Нора Робертс - Black Rose

“She knows something, though.”

Curious, Roz turned her head so she could see Mitch. “Why do you say?”

“Something went over her face when Clarise claimed not to have any journals, any diaries. As if she were going to be helpful and say: Oh, don’t you remember the one . . . whatever. Then she caught herself, folded up. If I were a betting man, I’d wager heavy that Prissy Rissy has some information we could use.”

“And if she doesn’t want to share it, she’d burn it before she’d give it to you. She’s that perverse.”

“Can’t if she doesn’t know I know she’s got it—and if we can persuade Jane to help us out.”

“What are you going to do, seduce the poor girl?”

“Nope.” He bent down to kiss Roz’s wet shoulder. “You are. What I was thinking was that the girl could use a friend—maybe the prospect of another job. If you were able to contact her without Clarise knowing, give her some options . . .”

“And try to recruit her.” Pursing her lips, Roz thought it through. “It’s very sneaky, very deceptive. And I like it very much.”

He slid his hands up, covered her breasts with them, and with frothy bubbles. “I was hoping you would.”

“I don’t mind playing dirty.” With a wicked gleam in her eye, she squirmed around until she faced him. “Let’s practice,” she said, and dunked them both.

UNDER THE HUMMINGchaos of spring season was a kind of simmering stress for the grower, especially if she happened to be the owner as well. Had she prepared enough flats, was she offering the right types and numbers of perennials?

Would the blooms be big enough, showy enough to attract the customers? Were the plants strong enough, healthy enough to maintain the reputation she’d built for quality?

Had they created enough baskets, pots, planters—or too many?

What about the shrubs and trees? Would the sidelines compliment the plants or detract from those sales?

Were the mulch colorants she’d decided to carry a mistake, or would her customer base enjoy the variety?

She left a great deal of this in Stella’s hands; that’s why she’d hired a manager. Roz wanted to compartmentalize many of the details—in someone else’s compartment. But In the Garden was still her baby, and she experienced all the pride and worry a mother might over any growing child.

She could enjoy the crowds and confusion, the customers wheeling their wagons or flatbeds around the tables, over gravel and concrete to select just the right plants for their gardens or patio pots. She could and did enjoy consulting and recommending, and used that to balance out the little pang she experienced at the start of high season when she watched the plants she’d nurtured ride off to new homes.

At this time of year she often lectured herself about being sentimental over what she’d grown. But they weren’t, and never could be, merely products to her. The weeks, months, often years spent nurturing specimens formed a connection for her that was very personal.

For the first few days of every spring season, she mourned the parting. Then she got down to business.

She was in the propagation house, taking a break from those crowds and calculating which plants to move into the retail area next when Cissy burst in.

“Roz, I’m desperate.”

Roz pursed her lips. The usually meticulously groomed Cissy had more than one highlighted hair out of place, and a panicked gleam in her eyes. “I can see that. Your hairdresser retire? Your masseuse run off with a musician?”

“Oh, don’t joke. I’m serious.” She hustled down the tables to where Roz worked. “My in-laws are coming to visit.”

“Oh.”

“Just dropped that bomb on me this morning. And they’re coming in two days. Ihate when people just assume they’re welcome.”

“They are family.”

“Which only makes it worse, if you ask me. You know she picks on me. She’s picked on me for twenty-six years. If they hadn’t moved to Tampa, I’d be a crazy woman by now, or in jail for murder. I need your help, Roz.”

“I’m not going to kill your mother-in-law for you, Cissy. There are limits to friendship.”

“I bet you could.” Eyes narrowed, she took a long and calculating look around. “I bet there are all sorts of interesting poisons around here I could slip into her martini, and end this personal hell. I’ll just hold that one in reserve. You know what she said to me?”

“No, but I guess I’m going to hear it.”

“She said she supposed I hadn’t replaced the carpet in the dining room yet, and how she’d just love to go out while she’s here and find just the right thing. Not to worry about the time it took her, she had plenty now that she and Don have retired. And how I’d find that out for myself soon, since I’m reaching that age. I’m reachingthat age . Can you imagine?”

“Seeing as you and I are about the same age, I might find some poison around here.”

