Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like some flowers.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, you’re in the right place,” he says and checks his watch. “But I am closing early this afternoon so if you can let me know the occasion or if you have something special in mind, I can help you.”
I hadn’t thought about this.
“A budget, perhaps?” he asks when I don’t answer right away. His eyes move over my bespoke suit.
That’s when I glance at the framed photo on the counter. On top is a handwritten note asking, ‘have you seen me?’ with an arrow pointing down to Mercedes’s smiling face.
I peer closer. It’s a smile I haven’t seen. Not that I’ve seen her smile much. Maybe she does more of that in her other life. I feel that thought like a physical thing. A tightening of my chest. She’s standing between Georgie and her friend, Solana. They must be at some kind of party from their dress and Mercedes, for as gorgeous as she looks, is definitely more than a little tipsy. The three of them have their arms around each other and Solana is bent double laughing as Georgie kisses Mercedes’s cheek, he, too, laughing too hard at something.
“All proceeds from purchases this week will go toward finding her,” he says somberly. He picks up the framed photo and dusts something off it, then sets it down and looks at me. “Our friend in the middle is missing. Haven’t seen or heard from her in two months.”
“Is it possible she doesn’t want to be seen or heard from?”
“No, it’s not.” He looks at her photo when he continues. “I think someone hurt our beautiful, sweet girl.”
His words repeat in my head. Someone hurt our beautiful, sweet girl.
“It’s the only explanation,” he continues. “And every time we try to put up an ad or file a missing person’s report, poof, it disappears. Like fucking voodoo.”
I clear my throat.
“Someone powerful doesn’t want her found. That’s what I think. But we’re holding a candlelight vigil this weekend. And every news channel will stream it live. Then let’s see the bastards try to stop us.”
“A candlelight vigil?”
“You should come.” He looks me over again. “Although I’m not sure you’re the type.”
“What type is that?”
“Never mind. Tell me the occasion and I’ll make you a gorgeous bouquet.”
“What kind of flowers does she like?”
“Who?”
“Mercedes.”
He pauses and I realize my mistake. His gaze sharpens on me. He’s trying to think back if he said her name.
“Roses. In every color but red.”
“Hm. Then I’ll take them.”
“Them?”
“All the roses you have in every color but red.”
“That’s a lot of roses.”
I take the black American Express out of my wallet. “Good.”
He looks suspiciously at me but punches a number into the register. I’m sure he’s marking up his roses but I don’t care. I swipe the Amex and sign my name, then take a different card out of my wallet.
“You’ll deliver them personally to this address tomorrow night. You and your friend, Solana Lavigne.”
He reads my name on the card, my position, then meets my gaze. His is harder this time. Nothing friendly left in it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Georgie.” I turn to leave, picking up a ready-made bouquet of the roses I just bought and walking out of the shop before he can say another word and before I can understand what I just did.
When I get home, Lois tells me dinner is almost ready. I want Mercedes to eat downstairs with me tonight. We need to get back into a normal rhythm. I can’t keep her locked up in her bedroom and she can’t keep ignoring me.
I knock softly in case she’s sleeping but when she doesn’t answer I open the door. My heart immediately drops to my stomach when I don’t see her, afraid of a repeat of what just happened. But then Mercedes emerges from the bathroom and stops dead when she sees me.
She’s dressed in a loose-fitting, ankle-length dress and picks up the sweater that’s lying on the foot of the bed and puts it on.
“Do you knock?”
“I did. You didn’t hear me.”
“Then wait until I do.”
I clear my throat, see the red gash where the whip must have caught her wrist. Before I have a chance to speak, her gaze moves to the flowers and she must recognize the paper wrapping because she crosses the room, grabs them out of my hand, confirms where they’re from and hugs them protectively to herself.
“What did you do?” She screams. “What the hell did you do?”
I hold my hands out, palms up. “I invited your friends to the house.”
“You what?” Clearly not what she was expecting.
“I invited your friends.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
She watches me suspiciously. “What’s your game?”
“There’s no game, Mercedes.”
“Then what do you want?”
I look down at the chipped pink polish on her toes. Not her usual shade of blood red. I recall Georgie’s words. Every color but red. I’m slow to return my gaze to hers.