Friday, February 2, 2024

January Book of the Month: Rise of the Ruthless by Davidson King



Summary:

Lucifer's Landing #2
Ren Ikeda’s world is falling apart. War has broken out in the streets of Lucifer’s Landing, and his entire empire is being dismantled one explosion at a time. Unsure of his men’s allegiance, but desperately needing protection, he snatches up an opportunity when it lands in his lap. Hiring Mykel Finlay, his complete opposite in every way, has the markings of being disastrous. Realizing Mykel may be the only person he can trust, he clings to the man despite the danger to his heart.

Mykel Finlay doesn’t like bad guys. As ex-police and military, he prides himself on walking the line of good, not evil. When his brother gets in a bind with Ren Ikeda, the Japanese mob boss, he must put aside his moral compass and dive into the murky waters of the mafia. The only thing Mykel isn’t prepared for is falling in love and willingly drowning for Ren, a man he should hate.

With the help of some very unlikely allies, Ren and Mykel try staying alive long enough to take down their enemies and grab a happily ever after neither man thought they wanted. Will their salvation end up leading them down a path of destruction, or will they actually prevail?

This is book two in my Lucifer’s Landing series and is not a standalone. It is highly recommended you read book one: War of the Wicked first.



Has it really been a whole year since we were first introduced to Lucifer's Landing? Doesn't seem possible, perhaps that's just me because when a book is as rich and thrilling as War of the Wicked was it never truly leaves my psyche.

When an author begins a new series, no matter how much I love the author's works to that point, there is always a layer of "can the author really knock another one out of the park?"  Lets face it, even the greatest authors of all time have been known to put out a clunker or 2 and be it next year or 20 years from now, the day will come when King has a slightly less than stellar release . . .
 
BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY!

Rise of the Ruthless is the exact opposite of clunker.

I'll admit I don't think I can say Ruthless topped Wicked but honestly that comes down to Wicked being the first.  The first is 99.999% of the time always my favorite.  Though Ren and Mykel definitely give Dante and Rainn a heated race for that notch in my heart representing Lucifer's Landing.  Does their pairing meet the "opposites attract" label? That's a toss up.  Yes they are definitely opposites in the "where my moral line in the sand sits" column(at least in the beginning) but their passion to protect loved ones and family is very much in the "equals" category.  The column I put them in is what I like to call "Snark and Cuddle".  They each give as good as they get, they can match snark for snark but they can both cuddle till their hearts explode from the emotional chemistry.  There is absolutely nothing I didn't like about them.

I can't forget Zeus.  How anyone could forget such a protective beast that can be both ferocious and gentle is unfathomable to me.  Animals often play a variety of roles in a story but I don't think I've ever loved one so dearly that they truly are their own character.  If Davidson King were to write a bonus chapter from Zeus' POV I would be first in line to gobble it up.

Now I won't touch on the mystery side of the story as I don't want to spoil anything for either Ruthless or Wicked for those who haven't visited Lucifer's Landing yet.  I will say that there might not be quite as many twists and turns as in Wicked but Ruthless still keeps you on your toes from page one.  There is never a dull moment for the characters or the reader.  

The passion and chemistry between not only Ren and Mykel but Ren and Dante's friendship is equally powerful(for different reasons but I still label it passionate chemistry).  I always find an extra special connection to stories and characters when there is more than just the romantic chemistry involved in the book which makes for an all encompassing storytelling experience.

It took me a few days to read the story and I wish I could say I did that on purpose to savor the King yumminess but it was time that dictated my reading clock.  Had time been on my side, I could easily have read this in one setting and then kicked myself for not savoring it, that's just how engrossing this entry is.  However you choose to set your reading pace, I highly recommend giving Lucifer's Landing a visit, if you haven't dipped your toe in yet you really should start with War of the Wicked because even though Rise of the Ruthless revolves around a different pairing there is an ongoing storyline.

RATING:





CHAPTER ONE
Ren Ikeda
“Thank you for dinner, Dante.”Rainn handed me my coat, a small grin adorning his face. He was a beautiful man, a good soul. Maybe too good for this cruel world. He’d shown great courage in the face of true evil when it came to Joseph Etienne.

