FIFTEEN

      

       Jarvis grinned. She looked fabulous in that suit, like the thing was painted on. Significant parts of him twitched to attention—until he remembered…she’d just come from seeing Will. Had dressed to impress her ex.

Angelina didn’t speak. He knew that pinched look; something had gone wrong. Something happened to Will. But…just an hour ago they said he was out of the woods. Jarvis closed the space between them. “Is he all right?”

“He’s going to be fine.” Jarvis helped her lean away from the car, and pulled her trembling body close. If Will was all right, then what had happened?

She eased back to peer up at him with eyes the color of sapphires. Jarvis’s insides melted. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Looking for you.”

“You were leaving.”

“I…er, figured I’d catch up with you at the theater.” He inhaled. “Okay, I admit…I didn’t want to interrupt you and Will.” He exhaled. “Is he really all right?”

“Recovering.”

“How is he otherwise?” Jarvis took off his hat, ran a hand through the thinning hair, remembered how thin it was getting and planted the hat hard in place.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Not very subtle, huh? Can we sit somewhere so we can talk?”

“I really have to get back to Alton. I’ve been away from the theater all day.”

“I know. I missed rehearsal too.” They linked arms and strode toward her car.

“Will said the cops were looking for me,” she said.

“State police wanted to ask you about the arsenic.”

“They think I did this?”

“No. They wanted you to outline your movements over the past few days, so they could figure out how the stuff got in your bag.” He unlinked their arms and stretched his left across her back, cupping her shoulder with his palm.

“That’s what you were doing near my car. Checking for b-bombs—and things.”

So that’s what upset her! He laid the side of his head on hers and didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Sensing her trepidation, he released his hold. “The car’s fine. The dirt around it hasn’t been disturbed. Somebody would really scuff up the dirt if they were trying to get under there.”

“Under the hood?”

“Again, no footprints. Besides, you have an alarm, don’t you?” He grasped handfuls of jacket fabric and yanked her close, kissed her on the lips and wanted to linger there forever. He swatted her backside. “Let’s go.” His cell phone stopped him mid-sentence. “Hello.”

“Wilson here. Just an FYI, the McCoy woman swears her husband used the rat poison at a job site. I sent someone to pick him up for questioning.”

“Good.” There were several seconds of silence on the line. Jarvis thought he’d lost the connection when Wilson said, “Um, there’s one more thing. Dispatch received an anonymous tip—remember that missing computer part?”

“From Bloom’s office?”

“Yeah. Well, we got a tip it’s in Angie’s condo. Behind the sofa.”

“No way.” Jarvis turned and walked several paces away, anxiety clenching his gut. After a moment he said, “Okay, I’ll check on it,” shut the phone and stowed it in a pocket. His fingers had grown clammy, acid churned liquid inside him. What the hell would Angelina be doing with Bloom’s hard drive? No reason he could think of. Sure as shit, the thing had been planted there. By whom? The same person who spiked the acetaminophen?

Angelina stood two feet away, squinting in the sun that poked through thickening clouds. She groped in her handbag for sunglasses. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll follow you to your condominium.”

Her expression changed from curiosity to one of bewilderment. “I thought you didn’t want me there.”

“We’re going to pack you a few things. Then I’m taking you to a safe house. With your mother.”

She sighed, drew keys from her bag and touched a thumb to the unlock button. “Stay back so when the shrapnel flies, you’re out of the line of fire.”

He took his own keychain from his pocket and handed it to her. “You drive the Jeep, I’ll take your car.”

She laughed. “If you say my car is fine, I trust you.”

He could see in her eyes that she did. “Oh yes,” he said, knowing the following news would ruin what good mood she’d regained. “There’s something…I want to tell you before you hear it from someone else. Trynne’s been re-arrested.”

She’d started to get in the car. Stopped and turned raised eyebrows on him. “What on earth for?”

“They found arsenic in the garage, in the form of rat poison. By this afternoon, we’ll know whether it’s the same stuff as in your pills.”

“Why didn’t they wait till the tests came back?”

“Wilson went there with a warrant to retrieve the tapes. There was a suitcase on the kitchen floor. She said every couple of months she goes to the Monsanto headquarters in Mystic, Connecticut…for a meeting.”

Angie nodded. “She does.”

“Thing is, we couldn’t find flight information.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if she planned to drive. One, her car just came back from being serviced—she always has it checked out before a trip. Two, she and Blake are having problems, she likes to drive, to think. Three, she’d better not have been planning to leave my play in the lurch.”

Jarvis laughed at Angie’s joke. “Anyway, Wilson just said they’re picking up her husband for questioning.”

