Gather Ye Rosebuds

The President of the Garden Club held on to her hat. Okay, not many ladies even of her advanced age wore hats any more, but she was not going to give them up, breeze or no breeze. Neither the picture hats nor the snappy navy suits.

   “Meredith?” A blonde woman shouted into her ear and tapped her on the shoulder. “Meredith?”

    The President of the Garden Club, Meredith Winfield, spun around, still holding her hat. The ferry was making a good 15 knots, and the wind was brisk on the upper deck.

   “I need to talk to you about something. Can I stop by your office later?”

   “I’m no longer at the office, more’s the pity,” said Meredith. “Come to the house. But give me time to deal with the dogs first. They’re probably frantic—I went to the mainland yesterday.”

    “Need anything from town?”

    “No thanks. I have a whole crate of stuff below, not to mention flats from the nursery.”

    “I’ll come by later then. Around four okay?”

    “Sure. That’ll be fine. I’ll see you.”

    With a faint frown, Meredith watched the gulls coasting on the air waves alongside the boat, hoping for tourists and fried clams. The blonde woman made her way below. Her hair must have gotten mussed.

    “I wonder what the hell she wants,” said the President of the Garden Club under her breath.