Feliz Naughty Dog - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,39
to do business with us, told us if we offered this to Aldo, he might come around and add us to his list of very exclusive vendors.”
“So, the ghost orchid is a…bribe.” Agnes slowly lifted a hand to her mouth to cover the string of very bad words threatening to tumble out.
“We like to think of it as an invitation to do business together,” Sammy said.
“And the corpse?” Finnie asked, her own voice sounding reed-thin.
“Wow.” Big Mike stifled a laugh. “You two are some impressive spies.”
“But what about the dead body?” Finnie stepped closer, straightening the glasses that refused to sit right on her face.
Sammy drew back, then nodded. “The corpse is another of the rarest plants in the world. One of our guys was at a landscape job that Fiore & Sons did, and they had one. If they were able to get a corpse, then they must have signed an exclusive deal with our biggest competitors, which is bad for us. Very bad.”
“’Cause Fiore & Sons is the absolute best landscaping company in the county. They get the biggest jobs and make the most money,” Mike added. “The whole family is highly regarded, but Aldo, well. He’s like…”
“Aldo’s the most respected man in his business,” Sammy finished for him. “He’s fair, smart, pays on time, treats everyone like family, and well, he always plays Santa at the mall. How can you not love a guy like that?”
Agnes pressed her fingers to her lips, his words coming back to her…
Do you always judge people so harshly, Agnes?
She wanted to turn one more time, but simply didn’t have the nerve. She was too ashamed.
“So, if you know the guy, maybe you can help us.” Mike held out the ghost orchid. “Give him this and put in a good word for FBI. Not the FBI, but…” He smiled. “We’re just an up-and-coming business and would love for his company to buy our products. It’s that simple.”
Finnie bit her lip and took the plant. “A ghost orchid. Well, that’s a new one on me, lad.”
“Thanks for your help, ladies,” Sammy said.
“Merry Christmas!” With a nod, Mike glanced over Agnes’s shoulder to where they’d been sitting at the food court. He shrugged and smiled, then the two men walked away, rounding the Christmas tree without looking back.
“Agnes,” Finnie whispered.
“I know, I know. We’re idiots. Fools. Conclusion jumpers. What can I do?”
“Nothing.” Finnie patted her arm and turned them both toward the food court. “He’s gone.”
Disappointment whipped through her. And regret. And frustration. And one little kick of what the hell was I thinking listening to Finnie Kilcannon?
“He left something on the table, Agnes.” Finnie gave a nudge. “What is that?”
Agnes shifted her attention to the empty table, seeing something white and folded on the surface. “The missing puppy flyer?” Frowning and hating herself for hoping it was more—a note of forgiveness?—she led the way back to where they’d been sitting.
Yes, that was the flyer, but the paper was intricately folded into the shape of a long-stemmed flower.
“A rose,” Finnie whispered.
“Oh.” Agnes let out a little moan. “Just like Nik.”
“In what way?” Finnie asked.
She smiled, surprised that tears welled up. “The day he came to my home to tell my parents he didn’t care what I’d done, that I would be his wife, he brought roses from the florist shop where he worked. And every year on the anniversary of that very day, he gave me a rose.”
“And now you have a paper one.” Finnie lifted it and handed it to Agnes. “What do you think that means?”
Agnes closed her eyes and dropped into the empty seat. “That I misjudged him.”
“We both did,” Finnie said, sliding into the next seat, taking off her crooked glasses so Agnes could see her gaze was direct and sincere. “I assumed the worst, believed old rumors, and did my level best to keep you from happiness because I was afraid of bein’ alone.” The confession came out raw and real, in thick brogue that reached in and tore Agnes’s heart out.
“Which is a testament to what a good friend you are,” Agnes said softly, laying two hands on her friend’s arm. “What’s a rose when you have a four-leaf clover?”
Finnie’s little frown formed. “Not followin’ ye, lass.”
“I believe I’ve seen a little stitching on the shelf that says, ‘A good friend is like a four-leaf clover…’”
“‘Hard to find and lucky to have,’” Finnie whispered. “Are you forgivin’ me, then, Agnes?”
She smiled and gave Finnie’s arm a squeeze. “’Tis