Having been kidnapped and almost raped simply because he fell in love with Dante Scavo, the head of the Italian mob, didn’t diminish his shine one bit. If anything, it made it brighter.

“My pleasure. But, Ren, I have to ask you again if you’d like to stay here in this house. It’s not going to be safe for any of us right now, and you’re down in numbers.” The concern in Dante’s gaze warmed my heart. I was happy to have my friend again, and it touched me to see how worried he was for me. But my pride was too great.

“No, I will be fine. Asahi is with me, as is Minoto. I may have lost some protection, but I will replenish.” I buttoned my coat and mustered a smile for Dante and Rainn, who seemed to need convincing. “Besides, I’m safer in my penthouse than I am here. There, they have to climb twenty-seven floors in order to get me. Here, just one, maybe two.”

Rainn chuckled. “Please be safe.”

I knew if it hadn’t been for Rainn, Joseph would have killed me the night he’d destroyed my house. But Rainn’s quick thinking in cutting my hand and painting my neck and face in blood made them think I was dead, and that in turn had kept me alive. I would be forever grateful to this man.

“We will meet weekly. Nothing will change. I suggest we keep a united front on this, and perhaps people will think twice before attacking either of us.” Even with my smaller numbers, I believed that.

Dante held the door open for me. “I hope you’re right. But I’d feel better if you took some of my men.”

I’d known this would be his next request. “No, thank you. Let me handle my own house, Dante.”

He nodded curtly and followed me out to my car. Rainn stayed back but waved as soon as I reached the vehicle.

“Ren.” Dante stepped closer, and Asahi got into the passenger seat, giving us some privacy.

“What is it, Dante? I’m not taking any of your men.”

He shook his head and seemed unable to meet my eyes. “I understand. You’re as stubborn as I am, and it’s why I want you to listen to me.”

“Very well, what is it?” I scanned the area closest to the front of the house. A few of Dante’s men milled along the grounds, but far enough to be out of earshot. My men were in the car, also out of earshot.

“We often don’t show our pain to those around us, for fear it exposes us, shows weakness. I understand this deeply. When Rainn was missing, and we knew Joseph had him, that was when I realized I loved him—I’d never felt such terror, such fear over anything in my entire life.”

Was Dante confiding in me as a therapist? Was the worry over Rainn causing him pain even with him being home and safe?

“He’s okay, Dante. No one will harm him again.”

He nodded. “I know…I’m fucking this up, Ren.” Now he did meet my gaze, his eyes filled with sorrow and pain. “I know you cared greatly for Yuma, and I’m just here to tell you that if you need someone to talk to…if you need to⁠—”

Oh, absolutely not. I wouldn’t have this at all. “Dante, I wish for you to stop talking.” I was relieved when he snapped his mouth shut. “What Yuma was or wasn’t to me is my own business. While I appreciate what you’re stumbling through to say, I wish the matter to be dropped.” I rapped on the window, and Asahi stepped out. “Have a good night, Dante.”

Asahi opened my door, and I quickly got into the vehicle. To Dante’s credit, he did not try to push the issue, nor did he stop me from leaving.

On the drive to my penthouse, I thought a great deal about what Dante had said, and he was right. I needed more protection. The men I had were loyal and talented. But they were still only a few, and I couldn’t expect them to cover every shadow.

“Asahi?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like you to look into recruiting some people for protection. With everything going on here in Lucifer’s Landing, and this impending war between the Irish and the Greeks, I can’t deny that Dante is right and my numbers need replenishing.”

“Not a problem. I will get right on it. Would you like to meet with each person or⁠—”

“I trust you’ll choose the right people for the job, Asahi.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I leaned back on the headrest and closed my eyes. Dante was also right about my feelings regarding Yuma. I’d loved that man, and while I knew he’d understood my feelings, Yuma had been one hundred percent straight. A memory assaulted me of one night as we’d sat by my koi pond in the backyard. Yuma had been bolder than anyone I knew, and that conversation would always stay fresh in my mind.

“I wish I could love you, Ren, the way I know you love me.”

I turned toward him as he stared at the pond. The moonlight was bright, his every feature in view. I could see the heartbreak not loving me was causing him.