He leaned down and kissed her on the ear. He shut the door and walked back to his car. Only the Lexus’s roof showed. For a long time, the car didn’t move. A multitude of things raced through his head: it wouldn’t start, someone had tampered with it, she didn’t dare put the key in the ignition—damn, why hadn’t he insisted on driving? Jarvis started the Jeep and wove in and out of the lanes, toward her. He stopped at the head of the row. Her car moved finally. It fell into line behind him.

A half hour later, he took her keys from her fingers and opened the condo’s front door. Angelina stopped in the foyer. Chin raised, listening, sniffing—the same thing he did every time he arrived home—checking the home’s wellbeing. Everything must’ve been in order because she removed her suit jacket and flung it over her arm. He wanted to tell her that the radar had missed the invasion of at least one person into her domain.

“We’re alone now,” she said.

“We are at that.”

“So, what did you want to talk to me about at the hospital? I assume it was something besides Trynne’s arrest.”

He took off his hat and urged her to the living room, to sit on the couch. He could feel the hard drive’s vibes searing through the cushion. On the way to the hospital, he’d decided to donate some total honesty to their relationship. Yesterday, his lips did what his brain had been unable to do—asked her to marry him. He’d spent half the night lying awake thinking how great marriage to her would be, and the other half imagining how awful it would be if she turned him down. “When I saw you coming from the hospital, I got scared.”

“Because…”

“I thought that,” he stopped. The words wouldn’t come the way he wanted to say them. “I was afraid you would realize you still loved Will.”

“And that we’d reconcile?”

He fiddled with the lining of the hat.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We’re not getting back together.”

“Don’t tell me he hasn’t asked.”

“He’s asked me to give him another chance.”

“Today?”

“Weeks ago.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“Trynne didn’t do it, you know.”

He tried to connect the statement to the topic of Angelina and Will. And couldn’t. “Didn’t do what?”

“Try to poison me. She’s my friend. Friends don’t kill each other.”

Jarvis leaned his forehead against Angelina’s and said softly, “Sometimes they do.”

“Not Trynne.” She eased away from him. “I don’t know what to think any more. If you came to me saying she’d put video cameras in John’s lab, I would have said you were insane. But that happened. So now…” She left the sentence hanging and disappeared down the hall and into her bedroom.

Angelina returned carrying two bags and three coat hangers laden with evening gowns. Jarvis took the hangers and propped them over the hall closet doorframe. “Personal opinion: do you think Trynne took the iris?” Jarvis asked.

She set down the bags and opened the closet door, careful not to knock off the hangers. She took out two pieces of outerwear, one sporty, made of down and nylon, the other long and dressy, in an emerald color. She handed him the dressy one and said while slipping into the other, “Like before, considering the video cameras, I guess I can believe she stole Rhapsody in Scarlet. With it, she’d have direct evidence for her genetic work. But why would she trash the place afterward? It goes against my image of what a horticulturist is. What they work for. They’re supposed to grow things, nurture them. So much destruction can’t be in their nature.”

“You said you thought anger drove the action.”

“I believe so. That’s why I can’t imagine Trynne as the perpetrator.”

“Using that same theory, I assume you think Blake isn’t responsible either.”

“Blake’s a lot of things. He’s impulsive and quick-tempered. But he’s also concerned about other people, quick to apologize. So, yes, by the same theory, I don’t think he demolished the greenhouse. Are we leaving soon or should I take off my coat?”

“I er…have some official business to take care of.” Her brows flexed into a big wrinkle that he wanted to smooth with lots of kisses. She said something that sounded like “wa-ha.” Jarvis wanted to hug the confusion away.

Then she regained the ability to speak. “Official business?”

“The phone call from Sergeant Wilson…”

The wrinkle deepened. She tilted her head and pursed her lips and said something totally unexpected. “Don’t tell me I’m being dragged into this along with Trynne? Are you going to put us in adjoining cells?”

“Wait, I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“No, you’re letting Wilson do it.”

“Angelina. You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Get out.”

Man, this was going all the to hell. “You’re—oh shit. I can’t leave you here, it’s dangerous.”

“Seems like the danger is coming from a most unexpected arena. I want you to leave. Now.”

“You should lower your voice. You don’t want the neigh—”

“How can you know what I want? Maybe I want them all to know what a rude, insensitive beast… What is it? Are you seeing my arrest as a way to get reinstated?” She stopped and for a moment. Happily, he realized she was reconsidering her words. Till she said, “I never thought you were capable of some-something like this. I think I can answer your marriage proposal now.”

“You’re making a big mistake. Come. Sit down. Please.” He went to sit on the sofa. She remained a moment in the hallway. Finally, she followed and sat on the edge of her chair.

“All right, Colby Jarvis. Tell me what’s going on.”

How to do this without alienating her all the way? He leaned forward, elbows on thighs. “Wilson had an anonymous phone call. Someone accusing you of being the iris thief.”

