The Flower Show Fiasco, Page 2

  Deirdre crossed her arms over her chest. “My aunt wins every year. Every. Single. Year.” She narrowed her eyes at the girls, daring them to say something.

  Nancy glanced sideways at her friends. Bess’s face was pale. One thing was clear: Deirdre was taking this whole competition way too seriously. Thankfully Helene Flossenhammer, the head of the Garden Society, stepped on the stage at that very moment. Everyone made their way across the Grand Ballroom to hear her speech.

  Mimsy stood up front while Nancy, Bess, and George filed in beside her. They lost Deirdre and Suzie somewhere in the crowd. “Welcome to the sixteenth annual Garden Society Show,” Helene Flossenhammer said into the microphone. She was one of the tallest women Nancy had ever seen. She wore a large floppy hat that was covered with fake flowers.

  “We’re all so pleased you could join us. Thank you to Le Chateau for hosting us. We’re very lucky to have Jean-Claude, the famous pastry chef, here all the way from New York City.” The crowd broke into applause. Nancy turned to the front of the Grand Ballroom, where a man with white hair was standing beside the stage. He barely noticed Helene.

  Instead he was whispering to a skinny boy with black hair. Jean-Claude’s face was tense, as if each word took great effort to get out. Nancy could barely hear what he was saying. “You never do anything right,” he huffed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Egg whites! No yolks! Baking is a science, a real science! Anything less than perfection is not good enough.” The boy was blushing so much his ears turned red.

  Helene kept talking. She went through the list of judges, who had come to the show for the last ten years. She thanked friends of the Garden Society who had donated gift baskets and certificates for their raffle. At one point she pulled Geraldine DeWitt onstage. She congratulated her on winning Bloom of the Year five times in a row. When Helene was nearly done she turned to the three judges. They all held clipboards in their hands, their pens resting on paper. “And now we’ll start the judging. Winners will be announced tonight at the Garden Society Gala. Good luck to all!”

  “Gala? Does that mean party?” George asked.

  “You bet it does.” Mimsy laughed. “There’s going to be a formal dinner tonight at eight for just adults. That’s when the real celebrating will happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies . . . I need to go stand beside my blooms!” Mimsy smiled as she disappeared into the crowd. Nancy had never seen her so happy. It was like she’d already won the first-place ribbon.

  “Where’d Deirdre and Suzie go?” Bess asked, looking around.

  Nancy scanned the Grand Ballroom. She didn’t see the girls anywhere. “I’m not sure. Maybe they’ve discovered the chocolate fountain.” Nancy giggled as she walked toward the dessert table. They’d spend the afternoon eating sweets and taking pictures with all the amazing flowers. Some of them she’d never seen before. They looked like they’d been flown in from the Amazon rain forest.

  Nancy and Bess were reaching for chocolate strawberries when someone screamed. The girls turned around. There, across the room, was Mimsy Bouret. Her face was completely white. She covered her heart with her hand.

  “What is it? What happened?” Helene called out from the stage.

  Mimsy pointed to an empty vase. “Someone stole my roses!” she yelled. “They’re gone!”

  Ticktock, Ticktock

  “Now, now,” Helene Flossenhammer said. She paced back and forth in front of the empty vase. “Calm down, Mimsy. There has to be an explanation for this.”

  A small crowd had formed around the table. Nancy, Bess, and George stood in front, watching the scene unfold. Mimsy’s cheeks were deep red and she looked a little out of breath.

  “I just stepped away for a few minutes,” she said. “I went up to the stage to listen to your welcome speech. I was there the whole time. When I came back they were gone. The whole bouquet has disappeared!”

  One of the judges wore a dark gray suit. “Could someone have taken them somewhere? Maybe someone wanted to give them a last-minute pruning before the judging started. Did you have anyone with you?”

  Mimsy looked to Nancy and her friends. “You girls didn’t move them, did you?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bouret,” Nancy said sadly. “But we were watching Helene’s speech too. We haven’t touched them at all. The last time I saw them was when you had them before Helene spoke, but that was nearly half an hour ago.”

