The Final Arrangement (11 page)

“I...” Again, rendered speechless by Alex.

“I’ve been laying it on pretty thick since I met you.  I mean, I’m not all that bad am I?  Elma thinks I’m O.K., that should count for something shouldn’t it?” 

“You’re so much more than not that bad.  It’s just that I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to be serious with anyone again.” Tears were welling up in the corners of my eyes. 

“Quincy, lighten up.  I’m just looking for some friendship.  It’s not like I asked you to marry me.  I just don’t understand all the resistance you’re putting up.  You seem interested in me; I know you’re interested in looking.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed you noticing me.”  He smiled at me wickedly.

I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar as the warm, melty, sinfully decadent double chocolate chip cookie smirked at me from the driver’s seat.  I sat there with my mouth hanging open.

“Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you.  There was a time not long ago, when a guy who said nice things about me would have had me mesmerized.  If he told me I was pretty, I would have dropped everything else and followed him around like an obedient dog as if there was no other point to my existence.  I did that for a long time.   It was very important for me to be the pretty one.  Nobody seemed to disagree with me either.

" I wasted precious years of my life trying to be the perfect pretty daughter, and then girlfriend and then wife.  I entered beauty pageants as a teenager, and I won some of them.  I had no ambition other than to be pretty so that the prince who came and swept me off of my feet could feel proud to have such a trophy at his side.  I almost lost my life because I couldn’t see through the lie of that fairy tale.  The handsome prince turned out to be the evil monster.  I still don’t know how I managed to escape, but I did, and I will never, ever go back there again.”

Alex seemed to look at me with understanding.  “Why don’t we get you home and we can finish talking there?”

“Good idea.  Blegh, I didn’t mean for things to turn into a Lifetime channel movie.  You’re right, I need to lighten up.  Let’s change the subject again.  When’s your next date with Elma?”

He laughed.  “I don’t know.  I think she might be too much woman for me.  My butt still hurts where she pinched me.”

As we turned the corner to land on my street, a little red pick up truck sped past.

“Oh shit!” Alex exclaimed.

I turned to look at what had caused him to curse, and gasped.  My chest felt like someone was stomping on it and squeezing all of my air out.  Orange flames about two feet high licked upward near my front porch.  The fire burned from a hydrangea bush I had helped my Grandma to plant.  Alex slammed the truck to a stop, jumped out and ran over to the hose.  He grabbed it and aimed the sprayer full blast at the burning bush.  Sirens in the distance grew louder by the second.  I found out later my neighbor called the fire department after noticing the fire when she went outside to dump the garbage.

Alex had nearly put the fire out by the time the fire truck stopped in front of the house.  He conferred with the men from the fire department, as my neighbor Sarah came over and sat with me.  She told me how sorry she was about the hydrangea bush.  I had previously asked for her advice on how to care for it and keep it growing.  She knew what it had meant to me.  Alex came over to where Sarah and I were standing.

"They say it was definitely arson.  Whoever did it wasn’t too smart about it either.  They left matches all over the ground.  At least they didn't burn the house down."  He put his hand on my shoulder.  "I'm so sorry, Quincy.  I'm sorry I didn't take the last fire more seriously.  Obviously something’s going on.  I'll make sure we look into your sister's boyfriend.  Is there anyone else who has a grudge against you, maybe a disgruntled customer, or something like that?"

"You mean besides my psycho ex-family?  I haven’t seen them in a while but I saw a red pick up truck passing us when we came around the corner.  I didn’t see inside of it, though.”

The fire captain came over and told us his crew was ready to leave.  Both Alex and I thanked them.  Sarah gave me a hug and went home. 

"Lets go inside, we need to talk."  Alex’s tone wasn’t nearly as fun as it had been in the truck.

We went in and sat down on the couch. 

"Quincy, I feel responsible for this."

"For what?"

"For all of this.  If I had listened to you after the first fire, this wouldn't have happened.  I could’ve been here to prevent it."

"We were out together.  You wouldn't have been here without me.  You shouldn’t feel any kind of responsibility.  You just happened to stumble into the situation with the hit-and-run.”

