A Touch of Lavender - Part 10 - A Craven Danger Mystery
Herbert Sampson accepted the flowers from the delivery girl and glanced over at Craven Danger, who was seated in the passenger seat of her truck.
“That your boyfriend?”
“Who?” said the girl.
“The guy that’s peeping out the truck window, like nobody’s supposed to know he’s there. Only he should of thought of taking off his fedora, first. Your boyfriend on the lam or something?”
“Him?” said the girl. "Heck no! That’s not my boyfriend. But I know for sure he wants to be somebody’s boyfriend. And I ain’t saying whooo.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Mr. Sampson. “This some sort of practical joke?”
“No joke, sir,” said the girl. “Have a look at the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
Herbert Sampson opened the box and felt a slight chill run down his back.
”They‘re lavender,” said the girl. ”From someone special, I‘m sure.”
”I know what they are,” said Mr. Sampson. “No card?”
“No card, sir,” said the girl. “The party concerned wishes to remain anonymous until further notice.”
”Well,” said Mr. Sampson. “If they’re from who I think they’re from, that someone‘s gonna wish they were back in prison.”
”Prison?” said the girl. ”Now I get it, pen pals! You don‘t even know what each other looks like.”
“What in hell are you talking about?" said Mr. Sampson. “And what’s with all this ‘he wants to be somebody’s boyfriend’ and ‘I ain’t sayin whooo' nonsense?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” said the girl. “But I’ll put in a good word, and before you know it the two of you will be smooching up a storm and rocking the boat on a pleasure cruise to paradise.”
“You can take these damn flowers back to whoever sent them,” said Mr. Sampson. “And say from me that I’m not playing any games. If she really wants my attention then she can come to my front door herself."
And with that Mr. Sampson slammed the door.
“I’m afraid he ain’t biting, Mr. Danger,” said the girl. “But he does want to meet you. And I think once he gets a good look at you, he’ll be yours for the taking. Because I have to tell you, Mr. Danger. Up close he looks like a pumpkin that’s been sitting in the sun too long. But if you can get past that, you can get past anything. And by the way, apparently you’re gonna be the woman in this little romance. I’d rethink the fedora, if I were you. You okay with that?”
“You been smoking reefer or something?” said Craven. “‘Cause I ain’t understood a single word you said since I got in this truck.”
“I think we all need a little calming down time, Mr. Danger,” said the girl. “How about I take you over to Florence’s Dress Boutique and get you all dolled up? But you might have to shave those legs. ‘Cause if they’re anything like mine, you’re not getting those nylons over the calf.”
When Craven Danger got out of the truck back at the florists, he passed on the dress boutique and, instead, headed to the nearest coffee shop to clear his head over a refreshing root beer.
I wish I had a plan two, thought Craven. 'Cause plan one was a stinker.