Christie O'Mara is thrilled to finally be living her dream of running her own flower shop. With her grandmother's legacy guiding her, she sets out to create beautiful floral arrangements and unique gifts for the small town she calls home. But little does she know that her grand opening will be overshadowed by a decades-old murder mystery.
While preparing the shop for its first day of business, Christie stumbles upon a long-lost note hidden within an antique desk. The cryptic message hints at a connection to a murder that took place in the same small town years ago. Intrigued, she begins to dig deeper, hoping to unravel the truth behind the mysterious note while also juggling the demands of her newfound business.
Just as she starts to make progress, Christie receives devastating news: one of her special "flowers with a message" bouquets has been delivered to a customer who is found dead shortly after. Suddenly, her business is under scrutiny, and Christie finds herself at the center of a murder investigation.
Christie O'Mara is thrilled to finally be living her dream of running her own flower shop. With her grandmother's legacy guiding her, she sets out to create beautiful floral arrangements and unique gifts for the small town she calls home. But little does she know that her grand opening will be overshadowed by a decades-old murder mystery.
While preparing the shop for its first day of business, Christie stumbles upon a long-lost note hidden within an antique desk. The cryptic message hints at a connection to a murder that took place in the same small town years ago. Intrigued, she begins to dig deeper, hoping to unravel the truth behind the mysterious note while also juggling the demands of her newfound business.
Just as she starts to make progress, Christie receives devastating news: one of her special "flowers with a message" bouquets has been delivered to a customer who is found dead shortly after. Suddenly, her business is under scrutiny, and Christie finds herself at the center of a murder investigation.
Chapter One
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The wind howled outside on a Friday afternoon in late October, and the lights flickered off for a moment while Christie OâMara floated around the flower and gift shop. She flicked an imaginary wisp of dust off an antique cherry writing desk. She straightened a ribbon bow on the gigantic vase of fresh flowers sitting on the glass table next to her order station. A bouquet of balloons danced in front of the fan that she had placed strategically behind the display.
Christie clasped her hands together and beamed at the transformation before her eyes. She was ready for the grand re-opening the next day of the florist shop which had belonged to her grandma. Because it was the week before Halloween, she had decorated with a ghostly theme using witches and pumpkins against a purple and orange backdrop.
Six weeks ago, her mother had called with the sad news that Grandma Maude OâMara had died unexpectedly. Christie recalled the many happy hours she had spent helping her grandma and Aunt Doris in the shop, and she grieved the loss of this special person in her life. She was thankful that she had been able to have a long conversation with her a week before her death, not knowing it would be the last.
 Christie had spent weekends and summers at the shop. She had been fascinated to learn both the flowersâ names and their meanings. Her aunt, who was actually her great-aunt, her grandmotherâs younger sister, had patiently taught Christie how to arrange flowers in beautiful bouquets and displays. One summer, Christie took a class in the Japanese art of ikebana, and reveled in the simple yet elegant designs she learned to create.
But as a teenager, she had dreamed of living in a big, exciting city and being on her own with a brilliant future in business ahead of her. So, sheâd headed out of her small hometown to college and earned a degree in business with a minor in accounting. However, the reality of her job and the big city was something totally different from her fantasy.
She had been passed over a couple of times for a higher-level position, possibly due to her refusal to get âbetter acquaintedâ with her male boss. An attempt to file a sexual harassment suit at her work was strongly discouraged by the companyâs head of Human Resources â another male. She had been seriously looking for a position in a new company when she learned of her grandmotherâs death.
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When her mother called a few weeks later to inform her that if she didnât want to take over the shop, it would be sold or closed, all those fond memories of their times together in that shop flooded back yet again â but this time with joy. Christie made the decision to leave her job and San Francisco and become a florist shop owner instead. The very next day, she turned in her notice at the furniture store chain where she worked as the lead accountant.
And now Christie was back in her hometown of White Castle. She looked forward to being her own boss and making her own mark in the world. And there would be no one in her way holding her back. She would have the help of her Aunt Doris, who had been her grandmaâs right-hand âmanâ for years and who was thrilled that Christie would continue the business. Sometimes, Christie thought her aunt was a little goofy, but she certainly knew the language of flowers and was bound to be helpful for continuity with the community when her grandmaâs longtime customers came through the door.
 Christie would continue the basics of making and selling floral bouquets, of course, but she also planned to expand the gifts section that she thought could use some freshening up. When she surveyed the space, she was intrigued to find a dozen or so pieces of vintage and antique furniture begging to be polished up and displayed. They had been stored in a large closet in the back of the shop. Aunt Doris had told her that Grandma Maude hadnât gotten around to doing anything with them, although sheâd talked about selling the items as another means of bringing in customers and money. It felt good to know she was completing a plan her grandma had not gotten around to fulfilling.