“No.  What if you had been here?  What if he plans on coming back later to see if you’re here?  I know you don’t want some guy telling you what to do, but I let this happen.  Let me stay here on your couch tonight and keep watch just to be safe.”

My overactive imagination thought this would be a great idea, and I was thoroughly tempted for a few seconds, but then I remembered my big speech about not needing a man for anything.  But how bad would being a hypocrite be?  It’s not like I could be put in jail for that right?  I didn’t need the man, but wanting was a different story.  After a little carnal daydreaming I came to my senses.

“Alex, I appreciate the thought behind your offer, but you’re right.  I don’t want some guy telling me what to do.  I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.  I’ve managed to make it this far by myself, and it’s important to me to keep doing so.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.  Just let me stay here.  I’m a cop for hell’s sake.  It’s not like I’m trying to hit you over the head and drag you to my cave.  I protect people for a living.  Quit being stubborn and do what’s good for you.  You can’t be in charge all of the time.”

“Well it’s my house we’re talking about here, so I think that I can be in charge.  Whether I’m stubborn or not, you’re not staying here tonight.  Thank you for dinner and for extinguishing the fire.  I’ll be sure to lock up after you leave.”

Alex stood and glared at me, his mouth open with no words coming out.  His fists were knotted at his sides.

“You’re too hard-headed for your own good.” 

I didn’t speak another word.  I just watched him leave before triple checking every door and window lock in the house. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

After a night spent imagining what I should've said to Alex, I realized I wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon.  At six a.m. I pulled on some running clothes and laced up my hardly worn shoes.  As I left the house I imagined Brad Wilkinson watching me with his undeservedly handsome face, but realized he would more likely be stalking at my mother’s house, since Allie had stayed there the last night. 

I decided the feeling of being watched was due to the lack of sleep and I began to jog.  The sunlight had just peeked from behind the mountains, and people were already out working in their yards to avoid the skin-crackling high desert sun of the afternoon.  I jogged for about ten minutes, painfully realizing it had been too long since the last time. 

I walked the rest of the way.  While I strolled, my mind ran through all of the events of the previous days.  A colleague had been murdered, my driver and van had been through a hit-and-run, my sister had been beat up by her boyfriend who then set a bag of poop on fire on my porch, and then did the same to my prized hydrangea bush.  I’d met a handsome police officer, found out my dead colleague had been cooking the books, I’d accidentally eavesdropped on a love affair, and I had groped a corpse.  Pretty impressive for forty-eight hours. 

But I still hadn’t uncovered the secret for winning back the funeral business referrals and until I did, the future of my business was in jeopardy.  I needed to think of any leads that could direct me to the right person to talk to.  Derrick’s designer had mentioned an older guy, probably Irwin Shaw.  As soon as I could, I would pay a visit to the shop he ran with his wife.    

It was still early when I made it to work, so I took advantage of the time to get some bookkeeping done.  If only I got up this early every morning to do paperwork, I would be caught up.  The time flew by and before I knew it, Cindy let herself in. 

I was in the back design room when I heard the doorbell.  I leaned over and peeked around the door to make sure it was her.  It was her all right.  Her hair was teased and sprayed in an apparent homage to Dolly Parton and the singer's wigs.  Her breasts were displayed in a way that might also have made Dolly proud, in a sheer yellow peasant blouse with a generously cut neckline.  The black lace bra, which was obviously filled to capacity and then some, added that touch of style that can only be found at truck pulls and state fair breezeways.  She completed the ensemble with a denim mini-skirt and brown cowboy boots. 

“Morning, Cindy.”

“Morning, Quincy.”  Her voice rang out nearly in song.  She sounded giddy.

“New outfit?”

“Yeah, do you like it?” 

I paused to think of what kind of day we had ahead, and whether it was worth answering truthfully or not.  She interrupted before I had to make the decision. 

“I went shopping yesterday.  I read in one of my magazines that this job is good for at least one thing.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?  An income?”

