Spike Read Free Page A

annoyed. “What is it, Hi? I have to go.”
    Hi was holding the first centerpiece, an odd look on his face. “Something’s not right.”
    Curiosity won out, and I hurried over to him. “What do you mean?”
    Hi shoved the wilting arrangement at my face. “Smell this.”
    I batted dead lily petals from my eyes, glaring at Hi. But then I noticed it, too. A faint chemical aroma, wafting from the vase water. Shoving my nose closer, I inhaled deeply, irises washing blue as my sensory powers amplified the odor.
    My nose wrinkled. The smell was harsh. Bitter. “What
is
that?”
    Hi shrugged. “Water mixed with . . . something. Maybe a fancy preservative?”
    I looked around at all the dead flowers. “Then why are they all dead?
Super
dead.”
    I took another whiff, concentrating on the bouquet of aromas emanating from the vase. Once upon a time, I was better at this—I could’ve told you what lake the water came from—but I could still sense that something was off.
    “I’m not certain,” I said slowly, “but part of this mixture smells like rubbing alcohol. There’s more, too. Another chemical. Acrid. It burns my nostrils.” I took a step back, shook my head to clear it. “All I can think of is . . .
weed killer
.”
    Hi snorted, pulling dead stems from the liquid. “Basically the last two things you’d use to keep plants alive. Stupendous job, florists! Prepare for a really bad review on Yelp.”
    “Seriously.” Yet the hairs on my arms were standing. How could such an obvious mistake occur? What kind of bonehead would place flowers into a solution that would kill them within minutes?
    The door opened, driving all other thoughts from my mind. Shelton slipped inside, followed by Aunt Tempe and Harry, Kit’s mom. She’s also technically my grandmother, but we hadn’t spent much time together. Harry’s an odd bird, to say the least.
    The two women froze, ogling the flower massacre.
    “What in God’s name?” Harry’s dyed-blond curls quivered as she stared in disbelief. “Who designed this look, Tim Burton?”
    Tempe shook herself, strode quickly to my side. “Okay. Disaster. Do we have a plan?”
    I nodded, standing a bit straighter. Tempe had that effect on me. “Every flower in here is toast, but there’s a botanical garden on thegrounds. I sent Ben to alert Kit—it might get expensive when we gut the flowerbeds to replace the centerpieces.”
    Tempe closed her eyes a moment. Then, oddly, barked a laugh. “Clinical and effective. Good thinking. If the manager doesn’t have us arrested for destruction of property, that is.”
    I cringed. “I was just going to get his permission.”
    Tempe shook her head firmly. “We pick first, ask permission afterward. Fortune favors the bold, right?”
    •  •  •
    Roses.
    Red. White. Pink. Yellow.
    Working swiftly and silently, we plucked dozens of delicate buds, then smuggled them into the ballroom undetected. Hi kept lookout by the door as Harry assembled the arrangements. In thirty minutes, the chamber had a brand-new look.
    A damn good one,
if I do say so mysel
f.
    Whitney would notice the changes instantly, of course, but no one else should. Harry had done a masterful job. As Tempe slid the last centerpiece into position, I breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, with minutes to spare.
    “Okay everyone, let’s go!” Tempe was tapping her watch.
    “Things are happening!” Hi called from the door. He’d cracked it an inch, was peering out at the guests in the courtyard. “Kit just walk-ran down the aisle. He looks like he’s freaking out. And there’s a green-dress girl circling the audience. She looks mad.”
    I winced. “Searching for the maid of honor, no doubt.”
    “Go.” Harry made shooing motions with her hands. “Y’all are in the wedding party. The service starts in five, and they must be frantic. I’m done here. Tempe and I will be on your heels.”
    The boys straightened their tuxes, then hurried out to join Kit