Unfortunately, murder in Summerview (of the residents, anyway) was frowned upon. That could often be disappointing to Graham as well - he was from another era, one where repressed individuals would rather die than face their demons, but he'd long since acknowledged his were there. Even made peace with them, in a sense.
"Good lord, I hope not - though now I'm also curious as to who uses flowers for a prank," he chuckled a little, heading out - and holding the door for Nissa, of course. If he was going to elaborate a little on what else he did besides accounting, he'd rather not be in the werewolf-run flower shop.
It might raise hackles.
"I travel to Atlantic City occasionally," he said. "For one thing, I'm sure I'd go mad here if I never left. For another, I've got to eat," he flashed a rare, fangy grin. And those he tended to, ah, take a bite out of were ones who 'had it coming.' It was a minor point of disagreement between he and Lenore, he knew, and he understood that 'playing God' wasn't great to do, and blah blah, but still. Some just really had it coming.