“Love is as evil as it is kind, Yuma. I wish I hated you. It would make everything so much easier.”

“I wish you hated me too.”

Before that moment, I’d never verbalized my feelings to Yuma, but clearly, I’d been more transparent than I’d thought. Yuma had been my number one, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d seen right through me and picked up on every little thing. Through the years my love for Yuma had changed…morphed into a strong respect. He’d died for me, and while I missed him terribly, I had put to rest any chance of him being my partner long ago.

“We’re here, sir,” Asahi said, interrupting my melancholy. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine, just tired.”

He didn’t say more, and it was something I was grateful to Asahi for. He was never intrusive when it came to feelings or emotions.

Earlier today, knowing I was going to Dante’s, I’d instructed two of my men to stay behind at the penthouse to make sure there were no issues. So, it was just Asahi and me on the elevator up while Minoto secured the car in the garage, and I was grateful he didn’t fill the silence with mindless babble.

The elevator doors opened, and I was assaulted by the sounds of yelling. One glance at Asahi and he stepped in front of me.

“Stay here,” he said, slowly walking in the direction of the noise.

I was a stubborn man, another fact Dante was correct about, and while I knew it would frustrate Asahi, I followed him to see what the commotion was.

“The way I see it is you’re out a hundred grand, and Mr. Ikeda’s house won’t be completed on time.” I heard one of my men speaking sternly.

“How am I out a hundred grand?” I knew that voice. It belonged to Louis Finlay, the contractor I’d hired to finish my house.

“Because he isn’t paying you a dime. Now that I think about it, you’re out two hundred grand, ’cause you’re going to fix it out of your own pocket.”

“I can’t do that!” Louis sounded desperate, and I decided it was the perfect time to make my presence known.

“Good evening, Mr. Finlay.” I darted a look at Asahi, who wasn’t too happy I’d left the elevator.

“Mr. Ikeda.”

“I’m going to venture a guess and say there’s an issue with my home?” I divested myself of my jacket and handed it to Loni, my housekeeper.

“It was a wiring issue, Mr. Ikeda.”

One of my guys, Eiko, rolled his eyes. “It was a guy you personally chose, Louis, to wire the house. And what happened after he was halfway done?”

I turned to Louis, awaiting his answer.

“He disappeared, and the lighting sparked, setting the wall on fire.” Louis practically mumbled his response, but I knew what I was hearing. The house wasn’t close to being done and now this setback.

“This is quite disappointing, Louis.” I slipped my shoes off.

“I’d worked with him before, and there’d never been an issue. I think something happened or⁠—”

“Be silent.” I held up a hand. “I want my home back, and I will pay to finish it. However, Satoshi is correct. You will be on the hook for the payment.”

“Mr. Ikeda…I…I can’t afford that.” Beads of sweat were forming on Louis’s forehead, and his lips quivered.

“Louis.” I sat on my couch, enjoying the soft leather and calming feel of the cushion as it hugged my body. “You will owe me, not whomever you hire to do the job. If you select someone and they fail, you are accountable.”

Louis’s eyes widened. I was positive owing a crime boss was far more frightening than owing a plumber or electrician. There was no question he was in a bad spot.

“How am I going to do that?” His voice shook, and I knew if he didn’t sit soon, he’d likely collapse.

“Satoshi, please get Louis a chair.” Satoshi grabbed a stool from the kitchen and slammed it next to Louis, who jumped. “Sit.” I gestured to the chair. “In a lot of instances, people who owe me don’t always have cash, so tell me something you have that might be lucrative to me.”

As the Old English proverb said, “You can’t get blood out of a stone,” so I’d be sure to get payment another way from Louis.

“Like trinkets, a house, some sort of collateral?” Louis was talking to me, but his gaze darted all around the room, looking at my men and me.

“Loni, would you get Louis a glass of water?” I took a breath and met Louis’s very terrified expression. “Relax, please. I’m not going to kill you. But I’m also not going to sweep this under the rug. Do you understand?”

He nodded quickly.

“Collateral works with banks, Louis. It’s something they hold in case you don’t pay. You’ve already told me you can’t pay. So what will you give me that equals the amount owed?”