  Helene Flossenhammer looked down the row of judges. Then she glanced at her watch. “I feel bad, I do, Mimsy. But if we don’t start the judging soon, we might not finish in time for the gala tonight.”

  “Someone must’ve stolen them.” Mimsy rubbed her hand over her forehead. “I don’t know what else could have happened.”

  Two of the judges furrowed their brows, as if they didn’t quite believe Mimsy’s story. A woman with a bright green scarf shook her head. “Whatever the case is, we need to begin. If you find the bouquet by the gala tonight, we’ll include it in the competition. We’ll be announcing the winners at eight o’clock.”

  With that, the judges stepped away. They walked over to the Orchid Garden and scribbled something on their clipboards. Helene was the last to go. “I wish this hadn’t happened, Mimsy. Good luck,” she whispered. Then she followed behind the judges.

  The rest of the crowd left. Some circled tables of lilies, while others piled their plates with cookies and fruit. When they were finally alone Mimsy looked down at the girls. “I’m telling the truth,” she said. “I don’t know what else to say. They were right here . . . and then they weren’t. Who would do something like this?” She pulled a tissue from her pocket. She pressed it to her eyes, dabbing away tears.

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” Nancy said. “I promise.”

  Nancy grabbed Miss Bouret’s hand, trying to make her feel better. Mimsy looked forward to the Garden Society Show all year. She spent hours in her yard, planting and watering her flowers. For months leading up to it, it seemed like all she talked about was the special fertilizer she used or how humming to her plants helped them grow. Gardening was one of her favorite things to do. Nancy hated to see her so upset. Worst of all, she knew Mimsy would never lie. Not about this.

  George looked at her watch. “It’s eleven o’clock now. That means we have nine hours before the gala tonight. As long as we can find the bouquet before the winners are announced, Miss Bouret will still have a chance to win.”

  “Oh dear,” Mimsy said. “I don’t even know where to begin. How am I going to find out who did this? I might as well forget it. . . .”

  “Don’t give up just yet,” Bess said. She pulled a small notebook out of her back pocket. “It’s time for the Clue Crew to do what we do best.”

  Nancy looked at her friends and smiled. “It’s time to solve this mystery,” she said.

  Unusual Suspects

  Nancy paced back and forth in front of the table. “Let’s look for clues,” she said quietly. As she examined the scene, she noticed there were drops of water on one side of the empty vase. “Someone must have pulled them out of the vase and gone that way,” Nancy said. She pointed toward the back of the Grand Ballroom. “That’s where the drops of water lead.”

  Bess leaned down to look at the table. Nancy was right. There were six drops of water in a straight line. They must have come off the roses when they were taken out of the vase. “Maybe someone ran for the back exit?”

  Bess wrote in her notebook. “If it’s eleven o’clock now, when were the roses taken?” she asked.

  The girls looked to Mimsy for an answer. “Well, I was one of the last people to go to the stage,” Mimsy said. “The speech started right around ten thirty. I remember because I looked at my watch.”

  “The roses were taken between ten thirty and a little before eleven,” George said. Bess scribbled another note in her book.

  “And you’re sure they disappeared from this table? This vase?” Nancy asked.

  “One hundr
ed percent,” Mimsy said. She held her face in her hands.

  Nancy studied the vase. It was one of the nicest ones on the table. It was clear glass with a pattern cut into it. Nancy had only ever seen ones like it at her grandmother’s house, and she was never allowed to touch those. “Is the vase very expensive?” she asked.

  Mimsy nodded. “Very. It doesn’t make any sense that someone would take the roses and not the vase. That’s worth ten times as much as a bunch of flowers.”

  George put her hands on her hips. “Motive,” she said. “Isn’t that the word for why someone does something? Whoever did this must have been afraid your roses would win the show.”

  Bess wrote motive across the top of a page. “You’re right. I can’t think of any other reason someone would take them. Especially when they left the vase here.”

