Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)

Stepping up to the counter, I reached for the Rolodex and flipped to the Ds, where Margaret had filed the dentist’s number.

The receptionist answered on the second ring. “Dr. Wentworth’s office. How may I help you?”

“Hello,” I said, “I’m calling on behalf of Julia Langley. It looks like she’s running late and I wanted you to know.”

“Can you tell me how late she’s going to be?”

“Ah…I’m not sure.”

“If it’s going to be more than ten minutes, the appointment will need to be rescheduled.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that long, but it depends on traffic,” I said, although I had no idea when Julia would show up. I could see Margaret pacing back and forth in front of the display window. Every step she took conveyed nervous agitation.

“Please call again to reschedule if it is later than ten minutes.”

“I will,” I told her and replaced the receiver.

I remembered then that Julia had a cell phone, one she paid for with money she earned from a part-time job at the movie theater. I’d driven five miles out of my way to take Cody to the theater where Julia worked. Cody had loved seeing his cousin behind the counter. Julia had given him extra butter on his popcorn and my son had been thrilled.

“Margaret,” I called, poking my head out the front door. “What about her cell?”

“It’s at the house,” Margaret snapped. “She let the battery go dead.” Her frown told me she saw this as another example of Julia’s lack of responsibility. My poor niece was about to get an earful.

The phone pealed sharply behind me. “A Good Yarn,” I answered.

“Margaret Langley, please.”

The crisp, professional male voice took me aback. It didn’t matter what the words said, what I heard was trouble. “Could you tell me what this is about?” I asked as politely as my trembling voice would allow.

“I need to speak directly to Ms. Langley,” the man told me.

“One minute, please.” I set down the receiver and rushed to the front door.

Margaret swung around to face me almost as if she knew.

“There’s a call for you.”

“Julia?”

“No…you’d better take it.”

“But Julia will be here any second.”

“Take the call,” I insisted.

I so rarely insist on anything with my sister that Margaret’s brows rose abruptly. “Is everything all right?”

“I…I don’t know.”

She hurried into the shop and grabbed the receiver. “This is Margaret Langley.”

She listened for a moment and then her eyes shot to mine. She gasped. Her knees literally went out from under her and she sank into the chair I kept behind the counter.

“Is she hurt?” Margaret asked shakily.

I bit my lip, awaiting the answer.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be here.” She replaced the receiver, looked at me and burst into tears.

“W-what is it?” I asked, starting to cry, too. “Has Julia been in an accident?”

“No…The police are coming to take me to the hospital.”

“Julia’s in the hospital?”

“Yes, yes, she’s been hurt but they won’t tell me how badly. The hospital needs me to sign the papers before they can take her into surgery.”

“Surgery.” I swallowed painfully. “What happened?” I cried, gripping my sister’s arm. “Tell me what happened.”

“She…Julia was on her way to pick me up, just like you said.”

“Yes, yes.” I knew Julia wouldn’t have forgotten.

“She stopped at a red light and someone, a man, ran up to the driver’s side and yanked open the door and—”

The picture that formed in my mind sent my nerves shrieking in protest. “Julia was carjacked?”

Margaret nodded. “He dragged her into the street and when she tried to fight him off, he…he hit her again. Then he threw her into moving traffic so she had to scramble for her life.”

I covered my mouth with both hands to stifle a scream. My beautiful niece had been attacked. I didn’t know the extent of her injuries but apparently they were bad enough to require surgery.

The shock of this, the horror I felt, was more than I could take in.

CHAPTER 5

Colette Blake

Learning to knit might fill up some of the lonely hours, Colette reasoned. Susannah had convinced her to give it a try. To her surprise, Colette discovered she was actually looking forward to the first class next Wednesday. Perhaps that was because knitting suggested an image of peace and contentment. She could picture a heavily pregnant version of herself sitting in the comfortable chair Lydia had left behind, knitting something for her baby.

She hadn’t told anyone yet. Within a few months, though, keeping her pregnancy a secret would be impossible. At this point, Colette didn’t know what she’d do once the baby was born, where she’d live, or even whether she should tell Christian about his child. With no firm plan in mind, she decided to wait until she saw how the authorities responded to her anonymous letter. She assumed she’d find out from the news—or she could always call Jenny at the office. Jenny would be happy to hear from her, despite their lack of recent contact.

The flower shop had been frantic with activity this morning—not unexpected, this close to Valentine’s Day. Susannah’s daughter, Chrissie, who’d transferred from the University of Oregon to the University of Washington, had agreed to step in one afternoon a week in order to free up Susannah and Colette for the class. There were advantages for Chrissie, too. She wanted to learn the business and prove she was a responsible adult; not only that, she’d be making some extra money.

