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From inside, a man laughs, and it grates on my nerves. I’m sure that’s Georgie.
I try not to scowl as two customers walk out, a middle-aged woman and her daughter I’d guess. They’re holding a bouquet and from the bits and pieces of conversation I hear, he’s providing the flowers at the younger woman’s wedding.
Once they’re gone, I enter the shop, which is not big but so overfull it would be too much anywhere else. The way Georgie has it laid out, though, I admit, it’s well done if a little much. Like a vomiting of color all around and above me with the drying flowers hanging upside down in various shades. When I reach the front of the shop, I find Georgie himself standing behind the counter studying me.
“Welcome to King George III,” he says with not quite the warmth he showed the two women who just left.
“Thank you,” I say, studying him, too. He looks different in person than he does in his photos. I guess I’d made up a personality based on his text exchanges with Mercedes but he’s more serious here. Or maybe he’s just more serious now that I’m in the shop and he senses something.
“Can I help you?”
“I’d like some flowers.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, you’re in the right place,” he says and checks his watch. “But I am closing early this afternoon so if you can let me know the occasion or if you have something special in mind, I can help you.”
I hadn’t thought about this.
“A budget, perhaps?” he asks when I don’t answer right away. His eyes move over my bespoke suit.
That’s when I glance at the framed photo on the counter. On top is a handwritten note asking, ‘have you seen me?’ with an arrow pointing down to Mercedes’s smiling face.
I peer closer. It’s a smile I haven’t seen. Not that I’ve seen her smile much. Maybe she does more of that in her other life. I feel that thought like a physical thing. A tightening of my chest. She’s standing between Georgie and her friend, Solana. They must be at some kind of party from their dress and Mercedes, for as gorgeous as she looks, is definitely more than a little tipsy. The three of them have their arms around each other and Solana is bent double laughing as Georgie kisses Mercedes’s cheek, he, too, laughing too hard at something.
“All proceeds from purchases this week will go toward finding her,” he says somberly. He picks up the framed photo and dusts something off it, then sets it down and looks at me. “Our friend in the middle is missing. Haven’t seen or heard from her in two months.”
“Is it possible she doesn’t want to be seen or heard from?”
“No, it’s not.” He looks at her photo when he continues. “I think someone hurt our beautiful, sweet girl.”
His words repeat in my head. Someone hurt our beautiful, sweet girl.
“It’s the only explanation,” he continues. “And every time we try to put up an ad or file a missing person’s report, poof, it disappears. Like fucking voodoo.”
I clear my throat.
“Someone powerful doesn’t want her found. That’s what I think. But we’re holding a candlelight vigil this weekend. And every news channel will stream it live. Then let’s see the bastards try to stop us.”
“A candlelight vigil?”
“You should come.” He looks me over again. “Although I’m not sure you’re the type.”
“What type is that?”
“Never mind. Tell me the occasion and I’ll make you a gorgeous bouquet.”
“What kind of flowers does she like?”
“Who?”
“Mercedes.”
He pauses and I realize my mistake. His gaze sharpens on me. He’s trying to think back if he said her name.
“Roses. In every color but red.”
“Hm. Then I’ll take them.”
“Them?”
