A Touch of Lavender - Part 9 - A Craven Danger Mystery
Herbert Sampson looked like a man who had never known a hug. When he answered the door for the delivery girl it was all he could do to say thank you, much less reach into his pocket for a tip.
When Craven Danger arrived in Beacon, New York, he a brilliant notion. Stop at the florist and send a bunch of lavender flowers to the retired police officer. He thought waking up the giant was a good idea. Worthy of Holmes, Poirot, or Philip Marlowe.
He even gave the delivery girl five dollars to allow him to sit in the passenger seat and watch Mr. Sampson’s reaction.
“Five smackers!” said the delivery girl. ‘Hey, I gat a brother that could use a fiver. You sure you don’t want to send him a singing telegram, too?”
“No,” said Craven. “The flowers is all he’s gettin’ outta me.”
“Oh, yeah?” said the delivery girl. “You two have a spat?”
“No!” said Craven. ”I don‘t even know him.”
“Ah,” said the delivery girl. “But you’d like to. You know, I got a sister that writes poems for greeting cards. I’ll bet she could write you something that would put that guy right in your lap.”
“But I don’t want no guy in my lap.” said Craven. “I just want ta send him flowers and see how he takes it.”
“Oh, just feeling him out,” said the delivery girl. “I know how that goes. There was this fella I had a crush on in high school, but he didn’t know I existed. So I used to tape little love poems to his locker. My sister helped me with the writing. One of them goes,
I love you Michael Macaroon
I long to call you dear
But if you never love me, too
I’ll drown in my own tears
“Pretty good, huh?” said the delivery girl. “It snagged him, too. For about one week. Then that tramp Eleanor Rabinsky moved into town and it was goodbye Michael Macaroon. Hello, kissing myself in the mirror.”
“Can we just get to Herbert Sampson’s house and make this delivery,” said Craven.
“All right,” said the delivery girl. “But maybe if you had a picture of yourself, you could put it in the box so he could see what a nice looking fellow you are.”
“No picture,” said Craven. “Just deliver the flowers.”
“What do you want to say in the note?”
“No note,” said Craven. “I want him to guess who sent them. And he’ll figure it out quick, too, being a retired cop. Then the chase will be on. And it won’t be long before he’s all mine. Case closed.”
“Wow,” said the selivery girl. “You move fast. I’ll bet you got a ring and everything.”
Craven said not one more word of protest as they pulled up to Herbert Sampson’s bungalow.
Betty ‘ll be proud of me, thought Craven, when she finds out I got it all figured out.