“How’s it going, Josh?”

“Good. Good, I think. Thank God your father is grilling dinner tonight.”

“We’ll see if you thank him later. Dad has the enthusiasm, if not the skill.”

By braving the wreckage of the kitchen, I managed to make coffee. As soon as I’d had a cup of it, I got ready to leave for my parents’ house, where Ade and I were going to spend the night. Ade had insisted that even though the word traditional described nothing about the wedding, she still wanted to spend the night apart from Owen. Furthermore, she was determined that on Saturday, he wouldn’t see her before the ceremony.

I packed a bag with almost every one of the hundreds of beauty-supply items I owned as well as with my digital camera and with clothes for tonight’s rehearsal and dinner. Later in the day, I would pick up Adrianna and return to my parents’ house with her.

“Josh, are you going to be able to handle all of this yourself?” I wrinkled my brow as I watched oil splatter out of a Dutch oven.

“Trust me, babe,” Josh said with a wink. “I’m in my element here. I guarantee everyone will be blown away. Besides, I’ll have help tomorrow. Digger will be there to deal with the kitchen during the ceremony while I’m standing up there with Owen. And that Emilio kid’ll be there, too, right? Your mother said he was going to do whatever we needed.”

Emilio. Yum. I shook all thoughts of that hottie out of my head. “Okay, then. I’m off. I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

“Catch you later, hon.” Josh didn’t stop to give me a hug or a kiss.

I arrived at my parents’ house just as a delivery truck was pulling in. The chairs, tables, dishes, and glasses were there right on time. The white tent was fully set up now, too, and looked incredibly elegant. Things were coming together! Even the weather was cooperating. Today was quite hot, but the forecast for tomorrow promised temperatures in the mid to low seventies and, thank heaven, clear skies.

“Mom?” I called as I entered the living room and dropped my bags on the couch.

“Chloe? Is that you?” Mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “We have an emergency.”

Oh, no! By foolishly telling myself that everything was coming together, I’d jinxed the wedding. Grimly, I asked, “What’s going on?”

“Come look at this.” My mother’s voice was shaking.

I followed Mom as she led the way through the house to the front door and across the lawn to the tent. At the entrance, she came to a dramatic halt. “This,” she said with disgust, “is where Adrianna will appear! This is where the bride will enter! Can you believe it?”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Chloe! It’s dismal! And barren! We need plants. More plants. Lots of greenery! I need you to run down to the nursery and get . . . plants! Lots of them!” With the frantic air of someone boldly averting disaster, she gave me directions to the nursery, which emerged as the one owned by Emilio’s family. “Take the van. It’s here, fortunately, so that will save you some time. Charge whatever you get to our account there. And splurge! Go nuts! I want tons of plants.”

“Mom, the flowers are arriving tomorrow—”

“I know that! But this tent is mammoth, and we’re not going to have it look empty. Get plants with height! And lots of blooms! Hanging plants, too! Run!”

My mother was having a floral breakdown.

I was in no mood for an argument. Consequently, I refrained from challenging her insistence that the tent looked desolate and was thus in dire need of the help that plants would provide. Fortunately, the van parked at the end of the driveway was one of the new ones rather than the old gray rattletrap that had unhappy associations. Unfortunately, however, the nursery was only a few miles from the house; I’d have preferred a long respite from my mother’s frenzy.

Nursery turned out to be a misleading term for Emilio’s family’s sprawling, impressive garden center, which had eight large greenhouses and a main building with a garden-supply store, as well as two or three big outdoor areas devoted to trees, shrubs, and small plants of all kinds. I found a wagon and began strolling the aisles of the first greenhouse in search of plants that would appease my mother—in other words, horticultural tranquilizers. Knowing my mother as I did, I avoided anything that would have to be planted in the ground. It would have been just like Mom to decide that the whole family had to spend the rest of the day and night digging holes and planting shrubs.

“Chloe?”

I whipped around to see Emilio before me. “Hi,” I gasped. “I’m looking for plants,” I added stupidly, as if there were thousands of other reasons for pushing a wagon through a greenhouse.

“Do you need any help?” Oh, those darn dimples.

I explained my mother’s instructions, and Emilio nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you come with me. I can help you.”

He added, somewhat disappointingly, “We’ve got a bunch of new fall plants in terra-cotta containers.”

Within minutes, we’d made so many selections that we needed a second cart. “I can’t believe I’ve never been in here before,” I said as I admired the many healthy plants. “This is a wonderful nursery.”

“Thanks. Let’s check over here, too. We’ve got tons of perennials and biennials that are seriously discounted because it’s the end of the season. They’re in pots. You won’t have to sink them in the ground. Some of them are in bloom. Not all, but some.”

“Let’s take a look,” I said. “My mother will have a fit if I show up with yellow mums like the ones in the supermarkets.”

I followed Emilio into another greenhouse where, just as he’d said, there were bargain-priced perennials and biennials, some flourishing, some rather battered. I browsed the aisles and stopped in front of a group of low, green plants with some tired-looking old leaves mixed with bright new growth. I didn’t have to read the labels to recognize foxglove. Foxglove! Digitalis! Lots of it, all cheap, all readily available to absolutely anyone. Oh, and all deadly, of course. Well, so much for finding out who did and didn’t have a garden. Anyone, including an apartment dweller, could have bought the plants that were the source of the poison that killed Francie.

“Emilio? Have you been selling a lot of this foxglove?”

“Probably not. Most foxgloves bloom in the spring. They’re not at their best right now. Look at them. But I’m not sure. I’m not always here at the nursery. Why?” he asked with curiosity. “Bethany won’t want them. Your mother wants a show. For the wedding tomorrow. Not something that’ll bloom next year.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s . . . there’s just something I’m wondering about. Do you think we could find out from somebody else who works here?”

