Throw in the Trowel Read Online Free Page B

realized what we’d found. Maybe the police will uncover something.”
    â€œCould you tell how long the body’s been there?” Lottie asked.
    â€œLong enough to decompose,” I said. “Only the bones are left, and they looked pretty old.”
    â€œAny clothing?” Grace asked.
    â€œNone that I saw,” I said, “but we uncovered only one arm.”
    â€œI’ll bet someone was murdered down there,” Lottie said. “No one’s going to bury a loved one in a murky old bar basement.”
    â€œExactly what I was thinking,” I said.
    â€œIn which case I doubt there’d be any identification or clothing to be found,” Grace said, “which leaves a mystery to be solved.”
    Also what I was thinking.
    â€œIf that turns out to be true,” Grace said, “I suppose you and Marco would want to investigate.”
    â€œYou’d think so,” I said, “but Marco wants us to take a break from private investigations.”
    â€œConsidering that you’re both new to marriage, that’s wise of him,” Grace said.
    Not what I was thinking at all.
    Lottie gave me a discreet wink. She knew that a mysterious skeleton would be an irresistible draw for me, a puzzle that needed to be solved, justice that had to be served. Plus, I enjoyed investigating closely with Marco, watching his savvy mind at work. He’d taught me a lot about being a private eye, but I was still green, still learning. If the police weren’t able to ID the body, a cold case like this might be just the practice I needed.
    In the meantime, I had orders to fill, flowers to arrange, customers to make happy. Seeing all the gorgeous tropical flowers in Key West had made me eager to try new designs. I hadn’t had time to fill my creative well that morning, so I could hardly wait to get back to my slice of paradise and dig in.
    â€œFrancesca will be in tomorrow,” Lottie reminded me, as I headed to the workroom with Seedy in the crook of my arm.
    â€œDo we still need her?” I asked in surprise. Okay, dismay.
    Marco’s mom, Francesca Salvare, was a beautiful Italian woman who ate, drank, and lived with gusto. She loved her children passionately and had graciously accepted me as one of them. With that said, Francesca could also be overbearing. She was used to running things, so I’d had to struggle to keep hold of the reins of my wedding plans. Her insistence on being in control was one reason I’d balked at having her work at Bloomers. But our business had picked up to such an extent that my assistants had needed the extra help while I was away.
    â€œIf we stay as busy as we were last week, yes,” Lottie said. “And by the looks of the orders that came in yesterday, definitely yes.”
    â€œI have to admit that Francesca’s been an asset,” Grace added. “Quite efficient at organizing, too.”
    â€œShe’s not bringing in food anymore?” I asked.
    â€œYou were clear on that subject,” Grace said.
    That was a relief. When we’d first asked Francesca to help, she’d decided to ramp up our business by bringing in platters of homemade Italian food for the customers. As soon as the news got around the square, she’d drawn in people by the busload, but mostly those who came solely to eat, not to buy. The shop got so ridiculously crowded that I finally had to lay down the law and ban her food, but I had feared a revolt in my absence.
    â€œIf you want Francesca here,” I told my assistants, “I trust your judgment.” I’d just have to make sure she stayed up front. Some places were sacred, and my workroom was one of them.
    â€œI wasn’t sure how much you wanted to be at the shop during your first few weeks back,” Lottie said, “so I scheduled her for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings this week.”
    â€œWhatever you think will help,” I said. “Seedy,