“Oh, and that’s not the half of it. I’d be here all day if I got started, and I can’t because I’m under the gun. She started snooting at me about the gardens and the lawn, and how she wondered I didn’t do more than I did with mine, why I didn’t take more pride in the homeher son has provided me with.”

“You have a lovely yard.” Not that it reached its potential, but it was, in Roz’s opinion, well kept and pretty enough.

“She just pushed my buttons—like she always does—and I just blurted out how I’d been slaving away, and put in new beds and whatnot. I just blathered, Roz, and now, unless you help me out, she’s going to see I was lying through my teeth.”

“If you want Logan, we can ask Stella what his schedule’s like, but—”

“I hit her on the way back. He’s booked—solid, she says—for the next two weeks.” She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. “I’m begging you, Roz. Begging you. Pull him off something and give him to me. Just two days.”

“I can’t yank him off another job—but wait,” she said when tears gathered in Cissy’s eyes. “We’ll figure this out. Two days.” Roz blew out a breath. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“I don’t care. Money’s the least of it. My life’s at stake here. If you don’t help me, I’ll just have to fly down to Tampa on the sly and murder her in her sleep tonight.”

“Then let’s get started saving your life, and hers.”

She had a vision in mind, and cut a swath through her own nursery as she built on it. Cissy didn’t blink when Roz accumulated plants, shrubs, ornamental trees, pots, and planters.

“Harper, I need you to go to the house, bring my pickup on around. We’re going to load this up, and I’m going to steal you for a few hours. Stella, you tell Logan to come on by here when he finishes for the day. He’s going to be putting in some overtime. He can pick up what I’ve earmarked, and bring it to this address.”

She scrawled Cissy’s address on a scrap of paper. “You come with him. I can use your hands, and your eye.”

“Do you really think you can get all this done in less than two days?” Stella asked.

“I will get it done in less than two days because that’s what I’ve got.”

SHE LOVED Achallenge. And there was nothing like digging in the dirt to take her mind off any worries.

She measured, marked, tilled, dumped peat moss, and raked.

“Normally I’d want to take more time to prep the soil. Starting a new bed’s an important event.”

Cissy chewed on her lip, twisted the string of pearls she wore around her fingers. “But you can do it.”

“Not much I can’t do with dirt and plants. It’s my gift.” She nodded to where Harper was already setting in a decorative metal trellis. “And his. And you’re going to learn something today. Put those gloves on, Cissy. You’re going to do some slaving away, then you won’t have lied.”

“I don’t give a red damn about the lie.” But she tugged on the gloves.

Roz explained, in basic terms, that they’d do a four-season perennial garden. One that would impress, whatever time of year the in-laws visited. Iris and dianthus, campanula. Bleeding heart and columbine for instant bloom. With spring bulbs, craftily placed annuals, and the foliage from later bloomers filling in now.

And once the massive planters she’d chosen were done and exploding with flowers, the bed would be a showpiece even a persnickety mother-in-law would love.

She left Cissy setting in crested cockscomb and dusty miller and moved off to reorganize and fluff up the already established beds.

At the end of another hour, she realized they would use everything she’d brought with her, and then some.

“Harper?” She swiped at her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. “You got your cell phone?”

He stopped working the vines onto the trellis long enough to pat at his pockets. “Somewhere. Truck maybe?”

Like mother like son, she thought, sent him a wave, and went around front to find it. She called Stella, rattled off another list of needs—having no doubt her manager would record them all, invoice, inventory, and deliver.

She planted cannas at the back fence, along with blue salvia and African daisies. Then sat back on her heels when Cissy walked to her with a tall glass.

“I made lemonade, from scratch. For my sins. My manicure is wrecked,” she said as she handed Roz the glass. “And I’m already aching in places I forgot I owned. I don’t know how you do this.”

“I don’t know how you play bridge every week.”

“Well, to each his own, I suppose. I owe you a lot more than the check I wrote.”

“Oh, you’re going to be writing a couple more before it’s over.”

Cissy just closed her eyes. “Hank’s going to kill me. He’s going to take his nine iron and beat me bloody and dead.”

“I don’t think he will.” Roz got to her feet, handed the empty glass back, then stretched her back. “I think he’s going to be pleased and proud—and touched that you’d go to all this trouble—ruining a manicure on top of it—to make your home more beautiful for his mother’s visit. To show her, and him, how much you value the home he’s provided you with.”