Loni came in and handed Louis a tall glass of water, which he took with unsteady hands. “Thank you,” he whispered. Loni said nothing and left the room. Louis sipped the water, his brow furrowed, no doubt thinking about what he had that he could give me.

“Louis?”

My voice caused him to jump, and he spilled water over the front of his shirt. “S…sorry.”

“What do you have that I’m able to use?” I ignored his sputtering and his now-wet shirt, wanting very much for this conversation to end so I could go to sleep.

“I…I don’t know, Mr. Ikeda, I need to think.”

I nodded. It was a fair request. “Very well. You have forty-eight hours to come up with something. Eiko will retrieve you then and bring you to me.”

“And if I don’t have anything?”

It was a dangerous question to ask because I knew Louis understood what not paying a crime boss meant.

“Let’s hope you are a clever man and can think something up.” I stood, the soreness in my back reminding me of the stress that was my life making itself known. “Asahi will see you out.”

Louis muttered his thanks, but I was already walking down the hallway, toward my bedroom. I was exhausted, constantly putting on a front that said I was aware, powerful, and always ready, only lasted so long. I’d reached my quota for the day.

“Sir?”

I was about to undress when Eiko came to the doorway.

“What is it, Eiko?”

“Someone should watch Louis, in case he runs.” I nodded in agreement, unsure who I had to spare for such a task. “I can do it, sir. But what if he does try?”

I sat on my bed, exhaustion finally winning out. “If Louis tries to run, he makes his payment with his life.”

“Kill him?”

“Yes.”





Davidson King
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.


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Rise of the Ruthless #2

War of the Wicked #1

Series


📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Dearly Depotted by Kate Collins



Summary:

Flower Shop Mystery #3
Abby has her hands full at Jillian's wedding, doing triple duty as florist, bridesmaid - and grandma-sitter - all while wearing a horrendous floral print that makes her look like a clown. But the real trouble starts when the groom's ninety-year-old grandma disappears from the reception. While hunting for her, Abby discovers the body of Jack Snyder, one of the guests, behind, the minister's platform in the gazebo. And when Abby's assistant's new boyfriend becomes a suspect, she decides she must find out who killed Jack in the pulpit.





CHAPTER ONE 
“Red, white, and blue carnations . . . That’s what you ordered, right?” 

“That’s what I ordered,” I assured my customer, a thirty-four-year-old, bubblegum-chewing, Barbie doll look-alike by the name of Trudee DeWitt. We were standing on the dew-coated front lawn of her sprawling house early on the Fourth of July; so early, in fact, that I was not fully awake—otherwise I would have caught the note of concern in her voice. 

“Well, then,” she said with a nervous giggle. “Oops.” 

Oops? I blinked hard as my sleepy brain scrambled into alert. “They’re not red, white, and blue carnations?” 

“Not exactly.” Trudee motioned for me to follow, then started across the yard, wobbling unsteadily in her sequined red heels. In honor of the holiday she had donned a pair of extremely red, extremely short shorts and a tight, spangled T-shirt that looked like an explosion of fireworks across her bosom. Her shiny, silvery blond hair, pulled back in a loose, sexy braid tied with red, white, and blue ribbons, moved like a wiper blade across her back. 

The DeWitts had hired me to provide floral decorations for their Fourth of July barbeque bash, culminating in a giant U.S. flag spread over the grass behind their house. It was one of two jobs I’d agreed to take on for the holiday; Bloomers was normally closed on Independence Day. The other job was an opulent evening wedding and reception for my cousin Jillian-the-drama-queen, which was stressful enough all by itself without adding an oops to it. 

Trailing Trudee across the lawn were my helpers for the day, seventeen-year-old quadruplets Jimmy, Joey, Johnny, and Karl Dombowski, wearing unlaced Nikes, baggy jeans, and extra-large button-down shirts. The quads belonged to my assistant Lottie, who’d happily volunteered their services for the day to keep them out of trouble. I brought up the rear of our little parade, still trying to decipher what Trudee had meant by Not exactly. Not exactly carnations? 

When Trudee came to a halt in front of an insulated trailer and opened the tailgate, the boys quickly formed a semicircle around her, unable to take their eyes off the spangles bouncing in front of their noses. I broke through the ranks and stepped up to the gate. In the cool, fragrant interior I saw three enormous bins, each filled with a different color of carnation: patriotic blue, paper white, and—petal pink? 