The class project was a prayer shawl, which Colette hoped to use as a blanket for her baby. Lydia had said the idea of knitting a prayer shawl was to make it for someone in need of prayer or healing. Colette certainly needed both.

At the shop the previous week, Colette had met Chrissie, who seemed like a typical undergraduate—alternately self-confident and insecure. She was ebullient with a natural charm she put to good use in the shop. Chrissie was close to her mother and Colette envied her that closeness. Her own relationship with her parents was fine, although there’d never been the kind of easy banter Chrissie enjoyed with Susannah. Still, she wished they weren’t so far away, especially now. On the other hand, it could be awkward if they lived nearby. Colette hadn’t told them about the baby; if she did, she knew they’d insist she tell Christian and she couldn’t do that—at least, not yet. She felt suspended between her past and her future, unable to move ahead with the new life she’d begun.

She explained to her parents that she’d stayed because Seattle was familiar and comfortable and her home. That was true, but she also wanted to remain in town until she found out what would happen to Christian.

It wasn’t dark as early in the afternoons now, but by four, the shadows started to lengthen. Colette liked watching the activity on Blossom Street as the streetlights came on, illuminating the sidewalk. She’d been assembling a funeral wreath, adding white carnations and filling the space between the flowers with salal, an evergreen that grew wild in the area, when Susannah returned from an appointment.

“How’d it go?” Colette asked, knowing her employer had been nervous about meeting with the director of one of the largest privately owned funeral homes in downtown Seattle. Susannah had recently tendered a proposal to provide floral arrangements for prearranged funerals, which included an allotment for flowers, and had been asked to stop by to discuss her bid with the director.

Susannah removed her jacket and hung it on the peg in the back room. “The meeting went really well,” she said, looking hopeful. “I should know by the end of the week.”

“That’s great.” Colette wanted Susannah to succeed. For the moment, of course, she hoped to keep her job, and the better her employer did financially, the better for her. That wasn’t the entire reason, however. Colette liked Susannah, who’d hired her after a brief interview in which she’d asked a minimum of questions. Fortunately, she hadn’t requested references. Afterward Susannah admitted Colette was the first person she’d ever interviewed and she was simply following her instincts.

Working side by side as they did every day, it was only natural that they’d develop a friendship, although Colette hadn’t shared anything very personal. Their conversations tended to be about Susannah’s family, about books they’d loved and people on Blossom Street. Colette had, early on, described the external facts of her life—schooling, marriage, widowhood, and some vague details about her job. She held her memories of Derek close to her heart. They’d had a good marriage. The only real problem they’d encountered had been her inability to conceive. She’d loved her husband deeply and still grieved for him. At the same time, her feelings for Christian Dempsey confused her. During the past year she hadn’t been honest enough to admit her growing attraction to him, which had culminated in their one night together. She wanted to believe their lovemaking had been more than physical hunger between two lonely people. That hope was dashed when she went back to work after Christmas. Without his ever saying a word, she knew he regretted that night, regretted everything about it. He seemed preoccupied and worried; foolishly, Colette had assumed this uncharacteristic behavior had to do with her. She didn’t understand exactly what he’d gotten himself into or why he’d risk the business he’d worked so hard to build. All she could figure was that he’d found himself in financial trouble. Either that or he was being blackmailed. Whatever the reason, she wanted no part of it, or any association with him.

Susannah spoke, and Colette gratefully turned her thoughts away from Christian Dempsey.

“I’m not sure what I expected of Mr. Olson,” Susannah said as she slipped the big apron around her neck and deftly tied it at her waist. “But then I don’t normally hang around funeral parlors,” she added. “He was so friendly. But not somber, you know? Just genuine and low-key. Later I saw him talking to a family who’d lost a loved one and he had such a gentle, reassuring manner.” She gave a light shrug. “I was impressed with him—and I hope he felt the same way about me.”

Colette knew that if Susannah received the funeral-home contract it would be a huge boost for the shop. Her only experience with funerals had been Derek’s, which was a blur in her mind. His parents had flown in from Chicago and handled almost everything, making all the decisions about their son’s interment. In her benumbed state, she’d been glad to let them do it. While sitting in the waiting room, Colette remembered glancing through a brochure about prepaid plans. She would never have guessed it might one day be part of her own job.

“I assured Mr. Olson that while I’m new to this business, I have every intention of being around for a long time. Joe helped me prepare what to say. He’s been so wonderful.”