Crowned and Moldering

That is, until Whitney and her equally a

“We’ve got eight vendors that plan to sell green beer in the town-square park,” Jane said.

“Eight?” I exclaimed, a little shocked.

Ellie laughed. “Is that all?”

“The park isn’t that big,” Pat said. “But I guess green beer is a tradition.”

Jane went down her list. “Let’s go over what we’ve got for the kids.”

Pla

I raised my hand. “Emily has offered to make a big batch of green soda. Either that or she can do green tea. Not the healthy stuff. I mean, really green.”

“I like the idea of green tea,” Ellie said.

“Me, too,” Pat said, waving her hand. “I’ll bet I can get one of the vendors to make green lemonade, too.”

“Okay, green lemonade and green tea,” Jane said. “Sounds perfect for anyone who doesn’t want beer.”

Ellie leaned in. “There’s always water, too.”

“Okay, we’re covered on the beverage front.”

“We’ve got a green cotton-candy truck coming,” Ellie said. “They’ll park on the street. They also make green popcorn.”

“Yummy.” Sylvia studied her notes. “And, by the way, I just received those five hundred green bowler hats in the mail. We’ll hand them out along the parade route.”

“That’ll be perfect,” Jane said.

“And shamrocks,” Ellie added. “They’re on sticks and you wave them like little flags. I think there’s a couple thousand of those.”

“Emily’s tearoom staff is also making green mini cupcakes,” I said. “And we’ve got all of our usual food vendors returning. So there’ll be hot dogs and ribs and the usual fare.”

Sylvia reached for a strawberry. “We’ll also have the face-paint lady and a puppeteer for the kids.”

“Okay, good,” Jane said. “Moving on. I’ve got the pep squad set to decorate the fire trucks Friday afternoon.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any fires,” Pat murmured.

Ellie raised her hand. “Um, I’ve got a new entry in the parade, if you all don’t mind. It’s a skateboard brigade. Twelve boys will skateboard along the parade route, and at the end they’ll have a double ramp set up where they’ll do lots of tricks.”

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

Jane frowned. “I don’t want them to hurt themselves.”

Ellie chuckled. “Since one of them is my son, I agree with you. He swears they’ll be fine. First of all, they’ll be padded to the hilt, and I’m making them all wear helmets. Plus we’ll surround the ramps with that bouncy rubber stuff, so there shouldn’t be any injuries. I’ll have the other parents sign our general release, so we should be okay on all fronts.”

“You’ll take care of that?” Jane asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Sounds like they’ll be safe enough,” Jane said with a sigh, and wrote something down. “And, personally, I think they’ll be a big hit.”

“Me, too,” I said.

Jane continued sca

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Ellie said quickly. “I wouldn’t trust my son not to torment one of those cute little cheerleaders.”

“Good point,” Jane muttered. “I’ll put them after one of the marching bands instead.”

“I’ll make sure they’re all dressed in green with the hair combed and ready to go,” Ellie said.

Sylvia piped up. “We’ve got the veterans lined up to go first, and the classic-car club members coming at the end.”

“Are they okay with going last this time?”

“They love it,” Sylvia said. “The crowd will be able to follow them to the parking lot, where they’ll show off their low-rider stuff for everyone.”

“Okay. On to the advertising,” Jane said, nodding at Pat.

“I’ve been to every store and restaurant on the town square,” Pat said. “The restaurants all plan to offer a St. Patrick’s Day special and the stores will push a few sales items. The town square retail association is ru

Jane stared at her list for a long moment, then looked up at us. “I think we’re ready.”

Sylvia gri

*   *   *

After the girls left, I went outside to the garden and walked around, studying my plants, examining pots, checking for bugs, and pruning here and there. I made a list of everything I wanted to buy at the nursery. And I mentally pla

“Hello, Irish,” Mac said.

I gazed up at the balcony, where he stood outside his apartment, looking dark and dangerously handsome in a T-shirt, jeans, and socks. “Good morning, Mac.”

“You look thoughtful. What’re you doing?”

“I’m making a list.”

“Making lists is one of my favorite things to do,” he said, gri

“I’m about to go to the nursery. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

He leaned his elbows on the railing. “Since I asked you to go out with me sometime this weekend, why don’t I go with you now?”

I smiled. “Why don’t you?”

He raised his arm in a victory gesture and I laughed. I don’t know how he did it, but I always felt happier when he was around.

He went inside his place to grab his wallet, shoes, and a jacket, and was back outside in seconds, locking his door and bounding down the stairs.

I met him at the gate and he grabbed my hand. “This feels like an adventure.”

“It will be—I promise.”

We took my truck because I’d be able to fit more bags of soil and plants in the back.

I drove east to Highway 101 and then headed north.

“I’ve never been to the nursery out here,” he said. “Haven’t had any reason to yet. I guess once I move, I’ll want to get into landscaping.”

“You’ll love this place.”

“Maybe they’ll help me out. I like the look of lots of plants around the yard, but I’d rather pay someone else to do it for me.” He glanced over at me. “I know I sound like a lazy slug with my first-world problems.”

I laughed. “I’m not judging. If you don’t love gardening, you shouldn’t do it. The reason I do it is because I love it.”

“And I love watching you in the garden,” he said, reaching over and squeezing my hand.

I felt myself blushing. “You’re sweet.”

“No, I’m not. I told you I’m a slug.”

“And lazy,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget lazy.”

He laughed and I gri

We chatted for six more miles, until I turned off the highway and wound my way up the hill to the Gardens. I parked the truck, but before Mac could open his door, I grabbed his arm. “I should tell you, I have an ulterior motive for coming here today.”

“Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me all about it.”

I gave him a quick explanation of what had happened at the school when Mr. Jones got the call from Denise about the police arriving to interrogate her.

“So her family owns this nursery?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to grill Denise if she’s here.”

“I’ll hardly be grilling her,” I said, objecting to the word grill even though, okay, it was fairly accurate. “We’ll just talk.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he said. “It’ll be fun to watch either way.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll probably end up saying nothing.”