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Excerpt from Chapter 1
Never, ever piss off a woman who goes by the name Voodoo Flower Child. That isn’t her real name. It’s the name of her floral business, but I’m sure Henrietta LeBlanc came by the voodoo nickname honestly.
I’d been doing business with Henrietta for two years. When we first met, she’d been in Houston five years after relocating from New Orleans to escape the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. She was struggling to gain the kind of upscale clientele she had established back home.
I needed some ornate floral arrangements for a grand Mardi Gras themed masquerade ball and found Henrietta online. Her work was amazing! Not only could she do over the top and ostentatious but she could also do graceful and elegant. She was very talented and we formed a quick bond despite not having a single thing in common besides our love for opulent events.
Three weeks ago, I canceled a client contract with Henrietta that would have brought even more exposure to her shop. The reason? In addition to selling some of the most exotic flowers and making some of the most jaw-dropping arrangements– Henrietta was also cultivating cannabis in a hidden room of her shop. I accidentally stumbled across the room when I went to the cooler to look at some of her new arrivals. I noticed a back panel on one of the refrigerated cases was missing and when I investigated further, I discovered the hidden room behind the cooler.
When I confronted her, she didn’t even try to hide or deny it. She said it was for a business with her cousin in Colorado. We didn’t live in Colorado, and growing and distributing marijuana in the state of Texas was illegal.The biggest conflict of all was that our current client was the daughter of the Chief of Police!
I told Henrietta I would not be using her services as long as she was involved in illegal activities. She was obviously shocked but it quickly morphed into fury. She yelled and called me everything but a child of God. Her slight Creole accent became more pronounced, and she started throwing French words at me. I didn’t understand what she was saying but I was willing to bet money that she put a voodoo hex on me.
That was the only way to explain why everything that could have gone wrong on the day of the wedding went wrong.
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