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| The Flower Shop Connection | |
| By jean.day | ||||||||||
| 03 March 2006 | ||||||||||
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This isn't really my sort of thing, but since you kindly included me in the scenario, I thought I should at least put in an appearance. But if you need a victim or two, I would be happy to volunteer. It seemed chilly, though a bright sunny morning. Ms. Day wearily closed the flower shop door behind her, feeling every one of her fifty something years and putting her coat and hat on the rack, began to get organised for the day’s business. But she was uneasy. It wasn’t just the unnatural chill, there was a sort of ominous feeling in the air. Something was afoot, and she didn’t know what it was, but she knew it made her uncomfortable. She arranged the latest bright tulips and daffodils attractively on the counter, and waited for her first customer of the day. She ran her hands through her curly greying hair, and couldn’t help but think back on the conversation she had overheard yesterday at the post office. She was minding her business, looking through the Easter cards when Brook, the young flighty girl behind the post office desk, came out and siddled up to her blousy sister, Tanya. “Have you got it?” she whispered? “Of course, you nit,” Tanya returned. “All of it?” “Yes, all of it, stop worrying.” Of course, Ms. Day had no idea was “It” was, and why it was so important, but she was sure whatever “It” was, it was illegal and probably immoral as well. She wondered if she should have a word with Sgt. Bagheera, the sweet policeman who came in to buy his wife flowers quite often. She knew she hadn’t much to go on – but what if something nasty happened and she had withheld the evidence she had. She would never forgive herself. Just then Mary Walker came in the door. She should have been at school by now, as it was well past nine. She looked smart in her green velvet trouser suit, far too smart for a primary school teacher. The children would surely be wiping their painty fingers all over her clothes, and heaven knows how she would get it out again. “Good Morning, Miss Walker,” Ms Day said. “And what can I get you today?” “Oh, well, um, you see, I am just looking,” she said, and pretended to look over the various stock on display, but all the time looking over her shoulder at the door, expectantly. “Are you waiting for someone to come in?” said Ms. Day, with some annoyance. She really didn’t have time to chat with those who weren’t interested in her flowers. She suspected Miss Walker was playing truant from school and having a clandestine meeting with someone in her shop, and she did not want to be a party to that!
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