CHAPTER SEVEN
“He’s a bit naïve, don’t you think?”
From the back office, Thurston spied on the interview and listened through a secret microphone in the ceiling. The window was reflective on the outside, but inside, he could see everything in the store, including Cyrus, who was fidgeting nervously as he answered Laurel’s questions.
The only thing that made this stale room bearable was the flowers. The room was covered, quite literally, with flowers. To be among friends as he listened to interviews was the most one could ask for during this dreadful work.
The kid was endearing enough, but his jokes were insufferable.
Thurston leaned back and inhaled the floral scent from a bouquet of night flowers that oriented themselves in Cyrus’s direction.
The boutonnière on Thurston’s lapel, the
