Flowers, Food, and Felonies at the New Year's Jubilee: A Flower Shop Mystery Novella (The Flower Shop Mystery Series Book 4) Read online

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you’re reading this next to a cozy fire with a lovely warm beverage. And I hope you enjoy Flowers, Food and Felonies. I would love to hear from you. Please email me at [email protected], and let me know what you think.

  Also, if you would like access to free stories and other great free content, please go to my website www.annieadamstheauthor.com, and sign up for my non-spammy newsletter.

  Gratefully Yours,

  Annie

  Flowers, Food, and Felonies

  At the New Year’s Jubilee

  By

  Annie Adams

  Flowers, Food, and Felonies

  At the New Year’s Jubilee

  Copyright © 2016 Annie Adams

  All rights reserved

  Published By Annie Adams

  The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Art © 2016 Kelli Ann Morgan / Inspire Creative Services

  Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rare and wonderful silence. That’s what I celebrating. Sparse snow fell in the silence outside my fiancé’s living room window on Christmas Eve. After the month I’d just had at my flower shop, I would have paid any amount just to be able to sit and listen to the silence for a few minutes more.

  My name is Quincy McKay and I own Rosie's Posies, started by my Aunt Rosie, of course. My life had recently turned upside down when I met my boyfriend, hired my now good friend as a delivery driver and oh yeah, was accused of murder.

  Only six days ago, life was on the way back to right side up, when it was knocked off its axis. In fact it was spun around like sitting in the Tilt-and-Spin at the amusement park in an egg shaped pod of death, rotating one way, while the floor rotates the other direction. All the while you’re just trying not to lose your cookies.

  Six days ago, with the help of many wonderful friends, we pulled off a fantastic community event complete with free food, fun, gifts and a visit from Santa Claus. Before it was over, I nearly fell off a roof in front of my future mother and father-in-law, while wearing an elf costume. I’d been wearing that same costume just days before, when said future mother-in-law called me a hooker.

  Also, I inherited a wonderful little puppy that immediately changed my life in countless ways and...I got engaged. I just have to wait for the paper work to go through to make sure I'm not married to my ex-husband anymore. After all that, I managed to keep my cookies down.

  So, as one might understand, the profound beauty inherent in the silence of falling snow is something that I was rather appreciative of as I sat with my family, friends, and fiancé, sipping a warm beverage with my even warmer dog Jerome splayed across my lap as he slept. Life was good.

  My almost too handsome fiancé, Alex, had invited my parents, delivery driver, K.C. and her husband Fred to come over on Christmas Eve for one last get together with his parents before they traveled home to California. The time spent with them had been—interesting. I was my usual self with them. How else can a person be? It’s just that my usual self can make what we’ll politely call, blunders. On a regular basis. But, I came to the conclusion they should learn the truth about me up front, the whole enchilada.

  What they got was the smothered, grande, extra beans on the side, lesson of what it’s like to know me.

  There we all sat in Alex’s living room enjoying soup and breadsticks, a tradition started by my dad. He was the head chef and party planner for all things Christmas. When Alex suggested we come over to his place for the get-together, he and my dad took a visit to Mantown and planned their party. Alex’s father, Jack Cooper, got to visit Mantown too and he fit right in, according to Alex.

  Mantown is the place where men go to grunt and use non-verbal communication with each other. There's not much—if any—speaking involved and no one else understands what's being said there. Mantown is both here and not here. It's everywhere if you're a member and if you're not, you're probably a woman rolling her eyes.

  "Quincy," Eleanor Cooper, otherwise known as Alex's mother said, "this French onion soup is divine. Where did you buy it?"

  I left out one of the topsy-turvy details of my upside-down life. I made stuffing for a holiday family gathering and used Eleanor's recipe. I did so upon the ill-advised suggestion of my boyfriend. At the time, I thought it would be a great idea, something to endear me to his mother. I thought he wouldn't have suggested it, had it not been something she would have appreciated. My assumption was horribly wrong.

  "Actually, Eleanor," my mother chimed in, "Quincy made this. Herself. It’s delicious, dear."

  Normally, it would be my mother asking me where I bought the dish, having assumed that's what I had done, because that's what I always did. But, when another woman, especially her future son-in-law's mother accused me of not having domestic skills—those were considered fightin’ words.

  Someone had cast my mother’s own flesh and blood in a bad light. She would defend her antithesis of a domestic goddess daughter to the death, if her homemaking skills were challenged by another mother.

  "Thank you both," I said diplomatically. "We actually have Julia Child to thank for the recipe."

  "Oh?" They both sat up in their seats at the dropping of Her Majesty’s name.

  "Alex and I both contributed." The recipe had actually been challenging for a couple of reasons. First, it called for two different kinds of alcohol. As in beverages. For someone unfamiliar with the place I come from, this might not sound like any kind of problem at all. But for someone living in a town like Hillside Utah in the heart of Mormon country, a trip to the liquor store was no small errand.

