Mystery

A Rose from the Dead (Flower Shop Mystery, Book 6) by Kate Collins

By Kate Collins

In New Chapel, Indiana, flower store proprietor Abby Knight concerns approximately her enterprise failing. She wishes new buyers and is aware that plants and funerals move jointly like bacon and eggs. therefore she comes to a decision to open up a "tasteful" floral sales space on the Funeral Director Society's annual convention.On the down part, Abby will care for a few creepy souls who take pleasure in the DEARLY DEPOTTED as not anyone else can dig them. for example, the Colonel who's president of the FDS is the self-anointed grasp Mortician who insists he is familiar with every thing there's in changing a corpse right into a dwelling tribute and is prepared to inform a person who's now not afraid to invite him for a session. Then there's the environmental ground-hugger Eli "Green Guy" Cotton who believes Kermit is correct that grieving family members may still ship their household off in green.The full of life gala turns morbid while cosmetician to the useless Sybil "the Diva of dying Masks" Blount is killed. not able to withstand, Abby investigates who was once drumming up enterprise.

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Additional info for A Rose from the Dead (Flower Shop Mystery, Book 6)

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Come back, okay? I See you, darling. " Bridget took back my cellphone, passed me my night-bag and watched me while I checked its contents: socks, handkerchiefs, shirts, underpants, a sponge-bag, one grey pullover with V-neck. " about contact lenses? I shook my head. she murmured suggestively. " "Well, off you both go then," Mr. Anderson declared, and if he had raised his right hand and bestowed one of Brother Michael's floppy blessings on us, I would not have been surprised. 4 It is frankly a conundrum to me, observing these events from where I sit today, that as I followed Bridget down the stairs and back onto the pavement of South Audley Street, attired as I was in the garb of a secondary-school master up from the country, and with nothing to attach me to the world except a bunch of bogus business cards and the assurance that I was about to endure unfamiliar perils, I should have counted myself the most blessed fellow in London that night, if not the whole of England, the most intrepid patriot and secret servant, but such was indeed the case.

Confessor in Hannah's absence? Appoint her my substitute Unveil to her how, until I met Penelope, I was a twenty-three-year-old closet virgin, a dandy in my personal appearance but, underneath my carefully constructed facade, saddled with enough hang-ups to fill a walk-in cupboard? that Brother Michael's attentions and Pere Andre's before him had left me in a sexual twilight from which I feared to emerge? that my dear late father's guilt regarding his explosion of the senses had transferred itself wholesale and without deductions to his son?

Nothing really, sir. " At which he gave a raucous laugh and clapped a bulletproof hand on my shoulder. "You were first rate. your bag? Front desk. Scared the shit out of him. Got a bag? " With barely a wave for the distinguished company he hurried me through the throng to the lobby, where a blond boy stood proffering my night-bag. A people-carrier with blackened windows and open doors was parked at the kerb side a blue light turning on its roof, plainclothes driver at the wheel. man with a crew-cut hovered on the pavement.

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