“See what I mean?” Trudee asked, wrinkling her nose as if the pink flowers gave off an offensive odor.

“Not exactly red,” I concurred. 

“You can exchange them, can’t you?” 

On a holiday? Hours before her party? Was this her first visit to Earth? 

I grabbed the arm of one of the quads—I wasn’t sure which—slapped money into his palm, and said in his ear, “Go to the hardware store and buy every can of fire-engine red spray paint you can find. Hurry!” Then I turned back to Trudee with a smile. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” 

It had to be fine. I needed that big fat fee Trudee had promised. 

My cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my jeans pocket and read the message on the top. JILLIAN CALLING, it said, which could only have been worse if it had been Satan on the line. 

“Excuse me a moment. I have to take this call,” I told Trudee, opening the phone. 

“That’s okay. I need coffee. I’ll be inside.” 

As she undulated toward her house I forced a note of cheer in my voice. “Happy wedding day, Jillian.” 

“It’s off, Abby. The wedding is off. I can’t go through with it.” 

“Jillian,” I said through gritted teeth, “it’s early. You don’t get up until noon. Go back to bed for a few more hours and you’ll feel like a new woman.” 

“I’m serious, Abby. I’m going to call Claymore right now and tell him.”

I could tell by the determination in her voice that she meant it. “Hold on,” I told her, then said to the boys, “Go mark off the flag in the backyard. The string and stakes are in my car.” 

As they shuffled off, grumpy now that Trudee and her spangles had gone, I put the phone to my ear once more. “Jillian, one crisis per morning is all I allow myself, and I’ve already had it, so pay attention. You cannot call off this wedding. Do you know how many flowers I’ve ordered? . . . Jillian, are you listening?” 

She wasn’t. “Claymore is such a jerk. What did I ever see in him? Tell me!” 

What I wanted to tell her was “I told you so.” Claymore Osborne was the younger brother of Pryce, the rat who’d dropped me because his parents couldn’t live with the shame of my flunking out of law school. For the Osbornes it was all about appearances, and I had warned Jillian of that when she first showed me her three-carat diamond engagement ring. But when had she ever listened? Not when she’d gotten engaged to the Italian restaurant owner, the moody French artist, the English consulate, or the Greek plastic surgeon. In fact, not since she’d discovered boys. 

Jillian was tall, gorgeous, and twenty-five. She’d graduated from Harvard, grown up in a big house, vacationed in exotic locales, and had a father who was a stockbroker and a mother who golfed. Because of all that, Jillian fit in with the Osbornes. I never had. 

Besides not being able to cut it at law school, I was petite (the Osbornes liked statuesque women), I freckled rather than tanned, and I hated the country club scene. I’d gone to school on money from my grandfather’s trust supplemented by summer jobs, and I had a father who was a retired cop and a mother who taught kindergarten and made weird clay sculptures. 

The only reason the Osbornes hadn’t objected to me at first was because my two older brothers, Jonathan and Jordan, were doctors. That, combined with their marrying fashionable wives and joining the country club, made them acceptable. Lucky them. 

“Claymore adores you, Jillian,” I assured my weeping cousin. “He would do anything for you. Why wouldn’t you want to marry him?” 

“Because he’s an idiot. He has no taste. He hates the ascot I chose for him.” 

“Wait a minute. You’re calling off the wedding because of a tie?” 

She sighed dramatically. “It’s an ascot, Abby.” 

“That is not reason enough to call off your wedding. But this isn’t really about the ascot, is it? It’s never about the ascot. You’ve got cold feet again.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m marrying into one of the wealthiest families in New Chapel. Why would I have cold feet?” 

“Because you like being pampered and courted, and you’re afraid once you get married it will end. In other words, you don’t want to grow up.” 

“You,” she said, highly irritated, “are a snot.” And she hung up. 

She’d go through with it now just to prove me wrong. 

With a quick glance at my watch, I dashed to the backyard and found that the boys had outlined the flag. As we marked off the stripes, the fourth quad showed up with the paint, so we spread the pink carnations in the designated area and sprayed them red. I checked my watch. Half an hour lost. 

