Blue Smoke

off my feet.” Bianca sat, poured sparkling water all around.
    “It’s about the wedding, and Bella.”
    “Oh, don’t start.” Fran clamped her hands on her ears. Her waves of hair tossed as she shook her head. “I don’t want a country club wedding. I don’t want a bunch of waiters in tuxedos serving champagne or a damn ice swan.”
    “Don’t blame you. But you do want flowers, right?”
    “Well, of course I want flowers.”
    “Let Bella do them.”
    “I don’t want—”
    “Wait. You know the sort of thing you want, you know the colors you want. But Bella knows more. The one thing she has in spades is style.”
    “I’d be drowning in pink roses.”
    “No, you wouldn’t.” Or, Reena thought, she’d personally drown Bella in them directly after the ceremony. “You want a simple wedding, old-fashioned and romantic. She gets that. Okay, she doesn’t get why you want that, but understands this is your line. And your day. She wants to help. She wants to feel part of it.”
    “She is part of it.” Fran pulled at her hair now while Bianca sat silently. “She’s matron of honor.”
    “She wants to give you something. She loves you.”

    “Oh, Reena, don’t.” Fran put her head on the table, banged it lightly. “Don’t guilt me into this.”
    “She’s a little bored, feeling a little separate.”
    “Mama. Help me.”
    “I’m waiting to hear it all first. To see why Reena’s taking your sister’s part in this.”
    “For one, because I think—No, I know she can do this. And at her expense.” She jabbed a finger at Fran as Fran’s head whipped up and protest covered her face. “A gift from your sister isn’t an insult, so just choke that back. She wants to give you your wedding flowers, and she’ll want you to be pleased with them, so she won’t screw it up. Quick, name five flowers that aren’t a rose.”
    “Um . . . lily, geranium . . . damn it, mums, pansies. This is too much pressure.”
    “You remember how she hounded those landscapers when she was putting in those gardens, the shrubberies? She knows more than any of us about this, and about coordinating something like this. She said she could do a kind of cottage garden theme. I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds nice.”
    Fran bit her lip. “I’m not sure exactly what it means either. But it sounds right.”
    “It would mean a lot to her, and I think when it was done, it would mean a lot to you.”
    “I could talk to her. Maybe we could go to a florist, or I could go over and look at her gardens again, and she could show me what she means.”
    “Good.” Knowing when to desert the field, Reena slid out of the booth. “I’ve got to head home.” She leaned down, kissed Fran, started to kiss her mother, but Bianca got up.
    “I’m going to walk out with you, get some air.”
    As they went through the door, Bianca put an arm around Reena’s waist. “That was unexpected. You’re not one to take Bella’s side.”
    “I don’t usually agree with her. Plus, my gut tells me there’s no way she’d screw this up. It’s partly for Fran, part for her own ego. It’s a no lose.”

    “Smart. You’ve always been my smart one. Why don’t we all go look at flowers? The women of Sirico’s.”
    “Okay, sure.”
    “Now, call me when you get home.”
    “Mama.”
    “Just call, so I know you got home safe.”
    Four and a half blocks, Reena thought as she strolled away. Through my own neighborhood. A trained police officer.
    But she called when she got home.
    B eing a rookie cop meant Reena was at the bottom of the department food chain. The fact that she’d graduated in the top five percent of her class didn’t hold a lot of water once she was in uniform and on patrol.
    That was fine. She’d been taught to earn her way.
    And she liked patrolling. She liked being able to talk to people, to try to help solve problems or disputes.
    She and her partner, a ten-year man named Samuel Smith, responded to a report of a disturbance on West Pratt in the southwest part of the city the locals called Sowebo.
    “Thought we were going to hit Krispy Kreme,” Smithy complained as he turned in the direction of the call.
    “How do you eat all those doughnuts and not put on weight?”
    “Cop blood.” He winked at her. He was six-four, and a stone-solid two-twenty. His skin was walnut, his eyes sharp and black. Out of uniform he’d have looked intimidating. In it, he looked ferocious.
    It was a comfort to someone in