  Having no experience with buying such items, I was a little nervous. Primarily because my mother’s vast spy network would have located me and sent word to her before I even stuck the keys in the ignition to go home. The Mormon Ladies Mafia or MLM as I liked to call them was all-knowing, all-seeing and aaall about sharing what they knew with each other. And yes, I was an adult, but I was an adult who had grown up as a Mormon kid who still needed to get along with my mother, who had certain opinions about such things.

  The other challenge with the recipe is that it takes hours to prepare. Unbeknownst to me though, Alex had come home early from work. I showed up at his house to find he’d already done the prep work. All that was left to do was bring things to a boil and then a long slow simmer. The soup cooked on the stove while all this went on.

  With the rare absence of his parents, who had gone out shopping, we’d had to take advantage of the time alone.

  “Yeah, we cooked it up together,” Alex said as he squeezed my hand. He couldn’t take the gleam out of his voice and I felt myself blushing. “It takes hours to make. Quincy took time off at the shop just to
make it for us.”

  “He exaggerates,” I said. “Alex did all the work. I just came over and stirred the pot.”

  “I’ll say,” Eleanor said, not really under her breath.

  I looked at Alex, who shook his head. “I think she got into the leftover brandy,” he whispered.

  “You should enter this in the Jubilee cook off,” my mother said.

  “Oh, well, I’d love to, but like I said, it’s Julia Child’s recipe. Straight from her book.” And I didn’t want to add yet another project to my list.

  “Too bad,” Mom said, sounding crestfallen. “I’d like to at least have a hand in the winning entry just once in my lifetime. Once is all I ask. Even if it’s not my own.”

  “What’s the Jubilee?” Alex’s mother said.

  “You’re gonna love this, Ellie,” K.C. chimed in. She was the only person who could use a nickname with Alex’s mother. “Tell us about the Jubilee, Annette.”

  Right there and then, in the middle of the living room, it seemed a spotlight switched on. My mother’s countenance gleamed. The contest at the Jubilee was custom made for someone like her. Her eyes lit up and she sat on the edge of her chair, perched as if she might take flight, describing the very essence of what made the homemaking competition so vital for our community.

  “The Jubilee has been called that since its inception. It was during Pioneer times when the people of Hillside decided to have a gathering just before the end of the year. A kind of celebration of the coming New Year, hoping to inspire prosperity and a better life. It was also a chance for people who’d been holed up in their homes against the winter to get out and socialize.”

  Unfortunately, my mother had entered the Jubilee cook off every year since she was a young woman, but had never won the grand prize, always just an honorable mention or second or third place. And always behind Vanessa Brown, her arch nemesis. I often wondered if the contest was rigged. My mom is a fantastic cook. The things she can do with a bag of pasta and some cheese—sheer magic.

  “Where does the contest enter in?” Alex’s dad asked.

  “It’s kind of developed along the way,” Mom explained. “Those original people didn’t have all the fresh produce that we have now at the grocery stores, so they made dishes to share using the preserves they’d put up after the fall harvest.”

  “That’s why the contest is so unique,” K.C. said, pushing up on the bridge of her hot pink, cat-eye glasses.

  “Yes.” My mother jumped back into the spotlight like a junior high drama student vying for the lead in a musical. “The contest came later. The rules are, whatever dish you make, it has to contain at least one preserved item. They’ve become lax over the years in that rule. You can use canned items from the grocery store now. Used to be it had to be something you put up by yourself. But they couldn’t exactly police that very well, and sometimes people don’t seal things properly...” My mother would never name names, but one year in particular, we’ll just say there was a botulism scare.

  “The contest is during the day on New Year’s Eve. You’ll be here then, won’t you Ellie?” K.C. said.

  Mrs. Cooper looked at her husband, hope in her expression. “We’re scheduled to leave sooner, but we don’t really have anything to get back to…”

  Jack looked at Alex. “I don’t want to put you out any more than we already have, son.”

  “Not at all,” Alex said. “You’re welcome here any time, for as long as you want to stay.” He squeezed my hand, or was it me squeezing his? I think it was a mutual death grip. Not that I didn’t love his parents...

  “I can see about changing our flights, if you really want to, dear,” Mr. Cooper said.

  “Perfect!” Mom shouted and clapped her hands with glee.

  “Yay,” quietly slipped out of my mouth.

  Mom continued. “The categories are casseroles, main dishes, salads, soups and stews and desserts. And Quincy, as long as you give proper credit, you can still enter your French onion soup. You’re the one doing the work and adding your own methods. Just do whatever you did to get this one the way it is.”

  I bit my lip in order to hold back the giggle welling up inside. Alex had rested his hand on my knee as my mother spoke and gave it a tweak when she mentioned doing the same thing over again. “We must explore your methods,” he whispered. “Like she said, just do the same thing you did before.”

