Black Rose (22 page)

She nodded, dabbed at her eyes.

“Good. Now you can start deciding what you want to do. Build a life or keep sliding around on the wreck of the old one.”

“You’d really help me get a job?”

“I’ll help you get one. Keeping it would be up to you.”

“She . . . she has a lot of old diaries. She keeps them in her room, locked in a drawer. But I know where the key is.”

Roz smiled and sat back. “Aren’t you something?”

“S
HE
’
S NOT EVIL
, right?” Hayley shifted Lily on her hip and watched Harper plug some portulaca into the bed outside the back door of his cottage. “I mean she’s nasty and mean, but she’s not evil.”

“Obviously, you haven’t heard Mama describe Cousin Rissy as the Uber-Bitch Demon from Hell.”

“If she really is, then maybe she had something to do with Amelia. Maybe she’s the one who killed her.”

“She wasn’t born—or spawned, as Mama would say—when Amelia died.”

“Oh, yeah.” But she wrinkled her forehead. “But that’s only if we’re right on the dates. If we’re wrong, she could’ve done it.”

“Assuming Amelia was murdered.”

“Well, okay, assuming that. She has to have some reason for taking the diaries, and for keeping them. Don’t you think?”

“Other than being a selfish, tight-assed old biddy?”

“Other than. All right, honey.” As Lily squirmed, Hayley
put her down and began to walk her, holding her hands, up and down Harper’s patio. “There could be things in the diaries that implicate her.”

“Then why didn’t she burn them?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she snapped. “It’s a theory. We’ve got to have a theory and a hypothesis so we can work to the solution, don’t we?”

“If you say so, but my solution is Cousin Rissy’s just a sticky-fingered, black-hearted, selfish witch. Look here, sweetie-pie.” He plucked one of his moss roses, held it out at Lily’s level. “Isn’t that pretty? Wouldn’t you like to have it?”

Grinning, she released her mother’s hands, reached out.

“Uh-uh, you come on and get it,” he told her.

And when he held it just beyond her fingertips, she took three toddling steps.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Did you see? She walked. Did you see that?”

“Sure did.” Harper steadied Lily when she closed her fist around the flower. “Look at you. Aren’t you the one?”

“She took her first steps.” Hayley sniffled, knuckled a tear away. “She walked right to you.”

Always uneasy with tears, Harper looked up. “Sorry. I should’ve had you hold out the flower.”

“No, no, that’s not it. She took her first steps, Harper. My little girl. I saw her take her first steps. Oh, we have to show everybody.” She did a quick dance, then scooped Lily up, making the baby laugh as she turned circles. “We’ve got to show everybody how smart you are.”

Then she stopped, sighed. Leaning down, she brushed her lips over Harper’s cheek. “She walked right to you,” she repeated, then hurried toward the main house with the baby on her hip.

R
OZ LOVED HAVING
coffee on the patio with the awakening gardens spread out around her. She could hear Stella’s boys playing with the dog, and the sounds turned back her memory clock to when those shouts would have been from her own sons.

It was pleasant to sit out like this in the early evening, with the light soft and blue and the smell of growing things quiet on the air. Pleasant, too, since she was in the mood to have company. She drank her coffee while Logan and Stella, David and Mitch talked around her.

She’d wanted Harper there, too, and Hayley. But Harper wasn’t answering his phone—not a rare occurrence—and she hadn’t been able to find Hayley or the baby.

“She said he was so happy with the way everything looked, he took her out so she could buy new patio furniture.” Stella drained her glass of iced tea. “I’ve rarely seen a more satisfied customer—or a landscape design done and executed so quickly. Logan better keep his eye on you, Roz.”

“Knew the yard, and the woman—and both well enough to be sure Cissy would love the changes. And hire Logan to keep it looking good.”

“I’d hate to be that unhappy and intimidated by my mother-in-law.” Stella smiled at Logan. “I’m getting a jewel.”

“She feels the same, which is going to make my life a hell of a lot easier.” He tipped his beer toward Stella. “Your days are numbered, Red.”

“Two weeks, and counting. There’s still so much to do. Every time I think I’ve got it all under control, something else pops into my head. Planning a small, simple wedding’s full of complications.”

“You say ‘I do,’ then you eat cake,” Logan said, and earned a bland stare from his future bride.

“Jolene’s been an enormous help,” she went on. “So have Logan’s mother and sister, by long-distance. And I just don’t know what I’d do without you, David.”

