Claudia looked up from the counter and locked eyes with the fat, breathless man across the maple slab. Keeping the hatred out of her face was easy now. She’d smiled like this so often— despite the awful cogs grinding in her head—it was as simple as breathing. “Commissioner Farnsworth,” she said. Seeing him take so easily to the grin was encouraging. “What brings you into my lil’ shop today?” They ate the Southern accent up, too. It didn’t matter that the Claudia they’d known before, on the rare occasions she did speak, had a plain, flat city-dweller’s diction. That Claudia wasn’t worth remembering. So they didn’t. Instead, they remembered the extroverted redhead with the big, goofy smile and the gentle slant to her words. “Carnations,” the fat man said. “Like, uh, the one in your hair there. Anniversary’s coming up and the wife loves them.” “Your wife has good taste in husbands and flowers.” Another grin. He smiled right back. Lord, was this easy. “Let me see what I got in back, sugarpie.” The lecherous grin he gave soured her mood so fast she had to turn before it broke her own smile. How dare he? How dare the man responsible for her poor Vincent’s death show even a bit of interest? The disrespect stung her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wouldn’t end well for Mr. Farnsworth, she feared…and now, it wouldn’t end without some pain, either. She tried to keep her tone composed as she walked to the back cooler. It didn’t feel like she was succeeding. She schemed to the tune of the clack-clack-clack of her boots. By the time she hit the cooler door, she’d found a plan. “A carnation, huh?” Claudia went through rows A and B, stopped at C for a moment, then went a step further. Carnations started with a C, sure, but deadly nightshade? That was a D. She grabbed a small bag of powder from a the cold metal shelf. Only then did she go back a letter. “Let’s see if your sweetie likes this.” Claudia adjusted her gloves and set to work with the powder. Once you got a feel for the plant it was easy to eyeball the correct amount. Even a light dusting like this one could be done with a minimum of effort. She wondered if she’d ever be able to take the gloves off. If the plants would ever trust her enough to grant her immunity. “All right,” she said, removing the gloves and smoothing her hands over her dress before picking up the flower again. “Showtime.” And it was. She just hoped they both handled the flower a little bit. And that they both took a huge whiff of it before putting it down.