Chapter 2

“Sorry.”

“I’m no gardener or expert on flora and fauna, but it’s obviously not something that just happened. Mother Nature does some amazing shit.”

I reached up to pull back the shade. “Flower fairies.”

“What, now?”

“Never mind.”

“The arrangement of the plants—the shape—is too precise,” Frasier continued. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and neither have the people who think it could be news. Take a look.”

I got a ping as a few colorful images hit my inbox.

“That’s a smile, all right.” One spread across my face again, but just for a second or so, as I took in the bright mustardy blooms that had, indeed, sprouted in the shape of a happy face against a background of white, brown, and green terrain.

“They’re not wildflowers.”

“No.” That was obvious.

“Daffodils? Tulips?”

I knew they weren’t those, either.

“Crocuses!” Frasier’s revelation came at great volume. “Croci someone said.”

The flowery faces were definitely cheerful and cheesy, cute and happy, but, “This is news?” I asked.

“Today it is,” Frasier said. “A couple of the callers sounded pretty damned excited. One leapt right to aliens, but most seem to be thinking of it as some sort of statement.”

“Hmm.” I swiped through a few selfies of people beside the floral emojis. That was the term I was using, for lack of a better one. The photo subjects all looked happy, too; a few teenagers, an older man, and a loving couple in their twenties, I guessed, holding hands. Those two had laid right down on the no doubt damp ground—on the side of Westchester County’s busiest parkway, no less—to put their beaming faces next to the faces created from flowering plants.

“There’s more than one. Did I mention that already?” Frasier sounded excited, too. “Flower faces have already been spotted north and west of the station, coming up in the dirt behind the guardrails along the shoulders of the main drag. Then, there’s one in the median at the four-way stop here on Church Street.”

Church Street was our Main Street, the local hub of activity, community, and commerce. The TV station was there. My old apartment building was about twenty minutes north, in Mt. Pleasant, my parents’ restaurant close to thirty in another direction, over in New Castle, all by car. On foot, the trek would take more than an hour to each. I’d needed that new truck. Well, I’d needed a vehicle, not necessarily the luxurious one I’d chosen. Now, it took me an hour to get to work driving, since I’d relocated to North Salem. Walking to the station every day would have done me in.

Frasier’s words were still coming at me; parking lot island, supermarket plaza, exit off 684. Truthfully, I’d zoned out, unsure if those were some that had, or if they were only in my mind because of a certain car service experience from back in the fall.

“There’s even a Twitter hashtag.” Frasier definitely said that. “Hashtag Put on a Happy Face is trending locally. People are intrigued. Intrigue means viewers. Viewers mean ratings. Maybe it’s our feel good story of 2019.”

I huffed at that. “Unless whoever planted them gets busted for trespassing and defacing public property.”

“Always looking on the bright side, Nero.”

“Whatever. I have to walk Abby first.” She lifted her head at her name, and I brought mine close for fresh smooches. “Then I’ll hit the shower and get on the road.”

“Carmen’s already on the way in the van.”

Carmen was my coworker, my cameraperson, and also my bestie.

“All the way over here?” A deep hiss escaped me when I tripped on a puddle of sheets too big for my mattress and stubbed my toe on the corner of my twin size bedframe. “Son of a bitch!” The room I slept in now wasn’t big enough for the king-size bed that came with the nightstand. No way was I selling the best sheets I’d ever laid my naked body on, though. The standing wardrobe, dresser, mirror, and second nightstand—I’d figured I deserved to keep at least one—went for way less than I’d wanted. I was able to lower the minimum payment on my Visa after sending Citibank a chunk of cash from that sale, at least. Still, I felt screwed in the end, and not in a good way, like I had in the past when using Craigslist ads.

“Why is Carmen coming to get me?” I asked again, after slipping on yellow boxer briefs from the floor.

“Because there’s a happy face over that way, too.”

“No kidding.”

“Not yours, I’m guessing by the curse words.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I know you’ll put something good together.” Frasier was suddenly solicitous. “It’s the kind of thing we could even take bigger, metropolitan if not national. Quirky…odd…possibly relatable and meaningful, depending on the intent behind it all, you know?”

“And yet you called me instead of WNBC?” I nodded, and Abby led the way out the door and down the stairs.