“Won’t that kill the grass?” Johnny asked me as we stepped back to study our handiwork. 

“It’ll grow back.” 

I left the quads filling in the blue and white parts of the flag and headed for the flower shop to pick up Trudee’s indoor decorations. Because of all the street closings for the Fourth of July parade, I had to park blocks away from the town square, then weave through people who had already staked out their spots to watch the ten o’clock parade. Normally I wouldn’t have minded the hike, but today I didn’t have time to spare. 

I unlocked Bloomers’ bright yellow door and walked in to the sound of my assistant Grace humming as she ground coffee beans in the parlor, and my other assistant, Lottie, singing along with her radio from the workshop in back. I inhaled the sweet fragrances of coffee, roses, lavender, and eucalyptus, and, for a brief moment, all was right with my world. 

Then I thought of Jillian’s wedding and got a headache. 

Who held their nuptials on a Monday? Could she have chosen a Friday evening or Saturday afternoon like a normal person? Oh, no. Not Jillian. She had to have a Fourth of July spectacle. Her garden ceremony had been arranged to end just as the country club’s big, splashy fireworks display was beginning, so the sky would explode as if the heavens themselves were giving her a standing ovation. My cousin was not a normal person. 

If I were merely her florist, I could have shrugged off Jillian’s eccentricities. Unfortunately, I was also one of her bridesmaids, and that meant suffering the company of my weasel of an ex-fiancé, the best man (as if!), who had dumped me two months before our own nuptials. Then there was my escort, deputy prosecutor Greg Morgan—New Chapel, Indiana’s, answer to Brad Pitt—who was so self-absorbed he couldn’t remember my being in the same high school with him. 

I didn’t even want to think about the bridesmaid’s dress. Jillian had picked out a print that looked like a watercolor painting of white lilies swaying against an aquamarine sky—at least that’s what it looked like on the bodies of the three willowy women who comprised the rest of the team. On my height-challenged form it looked like a clown suit. 

As a final offense, there was the picky bride herself, Jillian Ophelia Knight, first cousin on my father’s side, who had jilted four men already. If she made it through the wedding today, it would be a first. If I made it through the wedding without choking her, it would be a miracle. 

Sadly, I had no one to blame for this situation but myself. Being the new owner of a floral shop, I had jumped at the chance to do the arrangements for Jillian’s wedding. I needed the exposure, not to mention the business. I had agreed to be a bridesmaid because that was what one did for one’s family. I hadn’t factored in having to deal with an ugly dress, a hateful ex-fiancé, a Fourth of July party, and a cousin who attracted trouble like a magnet. 

There was only one way to get through the wedding, and that was to look at it as a challenge. I’d never yet shied away from a challenge. Also, I’d never shied away from money, and this fee was going to be huge. 

“Good morning, dear,” Grace called from the parlor. “How are we this morning?” 

“Wishing it were Tuesday,” I answered. 

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” she reminded me in her crisp British accent. Grace had a quote for everything. It came from working as a librarian, just one of the careers she’d held in her sixty-odd years. She was a legal secretary at a firm where I clerked during my year in law school and had retired just before I bought Bloomers, so I coaxed her to come work for me and put her in charge of the coffee and tea parlor. “Is the wedding on or off?” she asked. 

“On.” 

“I wouldn’t place any bets on it,” Lottie said, coming through the curtain that separated the shop from the workroom. “Jillian’s track record is zero for four.” 

Lottie Dombowski was a big-boned, big-hearted forty-five-year-old, with brassy curls, a laugh that could be heard across town, a gift for floral design, and more common sense than anyone I knew, other than Grace. Lottie had owned Bloomers for years, but then her husband’s health problems had nearly forced them into bankruptcy and she had to sell. And there I was, freshly booted out of law school and desperate to support myself. I used the remainder of my grandfather’s trust to make a down payment, and the rest was, well, hysteria. 

“How did it go at Trudee’s house, or should I be afraid to ask?” Lottie said over her shoulder as she weeded out the wilting flowers in our glass display case. 

“The supplier sent pink carnations instead of red and I had to paint them.” 

