I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, “You might think about giving the poor guy a break.”
She shook her head. “No. This should have been doneweeksago.”
Tommy let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his back after setting the birdbath down where my mother finally directed.
He was used to this though. We all were. This was how we spent our summers growing up. If you were around, you were put to work. Momma made sure of that, especially after that one spring fiasco nearly a decade ago.
That year, she’d hired a gardener to help with her tulips, trusting him to know what he was doing. But come spring, not a single tulip had bloomed. Turns out, he didn’t know tulips had to be planted in the fall. Mom was furious, and after that, she took control of the garden herself.
“Rose, can you help Daisy take the stems off the lilies and the carnations inside?”
“Sure.” I shrugged.
While Momma shifted her focus back to the garden, I made my way up to the screen door, which groaned softly as I pushed it open and stepped through.
In the kitchen, I was immediately struck by the overwhelming scent of flowers. Towering vases took over the counter. My sister’s head popped up above the pile of stems, and she shot me a look.
“Oh gosh,” I managed, the words catching in my throat as I gave the room another look. “What are all these for?”
“Uncle Cillian passed away,” she replied, her voice lacking any empathy. “It’s a little over-the-top, but I think Momma feels bad. No one really liked the guy, so she’s trying to make up for what others lack. Hence all the lilies.”
I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until my tongue started to feel like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. “What happened?”
She shrugged. “They’re mobsters, Rose.” Her voice dropped. “He probably pissed off the wrong person.”
I blinked. “When did it happen?” I asked, stepping around the mountain of flower stems.
“Yesterday, I think,” Daisy said, not looking up as she continued snipping away.
Momma appeared in the doorway, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed our progress. “Good, you’re making headway,” she said quickly. “I want everything ready by tomorrow morning.”
Without waiting for a response, Momma turned and disappeared back outside.
The recurrentsnip-snipof Daisy’s scissors filled the silence, each one somehow louder than the last.
I leaned on the counter, holding the majority of my weight up with my arms. “Who do you think did it?” I asked.
She looked at me and whispered, “Momma thinks Marco did it.”
Marco was another one of my father’s men. A man whose smile never reached his eyes, and whose handshake felt more like a threat than a greeting.
Then Daisy continued. “There was always bad blood between him and Uncle Cillian, and now ...” She let the sentence end unfinished.
“Not surprising,” I agreed, grabbing my own set of scissors.
“It was Valentina who found him,” Daisy continued. “With a hole in his head.” She cringed. “I heard she’s hysterical.”
That didn’t sound like Marco. He’d never been the type to get violent. I guess he’d never needed to.
“Do you believe it?”
Daisy chewed her lip. “I don’t know. It seems a little personal, doesn’t it? Cillian was found on the bed and had been there for hours before Valentina came home. He knew she’d be the one to find him, right?”
I tightened my grip in the scissors. It did feel personal, which was exactly why I didn’t think Marco could be at fault. Marconever did personal. “He’s too careful for something this messy,” I muttered, thinking aloud. “If he wanted Cillian gone, he’d have done it quietly. Left him somewhere no one would ever find him.”
Right?
CHAPTER 12
