Flower Power Trip Read online

  Roarke & Daughters Inn was located near Crilly Lake in the northern part of the county. Formed by melting glaciers during the shaping of the Wharton Mountains, the lake was a popular haven for swimming, fishing, and boating during summers. During the spring and fall, it offered striking views of the landscape where exercise and nature lovers spent countless hours surrounded by unmatched inspiration and dreamt of the future. When I pulled up to the front of the historic bed and breakfast and parked in the circle driveway, Maggie and one of her sisters, Helena, stepped into the enclosed wrap-around porch. From the twenty-foot distance, I could see they were having a disagreement about something. Maggie's finger waggled at Helena who crossed her arms on her chest and groaned loudly enough for me to hear in the distance.

  I hadn't seen Helena in close to a decade, back when Maggie and I'd been about to graduate from Braxton. Helena was once the proverbial unruly teenager who'd failed her driver's license exam at least twice yet still demanded a brand-new car. She'd also gone to school with my brother, Gabriel, for a few years. Where Maggie had porcelain skin and soft, girlish features, Helena resembled the rest of their sisters—tall, incredibly thin, voluptuous, blessed with thick luxuriant hair, and immortalized with tons of makeup. Basically, the complete opposite of Maggie who was often mistaken for a ceramic statue or a timid doll. Helena recently celebrated her birthday by doing a pub crawl across all four villages in Wharton County. Eight hours, eight bars, eight different drinks. I wouldn't have survived that level of commitment.

  Ivy crawled up and around each of the ornate shutters on the building's front windows offering a sharp contrast to the recently repointed beige brick and iron-colored mortar. Roarke & Daughters Inn had once been the home of a former mayor who'd passed away with no immediate descendants at the end of the nineteenth century. The three-story Victorian home passed to a distant cousin, one of Maggie's ancestors, and was used for most of the last century as their family home. Once their hippie days were over and their kids had grown up, the Roarkes converted it into an income-generating property. “Afternoon, ladies,” I said, crossing the threshold into the enclosed porch.

  “Kellan Ayrwick, I heard you returned to town. Not that my darling sister ever mentioned you would dare show your face around these parts again,” Helena hollered as I walked across the porch. She scooped a handful of platinum-blonde hair into her palm and tossed it across her shoulder, revealing the thin spaghetti-straps of a hunter-green silk camisole that dipped incredibly low across her ample chest. “Dang, you look finer than I remember, hot stuff!”

  I blushed when she pulled me into a tight hug and I inhaled her perfume, a cross between a bouquet of overly sweet flowers and freshly-baked cinnamon rolls. She'd matured into a fully grown-up knock-out with more curves than I'd remembered. Gorgeous. Dynamite. But not really my type, if I'm being honest. I preferred a woman with both a shy and a bit of a wild side, not someone like Helena who flirted with any man between eighteen and sixty-two and pushed her best assets out for everyone to admire on every possible occasion. “Maggie and I have put the past to rest, Helena. I hope you'll be able to, as well,” I noted, withdrawing from the temporarily enticing embrace.

  Had it really been over two years since I'd let myself lose control with a woman? One drunken night a month after Francesca died—or supposedly died—forcing me to realize I'd made a grave error trying to torpedo myself forward through the pain. A man can only be celibate for so long, and judging by the way I'd felt lately, my stint as a self-anointed priest was way past its prime.

  Helena began speaking in a seductive tone but was abruptly stopped. “Does that mean you're up for grabs? I could see myself grabbing a piece of your—”

  “Stand back, kiddo. Kellan's not interested, are you, Kellan?” Maggie firmly responded as she swatted at her sister's arm, then looked directly at me. A second set of chills cascaded down my back before I nudged myself out of fantasyland. “Besides, aren't you enamored with a new guy in town?”

  “Yeah, a girl can never have too many friends,” Helena teased as she pursed and licked her full lips. “Cheney's definitely at the top of my list, but I could permit another gentleman caller if he's able to handle all of me.”

  How two sisters could be so dissimilar was beyond me. When I considered the personality differences between Maggie and all four of her sisters, I truly had respect for Ben and Lucy Roarke. “Are you helping with the costume extravaganza, Helena?” I changed the subject to keep the greeting, or me, from overheating.

