Snipped in the Bud by Kate Collins Page A

preserved fall leaves, and a thick handful of wheat. Then I spread them out on the worktable and let the creative side of me take over.
    I had just finished the fourth order when the phone rang. I checked the caller ID and saw an unfamiliar number, so I ignored it. It rang again, same number on the screen. Out of curiosity, I dug through my purse, found Connor Mackay’s card, and—bingo. It was a match. “You’re out of luck tonight, Mackay,” I said as the answering machine picked up. He was persistent. I’d give him points for that.
    I cleared away nine more orders, then glanced at the clock to see that it was almost midnight. Hurriedly, I packed the arrangements into the cooler, locked up, and took off, hoping I’d beat Nikki home so I could make sure the clothing was out of her bedroom. But it didn’t work out that way. When I got back to the apartment, Nikki was standing over the sink, still in her hospital duds, eating ice cream from the container.
    “Hey,” she mumbled. “Why are you out so late?”
    “I had orders to finish. Listen, I’m sorry about the home shopping thing. I told Jillian to clear out the clothing ASAP.”
    “Home shopping thing? What are you talking about?”
    I glanced down the hallway and saw that the racks in the living room were gone. “Wait there,” I told Nikki and hurried to check both bedrooms. No racks there, either. In fact, no Jillian. Her clothes had even been cleaned out of my closet. “She did it, Nikki!” I called. “She finally moved out.” I sank down onto my bed with a huge sigh of relief.
    “Not all of her moved out,” Nikki called from the bathroom. “She’s still using my shelf.”
    The answering machine was beeping, so I hit the Play button and heard Jillian’s excited voice. “Abby, I found an apartment. You’ll never guess where.”
    “New Zealand, I hope,” Nikki said, coming in to sit beside me on my bed.
    “You know the vacant unit up the hallway?” Jillian continued. “The superintendent, that nice Mr. Bodenhammer, is letting me rent it by the month. Isn’t that great?”
    “Since when is Mr. Bodenhammer nice?” Nikki interjected.
    “We’ll be neighbors!” Jillian’s message continued. “I borrowed your sleeping bag and a spare pillow until I get a bed. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
    She had moved only three doors away. Talk about a good news/bad news message. But the important thing was that I had my bed back. Now, if I could just find the murderer and get my life back.

CHAPTER TEN
    T he next morning, I retrieved the New Chapel News from outside the door and unrolled it to see a bold banner headline that read, PROFESSOR MURDERED; KILLER SOUGHT . I kicked the door closed and went to sit at the kitchen counter to read the story below, praying my name wouldn’t be mentioned. But beneath a black-and-white photo of Carson Reed was a long article in which both Professor Z. Archibald Puffer and I were named as being first at the scene. There was no mention of Puffer’s wife or of Kenny Lipinski being present. Lucky them.
    The reporter had obviously talked to Puffer, because he came off smelling like the proverbial rose, whereas I came off smelling. Period. Not only did Puffer lie about himself and Reed being friends, but he also made it sound as though I had an ax to grind—or a pencil to sharpen, as it were—with both professors. He went on to relate my unexpected flower delivery and retrieval and said that if he were investigating, he’d test the rose for toxicity.
    If that wasn’t damning enough, alongside the main story was a grainy photo of me at the protest rally, shaking my fist at Reed, and an accompanying article recounting my vow to take on anyone who advocated torturing helpless animals, including Reed. Also included was my quote calling him a hypocritical snake in the grass, and the details of my subsequent arrest. I came across as the Mad Florist of New Chapel, running around with poisoned roses and sharpened pencils.