“Ha ha, Quincy.  No, working in a flower shop is one of the top ten places to work for meeting guys.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, so I decided to take advantage of something I was already doing, which is working for you, and all I have to do is look like I normally would while I’m out meeting guys.  And you get to benefit, because I’m all dressed up for work now.” 

She certainly was. I wasn't going to point out most of our male customers were married or sending flowers to girlfriends.

"I'm glad that you're being proactive, Cindy."

She beamed at the compliment, and while it pained me to keep my mouth shut about her outfit, I was proud of her for taking action to reach a goal.

The phone rang and I answered a call from a man who wanted to pick up an expensive bouquet in twenty minutes.  Hooray!  I could use what was left of my fresh inventory, and buy some new when the bucket truck came around in the afternoon.  The order was unusually large for a summer day; it couldn’t have been better timing for my bank account. 

I went into the cooler and started gathering flowers.  With an order that size and a customer who says, “Just make it pretty,” it feels like an all you can eat buffet for a floral designer.  You can pick whatever flowers you want to use and you can actually design the best possible arrangement with the prettiest flowers, rather than being stuck within the strict confines of a pre-determined recipe trying to duplicate a picture of an out-of-season bouquet. 

I faced the back wall of the cooler as I pulled oriental lilies, dendrobium orchids, flax, dogwood branches, gerberas and bells of Ireland out of buckets.  The fan droned on near my ear. 

“QUINCY,” Cindy yelled.  I shrieked and squeezed the flowers to my chest, breaking the petals of a ten-dollar lily.  I looked behind me to find Cindy standing less than two feet away.

“What?” 

“Your mom is on the phone.”

Fantastic, only fifteen minutes left now to make this expensive bouquet for a great customer, and my mother wanted to talk.  Perfect timing as usual.

“Did you tell her I was here?”

“Yeah.”

Damn. 
“Okay,” I sighed.  “Will you prep that cool green vase with the swirls while I talk to her, and take these out of my hands, and replace the lilies that I just broke?”

“I guess so.”  Such enthusiasm. 

Following Cindy, I ducked out of the cooler doorway, which was custom built with a higher step, for someone who barely broke five-feet-tall.   I then braced myself against the wall next to the phone in preparation for the forthcoming conversation.    “Hello, Mom.”

“Quinella Adams McKay.”  Not only had she used my full name, it came out of her mouth like a machine gun in short angry spurts.

“What did I do?” 

“Lorraine Elliot informs me that she saw you at Skinny’s last night.”

“Mom, I don’t even know who Lorraine Elliot is.  If I did I would have said hello, I swear it.”  My mother’s legion of spies encompassed a network of ward members, old schoolmates and the multitude of relatives that come with having a polygamist great-great grandfather. 

“Well I don’t expect you to remember everyone, my dear…”

Lie
.

“I’m calling to ask what you were doing having dinner with a young man who ordered a beer?”

“Oh for hell sakes, Mother…”

“Now you’re swearing too?  I don’t know where I went wrong with you, Quincy.  I just don’t know what else I could have done to raise you.  I’m going to call Bishop Denning and make an appointment for us to talk to him.”

“Mom, you are not calling the Bishop.  Besides, why haven’t you mentioned the fire at my house last night?  I thought for sure your spies would have followed protocol and contacted you immediately with the presence of a fire truck in the neighborhood.”

“A fire!  What fire?  Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything anymore?”

What was I thinking?  The last thing I needed was for my Mom to have something else to worry—no, make that nag about.  She would add this to her list of grievances about her rebel daughter Quincy, whom she would ask her Relief Society sisters to help her pray for.

“Mom, it was nothing, just a neighborhood prank that got a little out of control.  A tiny plant in the yard was damaged a little, not a big deal.”  She didn’t need to know that maybe Allie’s crazy ex-boyfriend had targeted my house not just once but twice in two days.

“I’m glad no one was hurt.  It’s a good thing Allie was here with Brad.  At least I know where she was and who she was with.”

“She was with
Brad
?”  I couldn’t believe the sound of his name as it came off of my lips.  What was Allie doing?  I wanted to ask my mother what they talked about since I’m sure she had an ear to the door. 

“Yes, she was with her returned missionary, not someone who drinks beer.”