  “You bet. Maggie needs someone to spice up her initial designs. Wait until you see my costume,” Helena added before opening the front door and inviting me inside the house. A narrow staircase led guests upstairs to the second and third floors where all the bedrooms were located. In the front of the main floor were two parlors, one for afternoon cocktails and social occasions, another functioning as a reading or movie room depending on the night. “I'm not supposed to dress provocatively since I'll be serving appetizers and drinks, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  From where I stood, she had no sleeves. And her skirt barely covered essential parts. Not that I was complaining all that much. Months ago, I'd been judging one of my students for dressing in skimpy couture. Today, I was fine with it. I suppose that's what happened when I went long enough without any physical connection. I either had the strongest willpower known to man or I was about to make a big mistake again—potentially with someone I shouldn't. “Looking forward to it,” I said before turning to Maggie. “Have you decided on your costume?”

  Maggie wasn't bringing a date given she would spend most of the night catering to all the wealthy donors. Connor Hawkins, my former best friend, and possibly new best friend again, had asked Maggie to go with him, but she indicated she'd rather go out the following day on a real date. Despite Eleanor's attraction to Connor, I stood by my promises and let the comment go. Maggie and I had agreed to focus on our friendship. Besides, I still had to figure out what was going on with Francesca. Can you divorce a dead person? I know you can't marry two women at once in Pennsylvania—not that I wanted to—but according to the government, Francesca was dead. According to the truth, she was alive and kicking. Furiously. Yeah, I'm a little frustrated these days.

  “It's a surprise, but I did tell Connor. I expect him to wear something similar. I'm a heroine, but whether he chooses my mortal enemy or goes with someone she loves will be very telling!” Maggie sat across from the fireplace in a tall wingback chair that had been covered in a Scottish tartan pattern.

  “Cheney and I are gonna coordinate our duds,” Helena said. “He's perfect for his costume, or at least his lack of costume, I should say. Do you think he'll be too chilly in a loincloth, Maggie?”

  Maggie's eyes burst open wider than one of Nana D's duck eggs. “We talked about this! You're serving food and drink, you need to dress like you would at Mom and Dad's inn. Respectable. I don't care if you spruce it up a little with something sexy, but there should be more body parts clothed than not clothed. Got it?”

  Helena appeared to acquiesce, then poured herself a tumbler of brown-colored liquor from a crystal decanter idling on the bar cart. I checked my watch—only four o'clock. “I take it your shift is over, Helena?” I didn't want to get her in trouble, but Maggie needed my support to rein in the boundaries.

  “It is not over. She only started an hour ago. Put the whiskey down, Helena. Isn't it time for an update on tomorrow's waitstaff? I got you that job with the catering service, you better not make me sorry I went to bat for you.” Maggie had hired a catering event manager who recently opened a new company, Simply Stoddard. She always tried to support local businesses, especially start-ups trying to build up clientele. Cheney was the owner's son, and once Helena had met him, she begged Maggie to recommend her for a part-time position at Simply Stoddard. “Karen Stoddard and I are meeting tonight to finalize everything for the event. Are we ready?”

  Helena confirmed, then excused herself claimin
g she had rooms to clean and beds to turn down before the guests retired for the night. I raised my eyelids when she disappeared to the second floor. “As brazen as ever, I see.”

  “I adore her, but she's driving me crazy. At twenty-eight, I'd gotten my second degree, had a full-time librarian job, and set up a genealogy research service as a side gig to earn extra money. Helena's always caught up with some guy these days, I can't keep track,” Maggie said with a dash of exhaustion. “I'm sure she'll be an asset tomorrow. Hospitality is supposed to be her strong suit.”

  “I'm looking forward to the costume extravaganza. Do you think you'll get the rest of your donations to begin the renovations soon?” I asked. Maggie shared the names of a few folks on the guest list—the usual Stantons, Paddingtons, Greys, and Nutberrys but also some of the upper-middle class families who were interested in contributing to the cause.

  After helping with the final details for the signage, giveaway bags, and surprise lottery drawing, I hugged Maggie goodbye and returned to campus. I had a priority task from a demanding barracuda to finish in my office—posting my syllabus and required class reading for the summer session before my last drop of patience with Myriam had evaporated.

