Fed up

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 Fm not sure. Fm 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