a few.”
    The bar wasn’t busy yet when I got there, so Marco and I were able to grab the last booth in the row, or “our booth” as we called it, and have a quiet meal. It would have been quieter except I kept up a steady stream of chatter to fill the blank spaces, because again, Marco seemed distracted until we began to discuss the murder investigation.
    â€œFrom what I could find out about Emma Hardy,” Marco said, reading from his notes, “she’s had the position of developmental director for a little more than a year. Before that, she worked at a marketing firm in Maraville for just over a