Poison Flowers by Nat Burns

Marya.
    “I agree,” she said, looking away, wanting the discussion to end.
    “So shall we say six weeks of training?”
    Marya looked back at Dorry, questions and doubts bumper-car-ing within her mind. “Yes,” she answered finally.
    “Good,” she replied, reaching into a desk drawer and drawing forth a business-sized checkbook. “The fee for specialty classes is one hundred twenty-five dollars. Twenty-five goes to the
dojang
and one hundred comes to you. Do you find that satisfactory?”
    Marya sat as if shell-shocked. Was Dorry offering her a job? Working here, with her? She glanced up and realized she had fallen silent. She could see the flickers of irritation beginning to crease Dorry’s forehead.
    “Yes, yes,” she answered hastily. “More than generous.”
    Dorry scribbled in the checkbook and handed her a check for the hundred. Marya held it in her hands, her feelings and mind numb.
    Master Wood rummaged around and found a small piece of paper that she also handed to Marya. “This is his contact information. Please get in touch with him and set up your own scheduling.”
    She fell silent, and Marya studied the words written on the note. They were in block letters, and the strokes forming the letters reminded Marya of elegant Japanese calligraphy. Realizing the silence had stretched on too long, Marya glanced up to find Dorry holding a single key strung on a The Way of Hand and Foot logoed keychain. Dorry was looking down at it, frowning doubtfully. Sensing Marya’s interest, she placed the key gently atop the desk and, using one finger, pushed it toward her.
    “This is to the side door. Rob knows to come in that way for sessions after hours. Please keep the front doors closed when you are teaching and lock the side door securely when you leave.”
    Marya understood Master Wood’s concern, above and beyond mere business concerns. Though Marstown was a low-crime area, there were no doubt those who would deliberately seek to harm Dorry and/or her livelihood.
    “I will,” Marya told her. “I promise.”
    Dorry looked up at her and their gazes locked briefly. “Dismissed,” she said quietly.
    Marya stood and moved to the door but felt Master Wood’s eyes on her back. The gaze was tangible, as powerful as a caress, and her breath hitched in her throat. She paused, knowing she had to speak to break that intense moment of connection.
    “Dorry,” she began slowly. “Thank you.”
    Marya could sense that Dorry understood why she was really thanking her—for trusting her. Dorry’s voice, when it came to Marya, was low and rich and almost seductive in tone. “You’re welcome.”
    Marya made her way out finally, afraid to look back.

Chapter Twenty
     
    “Still no Denton,” Ed stated the next morning. He frowned at her as though she were personally responsible for keeping Denton from his work.
    “Well,” she began helplessly, adding nondairy creamer to temper the bitter office coffee. “Has anyone gone by his house to check on him? Maybe he’s hurt and needs help.”
    He frowned even harder, if such a thing were possible. “Of course. I’ve been by there three times and he’s never home. His car isn’t there either. I even looked through the garage window. No car.”
    Marya was unsure how to respond, but a nibble of fear started rumbling in her solar plexus. “Seriously, do you think he’s having a midlife crisis or something? Did he go away?”
    Ed poured coffee into a huge tumbler and added copious amounts of sugar. “I don’t know, but he’d better have a damn good excuse for being gone this long is all I have to say.”
    “Has he done this before?” She sipped the tepid coffee and ingested a globule of undissolved creamer. Ugh
.
    He shook his head and leaned his upper body across the break room counter, his weight supported on his forearms, one hand cradling his mug. “No, only when his wife died, which, of course, was understandable enough. I told him to take all the time he