He’d expected further anger. Instead, she broke into sudden high-pitched laughter that made him wince. When he didn’t echo her humor she turned serious. “Before last week I’d never heard of a red iris. I’d never even heard of John Bloom. In case you know less about me than I thought, I don’t much care for plants.”

“I know—the mess.” He warned himself to tread carefully. “I’m not saying I believe Wilson’s caller. I’m just repeating what was told to me.”

She blew out some breath. “Get on with it.”

“The caller said he’s got evidence you were Bloom’s lover.”

Angelina laughed again, this time wrapping her arms around herself. Finally she stopped for a breath.

He didn’t reply—couldn’t—for fear of bursting into uncontrollable laughter himself.

“What are you grinning about? Oh, never mind, don’t answer that. Let’s just say I took the flower. What motive did I have?”

“I don’t know. I’m just repeating what Wilson said.”

“I’m serious. You’re making wild accusations.”

“I haven’t made a single accusation.”

“Okay, pretend you’re Wilson, what would he be saying right now?”

“He doesn’t think you’re guilty either.”

“In light of the poisoning, the DA probably will.”

He shrugged. “I can’t say where this is going. I’m not privy to any of it.”

“Just tell me. How will they pin this on me?”

He sighed, then ventured into treacherous territory. “They might say Bloom confided his secret to you, about Rhapsody in Scarlet. They might say he took you to the lab, showed you the results of his life’s work. Then, for whatever reason, you two argued.”

“And I took out my revenge by cleaning out his lab, trashing what was left, then going to your house, switching guns and—” Angelina rocketed to her feet, face red, lips in a straight line.

“You asked.”

“You’d better leave before I say things I’ll regret.”

Jarvis didn’t move. He couldn’t. What had just happened?

She pointed toward the door. “Either arrest me this second or get the hell out of my house.”

Maybe better to go and let things cool down a while. “Okay. If that’s how you want it.” Jarvis stood up. One thing to take care of first. He stepped around the coffee table, squeezed between the sofa and end table and leaned over the back, propping his elbow on the couch-back, denting her meticulously fluffed cushion. He groped down near the baseboard. And nearly groaned. He’d really hoped the anonymous call was a joke. Jarvis took hold of the plastic with thumb and index finger of his right hand and lifted. About the size of a videocassette, wrapped in black plastic, he wiggled the object in the air near her face.

Her expression evolved from dark to puzzled. She followed him to the kitchen. He set the package on the counter. “Got a pair of scissors?”

“In the middle drawer.”

He retrieved the scissors and carefully cut away the covering. It stood open now, like flower petals exposing fertile pollen. But this wasn’t a flower.

“What is that?”

“John Bloom’s hard drive.” Jarvis picked up the plastic wrapper with fingertips and examined it. She stood behind him. Even so, he felt the anger rolling off her in waves. Minutes passed. She said nothing.

He pulled up the pair of stools. “Sit.”

From under the kitchen sink he retrieved two white shopping bags. He shook one of them to separate the sides. The plastic gave a harsh crack that made them both jump. Jarvis chuckled. She didn’t. Her hand suddenly slashed the bag from his fingers. It fluttered soundlessly to the floor. “Either arrest me now or take your evidence and get out of my house. I want you out of my life.”

Knowing his next actions would influence the rest of their relationship—if there was any left—he didn’t move, or speak. She picked up the plastic and shoved it into his gut. “Please go.”

Careful of fingerprints, he eased the hard drive inside one bag, and the black plastic wrapper in the other. As soon as he’d closed the bags safely around his trophies, she pointed at the door.

“We’ve got to talk.”

“I’ve been framed. You are smart enough to realize that.”

“If you recall, I distinctly said you weren’t accused of anything. Let’s hash this out. Who else has been in your apartment?”

“Nobody but you and me, your father and my mother.”

She’d answered quickly; she’d obviously been thinking about this. But as she spoke, Jarvis saw realization hit. “What did you remember?”

“Blake came here this morning. I didn’t see him; I was at the theater. My mother said he asked for me. I don’t know how long he stayed or whether he had a chance to do this. But he couldn’t have put the poison in my bag because Will already had the bottle.” She made tracks toward the door. Damn, after all that, she was still throwing him out. “Take all that stuff and see if you can get some DNA or fingerprints, or whatever it is you do with evidence. But go away for a while, my head is pounding.”

Jarvis nearly kicked up his heels with joy. She wasn’t heaving him from her life. “I want you to come stay with me a few days. This thing is heating up. It’s dangerous for you here.”

“You can drop me at a hotel.”

He switched off the lights and locked the door. “Out on the steps, he took the baggage from her too-tight fingers and laid them in his back seat.

“My car.”