During the previous week, Christie and her mother had spent several afternoons cleaning up the dainty desks, small tables, and even a tall, freestanding vintage radio. Her mom explained that she had listened to radio shows on it as a child when she visited her own grandparents. She had been enthralled to listen to the stories being told over the air while drinking hot chocolate and eating homemade cookies.
On the eve of the grand reopening, one last piece remained to be readied for sale: the writing desk. It was a lovely piece, and she felt almost sad that she had decided to sell it, but she didnât have any emotional attachment to it and hoped someone would love it enough to pay its price. She stood next to it with her arms crossed for a moment and took a big breath before doing a final inspection.
She checked to be sure the legs were secure, polished the entire piece, and pulled out each of the drawers one at a time. She shook out the dust and other bits that had collected over the years of use or disuse. When she inverted the last one, the bottom drawer on the right, she found an envelope taped to the underside.
Curious, Christie loosened the yellowed tape and carefully lifted the envelope from the drawerâs wooden surface. The envelope read âMissy.â There was no street address. She guessed it must have been given to Missy in person instead of being mailed. The glue had long since dried, so the flap opened readily. She gently removed from the envelope the single piece of fragile stationery[KC1]Â embossed with the letter âMâ that had been folded in half, and opened it. She read:
My dear Missy,
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I hope you will understand that circumstances have arisen that cause me to leave town immediately. I do not know when I can return or if I will ever be able to see you again.
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I hope you will ignore any rumors that I killed anyone. I swear it wasnât me. There were a bunch of guys involved in the fight, but I didnât know any of them. Maybe the sheriff will figure out the truth.
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B.
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She asked herself aloud, âWho are Missy and B? And who died? I wonder if Aunt Doris would know.â She folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then placed it in the drawer of her work desk. âMaybe sheâll remember how Grandma Maude got this desk, and then we could figure out who Missy was.â
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Christie took one last look around the shop and sighed happily. She picked up her tote bag, an umbrella and the shop keys and went out the back door. As she stepped out, she almost tripped over a black lump in the middle of the single step. âMeow,â the black lump cried as it stood up, arching its back.
âA kitty! A black kitty,â Christie exclaimed, grinning at the thought of discovering it so close to Halloween. Without any superstitious inclinations, she bent over to get a closer look. âYouâre all wet.â She picked up the small cat and went back inside, where she found a towel and dried it off. The kitty started purring and licked Christieâs chin. âI wonder if Grandma had been feeding you, and thatâs why youâre hanging out here. Letâs check for cat food in the closet.â Christie checked the cabinet in the bathroom and, sure[KC2]Â enough, found a partial bag of cat kibble, confirming her suspicion. She grabbed a couple of plastic flowerpot saucers[KC3]Â from the supply cupboard to serve as dishes for food and water.
Christie stood with her hands on her hips and watched as the cat ate hungrily. She would check around to see if it belonged to someone nearby, but by the way it scarfed down the food, she doubted it had a home. She recalled a favorite mystery series in which a bookstore owner had a cat named Agatha in honor of Agatha Christie. âHmm. Would you like to be my shop cat? I would expect you to be polite to the customers and clean up after yourself. Of course, that is unless someone else claims you.â She made a mental note to drop by the grocery store in the next block and pick up a litter box and kitty litter. She figured she would be spending more hours at the store than at her home for the first few weeks anyway, and the cat would provide company while she was there.
Her cell phone buzzed in the tote bag sitting on the counter. Aunt Dorisâs name popped up. âHi, Aunt Doris. Hey. Did Grandma feed a black kitty at the shop?â
âDid that scrawny thing show up again? I kept shooing it away, but I know she was sneaking food to it when she didnât think I would notice.â
Christie chuckled. That sounded like something her grandma would have done. âYes, itâs probably the same kitty. I thought I would let it be a mascot for the shop. You wouldnât mind, would you?â
Aunt Doris snorted. âYouâre just like your grandmother, you know. She had the softest heart.â Her voice softened. âI donât mind. Itâll keep us company when business is slow. I suppose youâve named it already.â
âNot yet, but âStormyâ comes to mind, seeing as itâs a black cat and itâs âa dark and stormy nightâ outside. I hope Charles Schulz would agree that she fits that line from his Peanuts[KC4]Â cartoons.â
âThatâs a good name, honey. Are you ready for the big day tomorrow? I saw the event posted on Facebook, and there was a copy of the newspaper notice posted at the pharmacy.â
âAs ready as Iâm going to be. I thought Iâd come over about eight thirty. Can you be here that early?â
âSure. Iâll bring a coffee urn,â replied her aunt. âIâve ordered pastries and frosted cookies that say âChristieâsâ from the bakery to be delivered when we open. I thought we could have them at the front table where customers sign up for email. I kept telling Maude that she should get modern and do that.â
âGood idea, Auntie. An email list is important these days, even for a small business like the flower shop. Iâve saved a space on the table for the coffee and goodies.â
âAre you going to leave that cat at the shop alone tonight?â
âI thought I would take the kitty home with me and pick up cat stuff on the way there.â The cat snuggled and purred loudly in Christieâs arms. âI think Stormy likes that idea. Sheâs already adopted me. See you in the morning.â
 âWill do. Iâll keep my fingers crossed that everything goes well for you tomorrow.â
Christie smiled as the call ended. Crossed fingers werenât her way of handling things. She liked good planning and logical approaches. âI donât think crossed fingers bring good fortune any more than a black cat crossing my path means bad luck. Right, Stormy?â
First and foremost, a large thank you to Reedsy Discovery and P.J. Peterson for providing me with a copy of this publication, which allows me to provide you with an unbiased review.