“Throw me the bouquet, and we’re even.”

“Speaking of your stepmama,” Roz put in, “I spoke with Jolene today.”

“You did?”

“If there’s anyone who knows everybody in Shelby County, it’s Jolene Dooley. And I recalled she had a friend who runs a nice little gallery and gift shop downtown. Jane’s got a job interview next Wednesday afternoon.”

“You work fast,” Mitch said.

“That girl needed a break. Now we’ll see what she does with it. Jolene also has a friend whose sister works at a rental management company. Turns out there’s a one-bedroom apartment downtown, about six blocks from that gallery. Its current tenants are moving out in a couple weeks, and the lease fell through on the people who were going to move in.”

“I should’ve said you work miracles.”

“Oh, I just put in the request for them.”

“Do you think she’ll move on it?” Logan wondered. “Move out, and bring you the diaries? The way you described her, she didn’t seem to have much spine.”

“Some of us don’t. And some of us find out we’ve got one, but misplaced it. She’s young, and she doesn’t have what you’d call a lot of spirit. And though I made it clear there were no strings, I’m fairly sure she’ll feel obligated if she takes this job, and this apartment. Now whether she has the gumption to act on that obligation’s another matter.”

“If she doesn’t?” Mitch asked.

“Then I expect Cousin Rissy and I are due for a come-to-Jesus talk. I have a few cards up my sleeve, and I’ll play them if I have to.”

David’s eyes brightened as he leaned closer. “Dirt? Such as?”

“Family peccadilloes that she wouldn’t care to have come to light, and that I’ll assure her I will light up like Christmas unless she returns what belongs to Harper House.” She
tapped David on the chin. “But for now, they’re my little secrets.”

“Spoilsport.”

She turned, as did everyone else, when Hayley shouted. Her face glowing, she rushed breathlessly to the table. “She walked. She walked right to Harper. Three steps!”

Nothing would do but that Lily demonstrate her new skill again. But she just buckled at the knees each time Hayley tried to nudge her into a step. And preferred crawling on the patio or trying to climb up Roz’s chair.

“I swear she walked. You can ask Harper.”

“I believe you.” Roz hauled Lily up to nuzzle. “Teasing your mama, aren’t you?” She pushed back, rose with Lily in her arms, then picked up a cracker, held it out to Hayley. “You might as well start early using one of the primary parenting tools. Bribery. Scoot down there, hold that cracker out.”

As Hayley obeyed, Roz crouched, steadied Lily on her feet. “Harper held out a flower.”

“That boy knows how to charm the girls. Go on, baby. Go get it.”

To enthusiastic applause, Lily performed. Then she plopped down on her butt and ate the cracker.

When the others went inside, Roz sat with Mitch in the twilight.

“Would you be insulted if I said you make a beautiful honorary grandmother.”

“The term
grandmother
is a bit of a jolt yet, but since I couldn’t love that baby more if she were my own blood, no. She took her first steps to my boy. To Harper. It’s hard for me not to focus on that, on the significance of it.”

“She’s not seeing anyone? Hayley?”

“Her life’s centered on Lily right now. But she’s young and full of passion. There’ll be someone sooner or later. As for Harper, I can’t keep up with the females who come and
go. Still, he doesn’t bring them home to meet me. There’s significance in that, too.”

“Well, speaking of sons, mine’s seeing a new young lady. A local girl. And it happens her parents are members of your club. He’ll be at the dinner dance tomorrow night. I’m looking forward to introducing you.”

“I’d love to meet him. Who’s the girl?”

“Her name’s Shelby—after the county, I’m guessing. Shelby Forrester.”

“It’s a small and crowded world. Yes, I know Jan and Quill, Shelby’s parents. I know her, too—and she’s a lovely girl. Her parents and I are currently on . . . tenuous terms. Quill is doing business of some sort with Bryce, and it makes things a bit sticky between us. But that won’t touch on anyone else.”

“No one does complex connections and tenuous terms like the South.”

“I suppose not, and I only mention it so that if you sense any awkwardness, you’ll know why. But I’m prepared to be excruciatingly polite, so you needn’t worry.”

“I’m not, whether you decide to be polite or otherwise. Why don’t we take a walk? That way I can hold your hand and find some shadowy and fragrant corner of the garden where I can kiss you.”

“Sounds like a fine idea.”

“You’re doing a fine thing for Jane Paulson.”

“Maybe, but my motivations are murky.”

