‘I HEAR YOU’RE LOOKING for a cheap florist,’ Constable Bill Beard said to Rafferty as he and Llewellyn entered the station reception.
‘Not a cheap florist, no,’ Rafferty corrected him. ‘I’m looking for a professional florist who’ll do a good job cheaply for my wedding. Why? Know any?’
‘My auntie used to be a florist. She’d long since retired, of course. But she likes to keep her hand in. How much were you thinking of paying?’
Rafferty called to mind the quotes he’d had and halved the cheapest.
‘I’ll give her a bell. You want the usual, I take it? Flowers for the church and reception hall and bouquets and buttonholes?’
Rafferty nodded. ‘I can let you know how many nearer the time.’
‘Numbers aren’t a problem. My auntie can always call in the help of a few of her old muckers in the trad