  Once work was completed, I walked to my SUV and noticed Millard Paddington exiting the cable car platform. I hadn't seen Nana D's septuagenarian friend since the last mayoral debate but welcomed a chance to speak with the brilliant businessman-turned-landscaper. After a recent disaster at his family's company, Millard had stepped back in to run the multi-layered conglomerate until things stabilized, but his heart belonged to the vast gardens he'd built on his family's estate.

  “It's late for you to be on campus on a Saturday night, Kellan. Burning the near-midnight oil?”

  “I could say the same for you, Millard. Not out with Nana D this evening? I thought you were going to help her and Emma with last-minute votes for the mayoral race.” I shook his hand and leaned against the wooden railing. The pale color of his skin and the stoop to his normally erect posture made him look tired and worn down.

  “I had to cancel. Needed to mediate the ridiculous disagreements between Anita Singh and George Braun about the plans for the upcoming Mendel flower show. George is serving as our master of ceremony next week when we cut the ribbon and open the doors to a special new exhibit. It'll be quite spectacular.” Millard noticed my uncertain haze and brought me up to speed on the event's history.

  Gregor Mendel, an Austrian monk who'd discovered and studied principles of hereditary, genetics, and botany in the mid-1800s, was the inspiration for an annual flower show held in Europe over many decades. It'd crossed the Atlantic Ocean five years earlier and stopped in a handful of major US cities. Scientists, botanists, and doctors would present their research from the prior year and share new knowledge with one another. Each brought extensive samples of the flowers they studied to make the exhibits more interactive for the general public. The team also spread key news about how communities could save the bumble bee population or use herbal medicines rather than non-homeopathic manufactured solutions.

  It sounded fascinating to me, but I wasn't sure why it ended up in a small town like Braxton. “Why were they fighting?”

  “Dr. Singh runs the entire science program at Braxton. I believe she's threatened by George's presence and fought with Dean Mulligan about allowing him to teach a class this summer.”

  I was about to ask him for more details when I noticed a few drops of sweat rolling down his cheek. “I appreciate the overview. Are you feeling okay?”

  Millard dabbed his neck and forehead with a kerchief from his coat pocket. His bushy caterpillar eyebrows knitted together as he sighed. “Long days, Kellan. My nephew is at Second Chance Reflections focusing on his rehabilitation for another month. I can't keep running the company for Timothy much longer, all the while maintaining the Paddington estate gardens in tip-top shape and coordinating the whole flower show by myself.”

  I'd been wondering how much longer before Timothy would be released to the helm of the family company. After a nasty substance and gambling addiction, he'd finally sought help in the form of a three-month recovery program. “I assume George Braun can take a larger load of the work?”

  “Yes, but it requires a tremendous amount of effort to add in this unplanned location. We're incredibly lucky to get someone of his caliber at Braxton. George is working with an event management company to organize the guest attendee portions of the show, and he's hiring an assistant to work in the labs for his summer class.” As Millard shuffled toward his car, I followed him to hear the rest of his response but also ensure he didn't collapse from exhaustion.

  “That should free up a few hours each day for George to oversee the Mendel flower show and its upcoming exhibits. To give you a break, right?” I gently guided his arm along our path down the steps.

  “He's also presenting the personal research he's been working on for most of his life. George is an expert in botany, blood carcinogens, and the medicinal uses of plants and flowers. Maybe I should ask him for an herbal supplement to keep me going,” Millard quipped.

  Interesting. George Braun worked in the same field as Ursula's parents. Was he familiar with them or their past research? Did he have something to do with the notes from Ursula's stalker? I couldn't think of a reasonable approach to discuss it at the moment, but I'd give it thought before meeting the professor the following Monday for breakfast. “Don't push yourself. I'm sure it's been a difficult spring after losing your sister-in-law and controlling the tumult within your family.”

  “After George and his assistant get settled next week, I'll take a step back. Good seeing you, Kellan. Please tell Seraphina I'll reschedule with her in a few days,” Millard uttered as he slid into his shiny white Cadillac and drove off.

