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continued turning pages. His gaze settled on something, then widened. Frowning, he glanced at Joe. “Impeccable prison record, no parole violations.”
    “Do I hear a but in there?”
    “How old did you say her son is?”
    “Same age as mine. Fifteen. Why?”
    “You have a go.” Bruce slid the file across the desk. “My wife accuses me of being a judgmental schmuck. Maybe I’m taking these words out of context.”
    “Comes with the territory.” Joe read the parole board’s benign report, followed by a much more damning statement provided in her parole officer’s handwritten scrawl.
    Melanie Daniels Norris may not have committed a crime in the last several years, but she was certainly no innocent. Along with disgust, an odd sense of disappointment clutched at Joe’s chest. “The parole officer claims she exchanged sexual favors with a corrections officer.”
    Bruce met Joe’s stare. “And as a result bore the man’s child.”
    “Mel, take line two. Chloe, these arrangements were due at the Cliff House yesterday .”
    As predicted Mel was a zombie at work, but store owner Aaron Meyers was too absorbed in running two floral design businesses to let her dig her grave and rest in peace. With Thanksgiving a couple weeks away, customers were already planning December’s holiday season as well.
    Mel answered, “Pinnacle Creations,” and took a large order from one of Aaron’s wealthy customers. “That was Elaine Preston,” she hollered over the ringing phones and five jabbering co-workers. “Her husband wants custom wreaths designed for his major clients.”
    Aaron gasped. “Of course, she can’t let us survive Thanksgiving first. How many?”
    “Twenty-five,” Mel replied, wincing, “by December first.”
    “Talk about multi-tasking,” Aaron said. “All right, girlfriend. This is your project. Call the south shop. If they don’t have what you need, call the supplier. Do what you have to do.”
    Store manager Karlee Stanfield hung up from another line and glanced from him to Mel. “Aaron, isn’t it a little soon? Do you want me to ask one of the others―”
    “No. Melanie can handle this.” Leaving no room for debate, Aaron moved onto the next assignment.
    Mel gave Karlee what must’ve been a panicked look.
    “He’s right, Mel. You can,” the manager said. “But I’m here if you need me.”
    Watching her coworkers go about their own creative frenzies, Mel phoned the south store, then pulled several supply catalogs from the shelf.
    On shaky legs, she’d walked into the exclusive shop a month ago and asked for a job. Her horticulture background had helped, but there was always the prejudicial application where she was required by law to list her felony conviction. The storeowner had studied the form for a good while before saying, “When can you start?”
    When she replied, “Tomorrow,” he’d said, “I need you today.” Mel immediately liked Aaron. She loved his entrepreneurial spirit, his creative flare and willingness to let her experiment with color, fragrances and design. He’d never said a word about her past, paid her a fair wage, and was tolerant of her single-mother status.
    In short, Aaron was as opposite from Lt. Joe Crandall as a sparrow from a scorpion. What was she going to do if the lieutenant insisted on separating the boys? Surely Luke would want to know why, and this time she’d have no choice but to tell him.
    She opened the supply book and immediately found the section listing accoutrements. While jotting down the items she wanted for the wreaths, all she could hope was that on his way home from work, the cop would be run over by a semi. Hey, it wasn’t a very nice thought, but Joe Crandall wasn’t a very nice man.
    By four o’clock, fatigue won. Mel switched from bottled water to caffeine. The same way he paid attention to an intricate floral arrangement or an item left undone around the shop, Aaron noticed. “Everything okay?”
    “Fine. Didn’t sleep much