“That would explain the condition of your fingers,” Grace said, handing me a cup of coffee. I took a sip and savored the subtle touch of cinnamon that passed across my tongue. If there was one thing that always improved a situation, it was Grace’s coffee. 

“Fingernail polish remover,” Lottie said, heading back to the workroom with her bundle of old flowers. “That’ll take off the paint.” 

I parted the curtain and followed her into my favorite place in the whole world. Although our workroom was windowless, the abundance of blossoms and fragrances made it feel like a tropical garden. Pastel-colored wreaths and brightly hued swags hung on one ivory latticed wall. Vases of all sizes and containers of dried flowers filled shelves above the counter on another wall. A long, slate-covered worktable sat in the middle of the room. A stainless steel walk-in cooler occupied one side, and a desk holding my computer, telephone, and the normal assortment of items sat on the other side. 

I printed out my list for the party, then opened the heavy cooler and stepped inside to check on the arrangements we’d done the evening before. 

“Abby? Hello? Are you in there?”

I turned around, and there was the bride-to-be, searching the dim interior with a bewildered gaze. The cooler was such a riot of bright colors that I, with my red hair, yellow tank top, and black capris, blended into the background like a gigantic gerbera daisy. 

Jillian was dressed in her usual chic style—mango-colored silk tee, ivory linen skirt, and sexy sandals that emphasized her long legs. Her copper-colored hair fell in shimmering waves around her shoulders, her perfect skin glowed with dewy freshness, and her golden eyes gazed out at the world with a look of keen intelligence, belying the SPACE FOR RENT sign behind them. 

“Abs, we have a problem,” she said, spotting me at last. 

“We have a problem? If this doesn’t concern flowers, I don’t have a problem; you do.” 

Pushing out her lower lip like a wounded child, Jillian plucked a deep plum rose from a container and buried her nose in the fragrant petals. “But you always know what to do. And it’s just an itty-bitty problem.” 

She knew how to yank those guilt strings. I guided her out of the cooler and we sat on stools at the worktable. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I worked on your flowers until after midnight and I’m a little tired. Now, what’s the problem?” 

Jillian gave me a pained smile that told me that this was a whole lot bigger than itty-bitty. “Greg Morgan sprained his ankle playing tennis yesterday. You don’t have an escort.”

“If you’re telling me I have to stand alone in that dress all evening,” I managed to say through a clenched jaw, “you can find yourself another bridesmaid.” 

“I don’t know what your problem is with that dress.” 

I eyed a pot of ivy within arm’s reach, wondering whether I could use one of the trailing vines to choke her. “It’s made for tall women, Jill. Tall women. Do I look at all tall to you?” 

She leaned back to study me, as if it had never occurred to her that I only came up to her shoulder, then she sighed and said, “Okay.” 

“Okay? You don’t care if I’m not in your wedding?” 

“Of course I care, silly. I wouldn’t want to get married without you there.” 

“Then why did you say ‘okay’?” 

“Because I understand how you feel. And because I know you’ll find a replacement.” 

“Me?” I choked out. 

She shrugged. “Unless you want to walk up the aisle alone. I mean, you don’t honestly believe I have time to look, do you? And you can’t possibly think Claymore can handle it. With his nerves?” 

That trailing vine was so close . . . 

Jillian slid off the stool and gave me a hug, pressing my face into the gold coin that hung from a chain around her neck. “I knew I could count on you.” She hurried off, calling, “I’ll have the tux sent over before noon.”

The bell over the door jingled and she was gone. I glanced at Lottie, quietly snipping flowers, and she shook her head. “How many more fires are you going to have to put out before she says ‘I do’?” 

“Not a single one. Zip, zero, zilch. Not even if her head were to burst into flames.” 

The bell jingled again and seconds later Jillian swept back through the curtain. “One more thing. Claymore’s grandmother is coming, and I need you to keep an eye on her during the reception. She tends to wander off looking for water.” 

There was absolute silence in the shop. Across the table Lottie continued to work, waiting to see what I’d do, and I was fairly certain Grace was hovering on the other side of the curtain, holding her breath. 

