Anne stepped forward. “My life,” she said, surprised at the desperation straining her voice. “Please, we won’t keep you, I swear.”
Rachel looked at Anne, and sighed heavily.
Half an hour later, the sign on the door had been flipped to closed, but anyone looking through the storefront window would have seen three women in black, standing on the far side of the counter in front of three stacks of order slips. Mary, Judy, and Anne were each paging through the weekend’s slips, but so far no red roses had been sold to a Kevin Satorno, anyone with the initials K.S., or any other aliases he would have used.
At least one that Anne could imagine. She had only ten orders left and she was already feeling it was a fool’s errand. Kevin would never leave his real name or a real address. He was a fugitive and he was smart. But she wanted to be thorough and she tried not to be discouraged. There were two other piles. “How you doing, Mary?” she asked. “Any luck?”
“Not so far.”
“Don’t give up!” Judy said, but Anne could see her pile was down to five orders. No way was there an order for Kevin. It was a waste of time. She couldn’t face it. If they didn’t get him now, when would they? At her funeral? How many fake ceremonies could they stage? She returned to her receipts. Invoice # 00547, Invoice # 00548, Invoice # 00549.
Anne sighed. That was it. No more orders. She fought back tears of frustration. “Somebody please tell me that they found his order,” she said aloud.
Mary bit her lip. Her stack had been searched and turned over. “No Satorno. No name here even remotely suspicious. Just a bunch of orders for red roses and red, white, and blue carnations.”
Judy was examining her last invoice. “Lots of roses, none to him. Most of these orders were bought by women, but he wouldn’t have gone that far with an alias.” She turned to Anne. “Maybe we should just take all the red-rose orders and go to each house that’s listed, regardless of name.”
Anne shook her head. “No. He’d leave a fake address. Why wouldn’t he? I bet he walked in, paid in cash, got his flowers, and walked out.”
Rachel came from the back office, her apron gone and her hair swept back by a headband made from a leftover ribbon. She held a Hefty bag full of trash. “I’m all done locking up out back. I even cleaned out the delivery vans. Did you find him?”
“No,” Anne answered, dejected.
“I’m sorry. If I could think of another way to help you, I would.” Rachel logged off the computer at the counter, then unfolded the Hefty bag and snapped it open. “I only have one chore left, then I really do have to go. My family expects me at a barbecue.”
“Sure, I understand,” Anne said. She was wracking her brain. What else could they do? Should they go to the houses? Check if the addresses really were fake?
“My brother’s already there, and my parents.” Rachel reached under the counter, pulled out a large wastebasket painted with flowers, and hoisted it with one skinny arm. Anne grabbed the Hefty bag by its yellow drawstring and held the other side open for her, having nothing else to do but cry. “Thanks,” Rachel said, with a grateful smile. “My brother always leaves the trash for me. Pig.”
“Thank you for trying to help.” Anne held her side of the Hefty bag while piles of silver flower-wrap, green tissue, and plant material tumbled inside, followed by a discarded catalog and soggy paper towels. Then she saw it. A plain white card.
“Wait!” Anne shouted. She shoved a hand in the trash, attacking it like a madwoman, shifting through the papers and cards and ferns. “Did you see? I thought I saw another card Kevin wrote.”
Mary came over. “Like the first? Another one?”
Judy reached for the Hefty bag. “In the trash?”
Anne rooted around the trash, fishing for the card. “Can I dump it, please? Please? Rachel, please? I’d owe you so big-time, I swear.”
Rachel half-smiled. “Sometimes I hate this job.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. It’s just that I saw something he wrote.” Anne took the bag and dumped it on the floor, shaking it empty. She knelt down beside the filth and started sifting.
Mary held up the plain, white card they’d brought with them. “It looked like this, and says, ‘I love you.’ That’s all.”
Rachel took the card from Mary’s hand, examining it. “This looks familiar to me. I remember this. I don’t remember the guy, but I remember the cards.”
“Cards?” Judy asked. “What do you remember? Cards? Plural?”
“Cards!” Anne almost cried, half-listening as she went through the trash. Rosebuds, daisy petals, gum, cigarette butts, and inventory sheets went flying. There was the card! She picked it up and held it high. “’I love you,’ it says.” Then her eyes fell on another card atop the trash.
“My God,” Mary said, hushed, and Judy bent over the trash pile and started looking.
“Here’s another!” Judy said, finding a white
“I thought that was a little weird!” Rachel exclaimed. “It’s coming back, now. This dude wrote the card at the counter, which a lot of people do, but he wrote it over and over. At first, I thought it was so cute. He wanted it to be just right. I made a joke but he didn’t laugh. He kept writing them over and over. Is
“Yes!” Anne was arranging the cards in a line on the counter. Eleven cards lined up like a dotted line.
“Oh, no. I was mad busy. He must have been one of the ones I didn’t fill out.” Rachel’s face clouded. “He must have come at the worst time. I didn’t have a chance, I just wanted to make the sale and not hold anybody up. That’s why I don’t remember his face, I guess.”
“No address?” Anne’s heart went through the fake-grass floor, but she didn’t want to make Rachel feel bad. Kevin had probably planned it that way so he wouldn’t be recognized, or maybe he just got lucky. “He wouldn’t have left a real address anyway. Did you see where he came from?”
“No. I’m so sorry.” Rachel looked so crestfallen, Anne reached out and touched her arm.
“It’s all right. Did he drive or was he on foot, do you know?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t park around here. He must have walked.”
“Do you recall how he paid?”
“Cash, I think. Yeah, cash.” Rachel screwed up her cute nose. “It is weird to write the same thing so many times, isn’t it? I mean, some people mess up or get obsessive, but not like that.”
“He’s more obsessive than most.” Anne found a laugh, and suddenly Rachel brightened.
“Wait! I remember, he left his pen! He left his pen! He was writing so many cards and he was so happy when he got a good one, and then I made the joke and noticed him, and he got pissed off. He walked out so fast he left his pen. Does that matter?”
“I doubt it, but let’s see.” Anne couldn’t help but feel excited, and Rachel was already grabbing the tall white pen-and-pencil holder.
“I put it in here. His pen, with the others.” Suddenly she dumped the cup on the counter. Pens, pencils, a screwdriver, and an Exacto knife clattered onto the clean surface and started rolling around. There had to be thirty pens; red, green, blue, and white, piled like a child’s pick-up sticks. Then Anne noticed something about the pens.
“They have logos! Maybe they’ll say where they’re from.” Anne scooped up a navy ballpoint, twisted it, and read the imprinted letters out loud. “Property of The Best Grandpop in The World.’”
Judy was reading a purple pen she’d found. “’Claritin-D 24-hour.’”
Mary squinted at a black pen. “‘Ace Appliance.’ I use them!”