  “There are three people here who have a motive, then.” George pointed across the Grand Ballroom. Deirdre and Suzie stood next to Deirdre’s aunt Geraldine. They were all smiling as they ate dainty sandwiches from a silver tray. “Is there anyone else you can think of?”

  “Hmmmm . . . I don’t know,” Mimsy said. “I hate to accuse anyone, but Geraldine is my only real competition. At least that’s what everyone has been saying. But still . . . would they have really done something like this?”

  “Maybe,” Bess said. She wrote three suspects down in her notebook. Geraldine DeWitt, Deirdre, and Suzie. “You never know.”

  “It just seems hopeless,” Mimsy said. She leaned against the table as if she felt dizzy. “Even if she did take them, she would never admit to it.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Bouret,” Nancy said. “We’ll figure this out.”

  The girls strode across the Grand Ballroom toward Deirdre. The photographer snapped more pictures of the guests. A woman in a puffy blue dress posed with her orchids. Two older women held their shrimp in the air.

  “The cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches are the best,” Deirdre said. She bit into another one. Suzie Park nibbled on a ham and cheese one. They both turned around when they noticed Nancy and her friends.

  “Too bad about Mimsy’s roses,” Suzie said, and laughed.

  “Guess there’s always next year, right?” Deirdre smiled wickedly. She was definitely happy the roses had vanished . . . but was she the one who took them?

  “Yes, such a tragedy,” Geraldine went on. Nancy couldn’t tell if she really cared or not. As she spoke she rearranged her bouquet, moving some of the bigger roses to the front. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Bess held her notebook in the air. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

  Nancy leaned in to question them. “Did you see anything strange this morning? Where were you when Helene gave her speech?”

  Geraldine tapped her fingers on the table. “No, I can’t say I did. When Helene took the stage, I was standing to the right of it, beside Mrs. Canter. We talked a little about her lilacs. Then I listened to Helene’s speech. Deirdre and Suzie were there with me the whole time.”

  “Did you see anything strange?” Nancy asked Deirdre. She was feeling more suspicious of Deirdre than usual. Everyone knew Deirdre hated losing. But would she really steal Mimsy’s roses? That seemed a little extreme, even for her.

  “Nothing I can think of,” Deirdre said. She took another bite of her sandwich.

  “Do you remember when you first heard the roses were missing?” Bess asked.

  “Probably when Mimsy screamed. I bet people two towns over heard that.” Deirdre laughed.

  Just then a woman with a short white bob strolled up, a vase of purple lilacs in one hand. “These are them, Geraldine,” she said. “The judges seemed impressed.”

  “As they should be!” Geraldine said. She put her nose just a few inches from the flowers and breathed in. “They smell wonderful, and they look even better.”

  Nancy remembered what Geraldine had said about Mrs. Canter, the woman she was standing with. “Were you with Mrs. DeWitt and the girls during Helene’s speech?”

  “Yes . . . ,” the woman said. She looked confused.

  “And they were right beside you the whole time?” Nancy pressed.

  Mrs. Canter laughed. “Yes. Why?”

  Nancy didn’t want to offend anyone, but investigating sometimes meant ruling out suspects. “We just wanted to be sure,” she said

  Geraldine put her hands on her hips. “You don’t think any of us would steal Mimsy’s roses, do you? What kind of people do you think we are?”

  Bess tried to explain. “No, but you’re Miss Bouret’s competition. We’re trying to figure out why someone would take the flowers. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  At this, Geraldine seemed angry. She pressed her bright red lips into a thin line. “Well, I’ve never been so offended! Me? A criminal? Why aren’t you questioning Tessa Fitzgerald?”

  Nancy shared a look with her friends. They’d never even heard that name before. Not from Mimsy or anyone else. “Who?” George asked.

  Geraldine pointed across the Grand Ballroom. An older couple stood near the back exit. The woman was wearing a pink ball gown and matching shawl. They looked like they were arguing. “Tessa Fitzgerald!” Geraldine cried. “She’s the one saying she saw someone take the flowers. Why aren’t you asking her these questions?”

  Deirdre and Suzie looked annoyed. “Yeah,” Deirdre huffed. “If you’re such amazing detectives, why are you blaming us?”