  I mouthed the word “stop,” while I grinned at him, trying not to laugh.

  The thought of our “soup making” had me flustered. I stood to clear the dishes and take them to the kitchen. I filled the dishwasher and put the leftovers in containers. When I returned, the conversation continued, although the men seemed to have congregated together to talk about—anything other than what the women were talking about.

  “I have a Jell-O salad recipe that’ll knock their socks off,” K.C. said. “And Ellie, I would love to taste your version of that stuffing.”

  “Oh no, my stuffing calls for only fresh ingredients.” I pretended not to notice her shot over the bow. I’d committed mortal sin and used canned water chestnuts in place of fresh in Eleanor’s recipe. “I don’t think I’ll enter the contest, but I would like to help out somehow,” she said.

  “Maybe you could help Quincy with her entry,” K.C. said.

  Maybe I could find a new delivery driver...

  “That’s a great idea, K.C.,” I said with false enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I think that would be a conflict of interest. One of the judges of the dessert category dropped out and they asked me to be the replacement. So…”

  “It’s a completely different category, you’d be within the rules,” K.C. said.

  Shut up, K.C.

  “You know, with all the weddings we have this week, there’s just no time.” I turned my head so that only K.C. would see my death stare and then turned back to Alex’s mom. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor.”

  “That’s quite alright, dear. I’m just happy to get to see it.”

  Aside from the bringing up of the earth shattering chestnut disaster, this had been a happy meeting of family and friends. It gave me an all over settled feeling that I hadn’t felt in weeks. I figured I’d better enjoy it while I could, because nothing ever stayed this calm for long, in the life of Quincy McKay.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Christmas morning used to be the day when you woke up ready to burst, if you'd even slept at all, to see what Santa had left for you the night before. There was a time after that when Christmas day was a time to dread, because the ex-husband would be home all day directing his inner anger toward me.

  Now, the joy and wide-eyed excitement had returned. I couldn't wait to jump out of bed and head over to my parents’ home where we would eat and open a present or two.

  I knew Jerome could sense my excitement. He didn't know why it was exciting, he just knew that it was. And he was perfectly happy to join me in it no matter what the reason. We took a quick potty break outside and then hurried inside to get dressed.

  Christmas breakfast was only a few minutes’ drive from my house. Dad would be cooking waffles, bacon, eggs and oatmeal like my grandmother used to make, only she called it porridge. Mom would be flitting about making sure every ribbon was tied just so and every box was set in the perfect place. Jerome and I jumped into my flower delivery van. Her name was Zombie Sue, named so because she was the undead delivery van that never failed me. After a quick, but careful drive on empty, icy streets, we arrived at my parent's house just before eight in the morning.

  After Jerome had a chance to sniff the entire perimeter of the yard, he was ready to go inside. Oh wait, he had to roll around in the fresh snow from the night before doing doggy snow angels. Being a Newfoundland, he’d been bred to thrive in the colder climate and so far he’d been true to his breed.

  We went inside to the cozy interior of the living room. Mom had the Mormon Tabernacle choir playing in the background, in her opinion the only Christmas music one plays on the 25th of Decembe
r. Dad was in the kitchen humming and whistling to himself as the pots and pans clanged together to provide the percussion in his symphony.

  My oldest sibling, Sandy was there with her husband, Rick. She was pregnant with their first child and they constantly looked at each other with goofy expressions, talking in cute little voices about Christmas being different with the baby coming and goo-goo ga-ga. My younger sister, Allie was in California taping a television show. We especially missed her on this holiday but were very happy for her. She'd had a rough year and this was the beginning of her comeback.

  The sound of a car door shutting signaled the arrival of the Coopers. I glanced out the window and caught myself feeling a little less enthused once I saw that it was all three of them. I know it was selfish of me, but I wanted Alex all to myself for just a few minutes. Now that his mother's competitive fires had been ignited by my equally competitive mother, she’d be staying through New Year's Eve. And that was just fine. We would have a wonderful time together despite the occasional slitted eye of disapproval from Eleanor. I knew she was making an effort though, and the amount of time she and her husband were spending with my family showed she didn't think we were all bad...I supposed.

  When Alex walked in I could feel my heart beat faster. I took their coats up to my old bedroom, the designated spot to dump guests' winter wear. I turned to leave, but was startled by the sight of him standing in the doorway, grinning.

  "Merry Christmas, Q."

  "Merry Christmas," I said through an insuppressible grin. He walked over and gathered me into his arms. We kissed for a delightfully long time. "We better go back downstairs. Remember the last time we did this at my parent's house?"

  The last time we'd made out like that at my parent's house, the entire party of guests had walked in on us, including the Coopers. It was the first time his parents had ever seen me.

  "I remember what happened the last time. That’s what I’m looking forward to," he said as he nuzzled next to my ear. His stubble rubbed against my cheek, sending my inner butterflies loose. "How's my fiancé this fine Christmas morning?” he asked.