Back on Blossom Street Read Free Page B

Colette.
    Colette’s eyes momentarily met mine. “I’ll catch up with you later, Lydia,” she said and headed back upstairs.
    Margaret’s gaze followed Colette. “You like her, don’t you?”
    “She’s great.” I wished my sister would give Colette a chance. Hoping the sympathy factor might work, I added, “Today’s her dead husband’s birthday. She’d started telling me about it when you arrived.”
    Margaret had the grace to look ashamed. “That’s tough,” she said, her own eyes returning to the stairs. The door had been left open and Whiskers wandered down.
    “I know the rental income’s a plus, but frankly I don’t trust her,” Margaret said.
    I sighed; I’d heard this far too often and it still made no sense to me.
    “Why not?” I asked defensively.
    “Think about it,” Margaret said. “Colette’s obviouslyfar more capable than she’s letting on. Why is she working in a flower shop? She could get a job anywhere.”
    “She just lost her husband,” I muttered.
    “A year ago. Okay, that’s tragic and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t mean she has to go into hiding, does it?”
    “She isn’t hiding.” I didn’t know that for sure. But I argued with Margaret because I sincerely liked Colette; my sister was overreacting and it troubled me that she went through life seeing everyone as suspect.
    “Then why’s she working next door for minimum wage?” Margaret pressed. “There’s more to her than meets the eye and until we find out what it is, I don’t think it’s wise to be so chummy.”
    “Everyone handles grief differently,” I went on to explain, although I didn’t have the answers Margaret wanted. It was true that Colette had made a lot of major changes in a short time. Equally true that I didn’t know much about her circumstances.
    “I doubt any of this has to do with her husband, anyway,” Margaret said, still looking in the direction of the stairs. “Mark my words, Colette’s hiding something.”
    My sister sometimes shocked me with the things she said. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, that’s ridiculous!”
    Margaret raised one shoulder. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Something about her doesn’t sit right with me. I know you like her and apparently Susannah does, too, but I’m reserving judgment until we learn more about her.”
    I shook my head stubbornly. My instincts told me Colette was a good person.
    Margaret frowned at my wordless response. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
    Careful? She made Colette sound like a fugitive. “You’ve been reading too many detective novels,” I teased, knowing how much my sister enjoyed readingsuspense fiction. She kept a paperback tucked inside her purse and enjoyed discussing the plots with me. I tend to listen to audio books; that way, I can “read” and knit at the same time. That’s my idea of multitasking.
    “Has Colette ever mentioned where she used to work before Susannah’s Garden?” Margaret asked.
    “No…but why should she?”
    Margaret cast me one of the looks that suggested I was far too trusting.
    Clearly Margaret had a more vivid imagination than I did. “I don’t think she’s in the witness protection program, if that’s what you’re implying.” I walked to the front of the shop, rolled up the shade on the door and turned the Closed sign to Open. I saw that the rain had intensified in the last while. Whiskers immediately leaped into the window and curled up, purring softly.
    “I wanted to discuss another knitting class,” I said, remembering my thoughts of earlier that morning. I flipped the light switch and through the steamy windows of the French Café across the street, I saw my friend Alix Townsend, who worked there as a baker. The rain came down in a torrent, falling so hard it bounced against the pavement and ran in the gutters. It’d been nearly two weeks since Alix and I had talked and I’d missed her. I knew she had less free time these days, since she was in the middle of planning her