  “We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this,” Nancy tried. “We’re not blaming anyone.”

  George pulled Nancy away before Deirdre could go on. They took off across the Grand Ballroom, dodging a few waiters with silver trays. “That didn’t go well,” Bess whispered.

  “I think it went great,” Nancy said. She didn’t take her eyes off the couple by the exit. “It’s official. We have our first witness. . . .”

  He Said, She Said

  Nancy and her friends walked to the back of the Grand Ballroom. Bess pointed to the table where the roses were taken. It wasn’t even ten feet away from where the couple stood. “See?” Bess said. “If they were here when it happened, they had the perfect view.”

  George put her finger over her lips, telling the girls to be quiet. She nodded in the direction of the woman. She was arguing with her husband about something. George, Bess, and Nancy inched closer until they could hear.

  “But he wasn’t young,” the man said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “He was losing his hair.”

  The woman shook her thick gray curls. “Gregory, I know what I saw. The man definitely wasn’t bald. I know that for a fact.”

  Nancy cleared her throat—something her father did whenever he wanted to get someone’s attention. The couple stopped arguing and turned to look at the girls. “Excuse me,” Nancy said. “Are you Tessa Fitzgerald? We heard you saw who took the missing roses.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “She’s Tessa and I’m her husband, Gregory Fitzgerald. For the record, we both saw who took them.”

  “We need your help, then. What did he look like?” Bess asked.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald let out a sigh. “He was wearing a blue shirt. He had a mustache maybe, or a goatee . . .”

  “He didn’t have a goatee,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “Not at all. He was wearing a black jacket.”

  George took a turn with the notebook. Bess had flipped to a clean page, but she hadn’t written anything on it. Their only two witnesses couldn’t agree on what they saw. “Let’s start from the beginning,” George tried. “Can you tell us what happened? When did you notice the man who took the flowers?”

  Mr. Fitzgerald nodded. “Well, we stood in the back during the speech. I just hate crowds. I need my own space, you know?”

  “Yes, and while we were back here we noticed this man taking away a bouquet of roses. I thought they were his,” Mrs. Fitzgerald added.

  Mr. Fitzgerald held one finger in the air. “He was older and practically bald. I think he might’ve
had gray hair, even.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald tapped George’s notebook. “Don’t write that down. My husband has very bad eyesight, but he refuses to get glasses. The man was young. I know he was.”

  As Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald argued, Nancy, Bess, and George huddled together. “What are we going to do?” Bess whispered. “They can’t agree on anything.”

  Nancy knew this sometimes happened. Witnesses could have very different descriptions of what they saw. Mrs. Fitzgerald thought the man was wearing just a blue shirt, but her husband thought he was wearing a jacket. Mrs. Fitzgerald swore he had facial hair but her husband thought that was wrong. Nancy hoped they could agree on at least one fact.

  “Do you remember what time this happened?” she asked.

  “Well, it happened just ten minutes before the speech ended,” Mr. Fitzgerald said.

  “Maybe fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Fitzgerald argued. George looked at the notebook and let out a sigh. She still hadn’t written anything down. Their witnesses weren’t helping much.

  “I’m sure about one thing. It happened right after we took that photo,” Mr. Fitzgerald said.

  “What photo?” Nancy asked.

  “The photographer came by and took a photo of us,” Mrs. Fitzgerald agreed. “Then we saw the man. It happened no more than a minute later.”

  “The photographer!” Nancy cried. “This is perfect.”

  “What about the photographer?” Bess asked. She looked confused.

  George tapped her pen against the top of the notebook. She knew exactly what Nancy meant. “If the photographer was here just before the roses were taken, she may have gotten a picture of the man who took them. We need to see her photos.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald leaned down so she was eye level with the girls. “I’m truly sorry we couldn’t be of more help.”

  “You’ve been a huge help, really,” Nancy replied. She meant every word. Even if Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald couldn’t agree, they’d given the Clue Crew their first big lead. If they could find the photographer, they might be able to solve the case with time to spare.