He laughed and brought her hand to his lips. “If your motivations were always pure, I doubt I’d find you as fascinating as I do.”

“I do love astute flattery. Let’s walk around to the stables. I’ll show you Spot’s marker.”

“I’d like to see it. It might be a good place for me to broach another theory. One I’ve been chewing on for a while now.”

As they walked down the path, she gauged the progress of her flowers and kept out an eagle eye for weeds.

“I’d as soon you spit it out as chew on it.”

“I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to feel about this one. I’m looking at dates, at events, at key moments and people, attempting to draw lines from those dates, events, moments, and people to Amelia.”

“Mmm-hmm. I’ve always enjoyed having these stables here, leaving them be. As a kind of ruin.”

Head cocked, hands fisted on hips now, she studied the crumbling stones, the weather-scarred wood. “I suppose I could have them restored. Maybe I will if I get those grandchildren and they develop an interest in horses. None of my boys did, particularly. It’s girls, I think, who go through that equine adoration period.”

She studied the building in the half light, the sagging roof and faded trim—and the vines, the climbers, the ornamental grasses she’d planted around it to give it a wild look.

“It looks like something you’d see in a movie, or more likely, in a storybook.”

“That’s what I like about it. My daddy’s the one who let it go, or never did anything to preserve the building. I remember him talking about having it razed, but my grandmother asked him not to. She said it was part of the place, and she liked the look of it. The grave’s around the back,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mitch, I interrupted. Mind’s wandering. Tell me your theory.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it.”

“Poison sumac,” she said, nudging him away before he brushed up against a vine. “I’ll have to get out here and get rid of that. Here we are.” She crouched down, and with her ungloved hands plucked at weeds, brushed at dirt until she revealed the marker with the hand-chipped name in the stone.

“Sweet, isn’t it, that he’d have buried his old dog here,
carved that stone for him. I think he must’ve been a sweet man. My grandmother wouldn’t have loved him as much as she did if he hadn’t been.”

“And she did,” Mitch agreed. “You can see the way she loved him in the pictures of them together.”

“He looks sort of cool in most of the photographs we have of him. But he wasn’t cool. I asked my grandmother once, and she said he hated having his picture taken. He was shy. Odd thinking of that, of my grandfather as a shy man who loved his dog.”

“She was more outgoing?” Mitch prompted.

“Oh, much. She liked to socialize, nearly as much as she liked to garden. She loved hosting fancy lunches and teas, especially. She dressed up for them—hat, gloves, floaty dresses.”

“I’ve seen pictures. She was elegant.”

“Yet she could hitch on old trousers and dig in the dirt for hours.”

“Like someone else we know.” He skimmed a hand over her hair. “Your grandfather was born several years after the youngest of his sisters.”

“Hmm. There were other pregnancies, I think. My grandmother had two miscarriages herself, and I recall, vaguely, her mentioning that her mother-in-law had suffered the same thing. Maybe a stillbirth as well.”

“And then a son, born at the same time we’ve theorized Amelia lived—and died. Amelia, who haunts the house, but who we can’t verify lived there—certainly not as a relation. Who sings to children, gives every appearance of being devoted to children—and distrusting, even despising men.”

She cocked her head. Twilight was moving very quickly to dark, and with dark came a chill. “Yes, and?”

“What if the child that was born in 1892 was her child. Her son, Roz. Amelia’s son, not Beatrice Harper’s.”

“That’s a very extreme theory, Mitchell.”

“Is it? Maybe. It’s only a theory, in any case, and partially based on somewhat wild speculation. But it wouldn’t be unprecedented.”

“I would have heard. Surely there would have been some mention of it, some whisper passed along.”

“How? Why? If the original players were careful to keep it quiet. The wealthy, the influential man craving a son—and paying for one. Hell, it still happens.”

“But . . .” She pushed to her feet. “How could they hide that kind of deception? You’re not talking about some legal adoption.”

“No, I’m not. Just run with me on this a minute. What if Reginald hired a young woman, likely one of some breeding, some intelligence, who’d found herself in trouble. He pays the bills, gives her a safe haven, takes the child off her hands if it’s a boy.”

“And if it’s a girl, he’s wasted his time and money?”

“A gamble. Another angle might be he impregnated her himself.”

“And his wife just accepted his bastard as her own, as the heir?”

“He held the purse strings, didn’t he?”

She stood very still, rubbing her arms. “That’s a very cold theory.”