Emilio had been nowhere near Leo and Francie’s house on the day of her murder, of course; he couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it and was obviously not a suspect. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to admit my reason for wanting to know who’d bought foxglove. I could barely imagine how I’d phrase my purpose. Well, Emilio, I’m leading a secret life as social work’s answer to Nancy Drew.

Happily, he didn’t demand an explanation. All he said was,“Yeah, I guess I could ask my cousins.” Emilio waved to a young man across the greenhouse who then approached us. Emilio began speaking rapidly in Spanish. The only word I understood was the one repeatedly spoken in English: foxglove. The young man kept nodding his head. Then he smiled at me and left.

“He says that they’ve sold lots of foxglove to lots of Americans,” Emilio reported with a smile. “I don’t suppose that helps you.”

“I wouldn’t say it narrows the field, but thanks anyway.” I’d run out of time to pursue my investigations. I had to get the plants back to the house, and I had to pick up Ade. “So my mother said I could just charge all this stuff to her account,” I said.

“Of course. I’ll write it up.”

Many hundreds of dollars later, Emilio offered to help me load the plants into the van. As we worked, he said, “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I hear you and your cousins are going to help out. That’ll be great.”

“Hey.” Emilio placed a potted sedum in the van and then posed charmingly with one arm against the sliding door. “I was wondering if you might want to get together sometime. After the wedding, of course. I thought I could take you out to dinner. There’s a new little French restaurant on Exeter Street. In the Back Bay, near my apartment.”

Oh, God. I wished that my immediate thought were something other than what it was. I should have been thinking that there was no way on earth that I’d ever be interested in anyone but Josh. As it was, all I could think was that this was an adorable, smart, socially and environmentally conscious guy who worked regular hours and . . . Hold it! The weirdness between Josh and me certainly didn’t mean that I should accept Emilio’s offer. Or did it? No matter what, I couldn’t just keep standing there staring at him. Mustering up the courage to respond, I said, “I’m flattered. I really am. But I have a boyfriend. Josh. He’s the one doing all the cooking tomorrow.”

How could my mother have failed to mention Josh when she’d asked Emilio to help? A simple statement—“My daughter’s boyfriend is catering the wedding”—would have been sufficient. When things got uncomfortable tomorrow, it would be my mother’s fault.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Emilio shrugged. “I had to try. I just got out of a relationship, and I thought I should take a stab at dating again. Let me know if anything changes.”

I drove away. I wished that Emilio hadn’t asked me out, and I wished that I hadn’t hesitated. I exhaled deeply. After checking my watch, I decided that instead of going directly to my parents’ house, I should pick up Adrianna on the way. After four tries, I finally parallel parked the van on Ade’s street. Climbing the stairs to her apartment, I wondered, as I had many times before, how a humongous pregnant lady made it up these steps every day. I let myself in only to be greeted by the unmelodious sound of Kitty’s voice.

“Is that what you really want to wear tonight? All right. If you think that’s appropriate, be my guest.”

“Mom! I swear on my baby’s life that if you don’t shut your—”

“Hello?” I called cheerily, hoping to abate some of the tension. “Where is the bride-to-be?”

“Chloe. Thank God.” Adrianna emerged from the bathroom with a major scowl planted on her face. She wore a clingy yellow top, a white knee-length skirt, and sandals with three-inch heels. I loved it that Ade hadn’t spent her pregnancy shrouded in oversized outfits. Her clothes hugged her beautiful curves and celebrated her pregnancy. In my opinion, Kitty had no reason to criticize Ade.

“Hello, Chloe.” Kitty’s smile was forced. “Adrianna, I just think that you could find something less . . . revealing than that outfit. You are a bride, after all. You could be less obvious.”

“Less obvious? You mean I’m supposed to make it less obvious that I got knocked up before I was married?” Adrianna sounded incredulous. “You think I can hide my pregnancy? You think I’d want to? Say it, Mom. Just say it! You want to pretend I’m not pregnant. You want me to play the part of some virginal bride, right? Well, tough.”

“Adrianna Zane! How dare you!” Kitty had turned an alarming shade of red. Her lips were tightly pursed.

“How dare I what? How dare I say what you’re thinking? You hate that I’m pregnant. You hate Owen, and you probably hate me.” Despite her raised voice, Adrianna looked remarkably calm for someone who was duking it out with her mother. “I cannot deal with you right now. I can’t change how you feel and how you treat me, but I don’t have to put up with it.”

Kitty stood frozen, aghast at her daughter’s brutal frankness.

“Chloe, I’m packed and ready to go. Mother, you can let yourself out. I’ll see you tomorrow if you can drag yourself to the wedding. But I want you to leave right afterward. I don’t want you around after the wedding, and I don’t want you around when I give birth. Come on, let’s go.”

I picked up Adrianna’s bags, she carried her wedding dress, and we bolted. We said nothing until we were seated in the van.

Ade managed to buckle her seat belt and then took a look around the plant-packed van. “This is not exactly the glamorous limo ride I was expecting, but thanks for getting me.”

“No problem. I thought a limo might be too pretentious and clichéd. A van packed with greenery hit me as celebratory without being excessive or trite.”

“Good thinking.”

I did a forty-point turn to get us out of the tight parking space. “You okay?”

“Yup. I’m quite okay. Actually, I’m fantastic.” Ade smiled broadly. “I’m ready to get married, Chloe. I’m really ready. Kitty can suck it!” she cheered.

“That’s my girl!” I yelled happily. “Kitty can suck it!”