  The man looked quite peaked. I made a note on my phone to ask Eustacia, his sister, to check on him the following day. I worried Millard was doing too much and might be unintentionally harming himself. I also entered a reminder on my calendar to research George Braun before meeting him at the diner. I couldn't reveal Ursula's true identity, but maybe the professor knew someone who might have a grudge against her family or whether the assistant from twenty-five years ago was still causing problems about the loss of all the research. Or was he the assistant?

  Chapter 3

  After a relaxing Sunday together, I hugged my daughter goodbye and left for the costume extravaganza at Braxton's Memorial Library. Nana D was babysitting Emma, who claimed her throat was scratchy and didn't want to visit her friend for a play date. My daughter secretly preferred Nana D as her caretaker for the evening. I also suspected it was collusion to give my nana a night off from the campaign trail. Nana D didn't agree with me that the event would offer a perfect photo opportunity to show her raising money for a great cause. She worried people would think she was goofing off.

  I dressed as Sherlock Holmes since I wouldn't be taking a date to the party and those around me would expect an ironic yet fitting costume. Sherlock was hardly ever seen with a woman on his arm but frequently noted as resembling a handsome devil. I thought of myself in the same manner, at least years ago before I became a mature and dedicated parent. Now, my free time was spent hunting down a wife who baffled me at every turn the last two months.

  I wore a charcoal-colored, A-line tweed suit with a well-fitted black dress shirt that accentuated the impressive results of my last few workouts at Grey Sports Complex. I needed to amaze my colleagues, and the muffler, leather gloves, and classic waterproof, long gray coat only made the outfit more authentic. I liked to dress well, but when it involved locating clothing from one-and-a-half centuries ago, I had to do extensive research. I chose a few key accessories to hit home exactly what kind of hero I would be for this campus. Nana D swooned and whistled before I left Danby Landing.

  When I walked through the front entrance of the library, I was astounded at the rapidly deteriorating building's marvelous transformation. The drab, outdated wa
lls were covered in a silk fabric that had been draped from the vaulted ceilings to the sunken floors and tied back with gilded curtain rods. At the end of each was a picture of a famous hero or villain affixed to a crystal plate. Each had a small, glowing reading light that looked like an old-fashioned candlestick. Velvet ropes and a long, narrow red carpet guided guests through the foyer into the main reading hall. All the research tables had been moved to the outer edges of the room creating space for everyone to mingle and socialize.

  I scanned the room making a list of everyone I knew, which was more difficult than expected given the number of people whose costumes either masked their identity or distorted their appearance. I assumed that Ursula's stalker would be unfamiliar to me. There was a minute chance it could be someone we knew attempting revenge, but I couldn't worry about it until I found the culprit. He or she said they'd be attending the costume extravaganza. I'd promised Ursula I'd do everything I could to scour the room for a list of potential candidates. She'd begged me not to tell Sheriff Montague anything about the notes until we had some idea of who it might be. I'd given into the pressure knowing it was the wrong decision but also recognizing it was Ursula who'd originally asked me to investigate her past.

  Two cocktail bars had been fashioned from elegant French credenzas the Paddington family had donated to the costume extravaganza. A parchment scroll advertised various champagne drinks available to guests, and several waiters and waitresses navigated the room carrying silver trays with canapes and hors d'oeuvres. I'd seen the menu beforehand and couldn't wait to sample the fig and prosciutto crostini the Stoddards had included as a complimentary thank you for choosing their catering service. I hadn't encountered Helena, but based on the description of her costume, she'd stand out from the others.

  A four-piece string orchestra that was flanked by two bars played a Vivaldi classic. Dressed as King Henry VIII, Judge Grey led his granddaughter, recent Braxton graduate Carla Grey, to the dance floor. Carla dressed as Anne Boleyn, one of Henry's dead wives, and had included an unsavory gash across her neck with what appeared to be fake blood. Beheaded for witchcraft, Anne was seen as a villain by some, a heroine by others. The magistrate's choice in costumes was befitting given all I'd known about him and his many wives over the years. As I passed by, Carla said, “You always were the artful detective, Professor Ayrwick.” Carla would be staying in Braxton and had obtained a junior dealer job at an art gallery. I continued walking toward the bar where I hoped I could count on a group of faculty to provide cover from the daunting Grey family. If not, a potent drink would be a good fallback.