I planted my hands on my hips and glared at my cousin. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t you think I have enough responsibilities without adding a ninety-year-old woman to my list? If something happened to her, the Osbornes would roast me over live coals. Give her bottled water to keep in her purse.” 

“She won’t remember it’s there. Puh-leeze, Abby! You’re the only one Grandma trusts. She’ll be sitting with Claymore’s parents for the dinner. You’ll only have to keep an eye on her afterward, and she won’t be staying long anyway.” She folded her hands beseechingly and gave me that helpless little-girl gaze that always got to me. “Pretty please?” 

“Are you sure I’m the only one Grandma trusts?”

“The only one. ‘That Abby Knight is one sharp cookie,’ she always says. ‘Pryce, you were an ass to let her get away.’ She likes you way more than she does Pryce or Claymore.” 

Two points in Grandma’s favor. Truthfully, once the flowers were in place I wouldn’t have all that much to do, and besides, I liked Pryce’s grandmother. She wouldn’t take guff from anyone, and she wasn’t impressed by her children’s expensive clothing, fancy cars, or country club memberships. The first time I met her, at one of the Osborne family dinners, she whispered in my ear, “Don’t let their snobbish ways intimidate you. Pryce’s greatgrandfather made his living catching rats, and Pryce’s father’s nickname at school was Boogers. You figure out why.” 

“So are we good to go?” Jillian asked. 

“Fine. I’ll watch Grandma Osborne, but it had better be for a very short time, and even then, you’ll owe me big-time.” 

Jillian gave me another hug, but this time I dodged the coin. “Thanks, Ab. I wub you.” 

I hated it when she started the baby talk. “I’ll let you know how I feel about you after the reception.” 

I glanced at Lottie, who was trying not to laugh. 

“That was the last fire,” I told her after Jillian had gone. 

Lottie’s lips twitched as she stripped the thorns from a tall red rose with one smooth glide of her knife.

“You’re right. Who am I kidding?” I said. “I should just walk down that wedding aisle carrying a hose and wearing a hard hat.”


Abby Knight--ex-lawyer, crime buff, and owner of Bloomers Flower Shop--is enduring a challenging week. A reluctant bridesmaid at wedding, Abby ends up not just doing the flowers, but also having to find out who murdered a wedding crasher.

Release Date: June 26, 2016
Release Time: 86 minutes

Director: Bradley Walsh

Cast:
Brooke Shields as Abby Knight
Brennan Elliott as Marco Salvare
Kate Drummond as Nikki Bender
Beau Bridges as Jeffery Knight
Celeste Desjardins as Sydney Knight
Dru Viergever as Sergeant Dunn
Dani Kind as Jillian Knight Osbourne
Marie Ward as Bethany Hart
Sonja Smits as Glory Osbourne
Chad Connell as Claymore Osbourne
Kimberly-Sue Murray as Melanie Turner
Richard Fitzpatrick as Josiah Turner
Mark Gibson as Jack Sutcliff
Doug Murray as Richard Bender
Jim Calarco as Reverend
Kathryn Haggis as Apartment Manager
Andrew Moodie as Mike Monroe
Emily Bridges as Jenny









Author Bio:
Kate Collins is the author of the best-selling Flower Shop Mystery series. Her books have made the New York Times Bestseller list, the Barnes & Noble mass market mystery best-sellers’ lists, the Independent Booksellers’ best-seller’s lists, as well as booksellers’ lists in the U.K. and Australia. All Flower Shop Mysteries are available in paperback, hardback and large print editions. The first three books in the FSM series are now available on audiobook.

In January of 2016, Hallmark Movies & Mysteries channel aired the first Flower Shop Mystery series movie, MUM'S THE WORD, followed by SLAY IT WITH FLOWERS and DEARLY DEPOTTED later that year. The movies star Brooke Shields, Brennan Elliott, Beau Bridges and Kate Drummond.

In December of 2017, a Christmas novella featuring the whole cast from the Flower Shop Mystery series was released in e-book format. MISSING UNDER THE MISTLETOE is the first mystery to be released digitally, with plans for many more stories to come.

Kate started her career writing children's stories for magazines and eventually published historical romantic suspense novels under the pen name Linda Eberhardt and Linda O'brien.


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Dearly Depotted #3
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