Always one who enjoys the âcozy mysteryâ work of P.J. Peterson, I gladly accepted an ARC of her latest book. In what looks to be the debut of a new series, Peterson creates a great mystery that has all the elements for success. After taking over her grandmotherâs flower shop, Christie OâMara finds herself in the middle of a mystery, a long-ago penned note about murder. Things become more mysterious when a secretive man orders a bouquet of flowers, the recipient of whom soon dies. With some police involvement and a great deal of amateur sleuthing, Christie makes a name for herself, while adding to Petersonâs abilities as a writing. Grab some cocoa and warm cookies for this book, as it is as cozy as they come.Â
Christie O'Mara has had some life spills before finally realising her dreams of owning the family flower shop. Taking over the reins of her grandmotherâs venture, Christie is eager to make a name for herself in the community. While she cannot wait to show off her new ideas, the grand opening is clouded by a murder mystery decades in the making. A note appears in a long-forgotten desk, which is cryptic, but points to something from the past.
The note discusses innocence in a murder that gripped the community, but there is little to trace the sender or recipient. While she is intrigued there is too much to do, so Christie turns her focus to the flowers at hand. Soon, a mysterious male caller places an order for some flowers âwith a meaningâ which baffles Christie, but she is there to serve.Â
After the flower delivery leads the police to her shop, Christie is slightly concerned. It appears the receiver of the lovely bouquet was found dead the next day. While no one is pointing the finger at Christie or her flowers, the oddity of the order cannot be ignored. Christie remains on edge when other orders come in the from the same man, collected by a go-between, and delivered before tragedy strikes again. With the police eager to track things, Christie is concerned that her shop is being used as a quasi-front for murder.
All the while, Christie finds herself digging deeper into the note she has and who might be involved. She narrows it down to a murder at a bar and a group of younger men, as well as a woman who captured the attention of one man accused of the crime. The trouble is, said young woman disappeared soon after events involved the police. Could this woman be involved in something nefarious? Christie will have to probe a little deeper, which brings her closer to one of the great legal minds in town, and a spark of something appears to be building.Â
While Christie finds herself in the middle of two investigations, the one involving the police has her worried, especially when damage occurs late one night. She must find out who the mystery man is and hope the police can apprehend him, if the deaths of the flower recipients are not simply coincidental. All this as the flower shop begins to bloom and Christieâs dreams are finally coming to fruition. Peterson pens a great piece that is as cozy as it is entertaining. I cannot wait to see where things are headed with this series.
I have yet to read a book by P.J. Peterson that I did not enjoy. Her ability to tell a tale and keep things cozy has left me always eager to grab the next book she publishes. With a strong narrative base, Peterson is able to weave a story without all the violence, sex, and bloodshed that seem to be appearing all throughout the genre. Peterson provides a clear pathway to success and leaves the reader with a great deal of satisfaction as they follow along to see if they can also crack the mystery wide open.Â
A new series means a number of new characters to handle, which Peterson does with ease. Christie OâMara is central, but there are many who help flavour the piece and offer their perspectives, all building on the larger themes of the story. Peterson is able to do this without getting too gritty or leaving the reader wondering what is to come. I enjoy her character creation and development, though she has surely left a great del for the reader to ponder until the next book in the series emerges,
Plot development is key, when the story is short and wants to make an impact. The ability that P.J. Paterson has to make plot twists and development matter is not lost on the attentive reader. I can only hope that more books in the series will build on the foundation that occur with this debut. Peterson has a stellar career in other professions, but her time as an author is surely deserving of a bouquet, particularly for this piece.Â
Kudos, Madam Peterson, for another success.