Clover Covered Corpse

Jake said, “Houston told Brett that only one of them could sell healthy drinks. Houston created Good Life first, so Brett needs to stop selling smoothies.” “Whoa, how’d Brett react?”
Jake chuckled. “He was cool as a cucumber and told Houston to try and sue him. Then Houston stormed off, yelling threats all the way out the door. Once he left, all the customers in the coffee shop cheered. It turns out Brett’s not the first person Houston has tried to bully in town.”
“I’m glad Brett stood up for himself. Spring is a perfect time for smoothies. It’s heating up in Texas. Good for Brett to try creating new drinks on his menu for the scorching hot days.”
“Definitely. You got to be aware of your customer base and what they enjoy. It’s a smart move— A scream interrupted Jake’s sentence, and chills ripped up my spine.
CHAPTER THREE

I grabbed my cash box and credit card reader before hurrying toward the scream.
Miranda Penn, Houston Turner’s sister, stood in the field of clover behind the food trucks, pointing at the ground. “He’s dead! My brother is dead!”
Jake took off and beat me to the body. When I reached them, Jake was checking for signs of life. His cheek was near the man’s mouth; then he moved his fingers to Houston’s wrist.
Others stood around the body, talking on cell phones. A middle-aged man wearing a Texas Rangers ball cap gripped a phone next to his ear. “The operator said to start CPR.”
Two women dropped to their knees and began the life-saving procedure.
They elbowed Jake to the side.
Houston had been alive and rude only a couple of hours earlier. What had happened?
I avoided looking at the big man’s body and studied the grassy area full of clover. The yellow daffodils I’d sold him lay scattered by the body. There was also a bottle of Good Life, a crushed paper cup from Anytime Coffee, and a bracelet on his thick wrist. He hadn’t worn it earlier, but maybe he’d bought it from the same jewelry booth Paula was interested in. I hoped they hadn’t been there at the same time.
A siren wailed. Woo-woo-woo. Whoop. An ambulance parked near the picnic tables for the food court. Two EMTs hopped out of the vehicle and dashed to Houston Turner’s body.
Jake joined me and slipped his arm around my shoulders. “How are you holding up?”
I could feel his racing heart thump against the back of my arm. “Okay, I guess. What about you?”
“I’ll be fine, but Houston won’t.” Jake’s voice trembled.
“I was afraid of that. Do you think he had a heart attack?”
“Nope.” He pressed his lips together into a flat line.
Two police cars pulled next to the ambulance, and four cops ran to the body.
I watched the people who had gathered around the tragic scene. Elijah Barnes took pictures from a discrete distance. “If I was a cop, and if this turns out to be a murder, I’d ask the photographer to share his pictures with me.”
“Oh, Emma. You’re not a cop, so please don’t ask to see the pictures.”
Officer Steve Koch approached the crowd, waving his arms. “Everyone git back. This here is an official crime scene.” His Texas twang rang out.
The crowd gasped. It was followed by murmuring, but nobody moved away.
“I said to git back.” Officer Koch’s voice had turned into a growl, and the crowd began to disperse.
Jake said, “He surely means us too. We best bounce.”
As much as I wanted to watch and maybe overhear a clue, I did need to sell flowers. “You’re right. Hey, thanks again for the coffee. It’s delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Jake, if you see anything from your coffee truck, will you tell me?”
“Umf.” He thumped his chest. “I knew it. You’re only interested in me for my investigative skills.”
“That’s not true. I’ve really been busy with my business.”
“Just kidding. See ya later, Sunshine.”
“Bye.” I walked back to my booth. Everything looked just like I left it. Nothing stolen, but I was still glad to have remembered to take my money with me.
Paula raced up to me and placed a death grip on my arm. Her face was pale. “Can you believe it? Houston Turner’s dead.” “It’s a shock. Do you suppose you cared more about him than you realized?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. What if the police learned I’d been arguing with Houston this morning? They might believe I’m a suspect.”
“One argument doesn’t mean you murdered Houston. I think you’re overreacting.”
Paula gulped. “We also argued earlier this week. Emma, you’ve got to help prove I’m innocent. You need to catch the real killer.”
This time I gulped. There’d only been one time when I’d helped a friend out by proving she didn’t commit murder. It’d been dangerous, and I’d almost been killed myself. How could I agree? Paula’s wide, water-filled eyes implored me. Dag gum it. How could I not agree? “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you so much.” Paula hugged me tight.
A sense of dread filled me. I was a flower farmer, not a detective. By agreeing, I’d lessened my friend’s stress. On the other hand, it was doubtful I could really solve another murder.