Chapter 1
I was well-known locally in Washington. Delilah watkins, age 38, is a single mother running a simple floral shop downtown. People knew me of course so why did I get a shiver down my spine as I read this letter?
It was Monday, and my two-year-old Heaven was at daycare. I entered my floral store to find a letter in the mail. ‘Watkins,’ it read. I opened the letter and began to read.
“Dear Ms. Watkins,
I am a fan of your work and your beauty. I admire how you treat the flowers with such care and greet your customers with kindness.
I am writing to express my appreciation for your business and all that you do for this town.
P.S. Do you have roses?”
Not signed. It wasn’t odd that I was complimented. I had many friends and always helped where I could. I always got waves and “Hey Delilah!“wherever I went. But that last part. “Do you have roses?” I said aloud. If this person had been in, they would know I always had roses stocked. ALWAYS.
I turned to check my stock because even though I knew I had a lot I needed to see what to order. And I see it. All 50 roses I hand-marked with a name-brand bow were gone. It was odd, really odd. I mean yesterday I had a large sale. Maybe this figure came in and saw we were out? But I’m usually so attentive.
I brush it off after naming hundreds of scenarios and go to pick up heaven. I went and the babysitter said “Heaven ran behind a bush and cut her neck. Just wanted to let you know.” I nodded and said “Thank you” before leading Heaven into the car and driving away. Heaven loved to run around so it wasn’t abnormal that she decided to wander. When we arrived home I saw her neck and looked at her cut—a thin scrape. I cooked dinner while heaven babbled away.
As I tucked her in, I found a rose petal under her pillow. I assumed she just took one of the flowers while we were there last week.
I climbed ito my bed and lay down. I dozed off. Then I heard a crash. I checked the Clock. 1:00 AM it ticked. I went to the living room and looked around. My great-grandmother’s urn lay shattered on the floor. I checked to make sure heaven was still asleep. She was. So, what knocked the urn over? I turn to see a dark figure in my glass sliding door. I run up to it and lock it. It seemed like a man.
Suddenly he disappeared. “Am I dreaming?” I wondered aloud. I walked back to my room after getting me a glass of milk. On my bed lay three roses with name-brand bows and a note.
Dear Ms. Watkins,
No, you’re not.
P.S. Do you like roses?