“I’ll send someone for it tomorrow.” He held the door for her then ran around to climb in. As he started the engine, he said. “Duck down, make yourself inconspicuous.”

“For heaven sakes. This is ridiculous.”

“Humor me.” He put his right palm on top of her head and pushed. With a great sigh, she slid down low. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes. And imagined herself a kidnap victim reporting to the authorities after her escape—we turned right out of my apartment and went for about a quarter mile to a motel parking lot. A quarter of a mile. Funny how distances seemed longer when you weren’t actually looking at landmarks. Angie let almost a minute pass then opened her eyes. They were still on Route 11, but far beyond the motel.

She didn’t need to ask where they were going. Jarvis, leaning slightly forward in the seat, eyes scanning in all directions, was taking her to his place in spite of his promise of a motel. Jarvis’s tiny ranch house only had one bedroom that, far as she knew, Bud occupied. What the hell, this was all Jarvis’s idea, let him worry about where he would sleep.

His back door squeaked on aluminum hinges. She got propelled into the little ranch. Scents rushed out—lasagna—and her stomach rumbled. When had she eaten last? Gloria, at the stove, turned when they came in, and waved a large spatula in her direction. Jarvis disappeared with the bags.

“You a prisoner too?” Gloria asked.

“Guess so,” Angie replied, pulling out an oak captain’s chair and sitting. She asked, “How’s Bud?” the same time her mother asked, “How’s Will?” They both laughed and replied in unison again, “Sleeping.”

“Will’s out of the woods. He’s exhausted though.”

“The same with Bud. The trip to Boston did him in. We never should’ve gone.” Gloria laid the spoon on a paper towel and took a chair. “I tried to tell him, but…he’s so stubborn. He says he has no intention of laying in bed, waiting to die.”

Jarvis clomped down the hallway and into the kitchen. “Mmm, smells great. What time’s dinner?”

“The rolls have about five more minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll be in here.” He ambled into the living room, the sofa creaked as he sat; the television came on to WMUR news.

Angie hadn’t acknowledged his presence. Gloria whispered, “Trouble in paradise?”

Angie shrugged. “He’s so pigheaded.”

“Like father, like son.”

Suddenly Jarvis stood in the kitchen door, boots dangling from his left hand. He dropped them on the mat near the door and came to kneel before Angie. “Can’t you get it through your head, I’m trying to take care of you? You’ve got a great memory, so I know you haven’t forgotten how I feel about you. That I asked you to marry me.”

At this, Gloria’s eyebrows shot up. Angie ignored her mother. “Don’t try to soften me up, Jarvis, I’m still angry with your caveman behavior.”

Bud arrived then, gray hair tousled. He leaned against the doorframe on spindly legs clad in sharply creased, though rumpled Levis. He wore a blue flannel shirt, open at the neck, a fluff of white hairs protruded from the vee. He looked happy. “Son, you didn’t mention you asked her to marry you. Good decision. Been wondering what was taking you so long.”

“How are you feeling?” Angie asked.

He wiggled a hand in the air, indicating okay. Gloria threw him a concerned look but said nothing as she bent to remove the rolls from the oven. The circles under his eyes had deepened. His skin was grey/yellow, his cheeks hollow. He should be in the hospital receiving fluids and painkillers. Pain etched his steps, but in spite of his physical well-being, Bud remained a wonderful dinner companion. He steered the conversation well away from murders and anonymous threats.

After dinner, the men went to the living room. Angie and Gloria cleaned up to the comforting sounds of father and son getting acquainted; so much to catch up on after forty-odd years apart. They brought coffee to the living room where Bud regaled them with more tales from Jarvis’s childhood.

“You talked about being a salesman,” Angie said.

“I traveled all over Canada selling everything from books to garden implements.”

“You never remarried?”

“No.” He looked at Jarvis. “Never found anyone like your mother.”

By eight thirty everyone voiced a need for sleep. With a small smile, Angie watched Gloria and Bud retire to the spare bedroom. “Seems weird, them sleeping together, doesn’t it?”

Her smile grew and she nodded. “Hard to think of parents in that way.”

“Come with me.” Jarvis took her hand and led her down the hallway, and into his bedroom. He urged her to sit on the edge of the bed then sat beside her.

“You were very somber tonight.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“And I’m not making things any easier on you.”

Humored, he said, “No, but I’m learning to deal with you.” Then he added, “Bud and I have just met and I’m going to lose him. When I was six, I cried myself to sleep at night thinking I’d done something to make him leave. By the time I was ten, I was pissed at him for not being man enough to face whatever troubles he had. At fifteen I was sure another woman had taken him away.”

“And now?”

“I just wished I’d gotten to know him.”

“You got your wish.” She reached for his hand, warm, uncalloused.

“I watched Liz die. Afterward I prayed never to have to see anyone go through that torture again.” He leaned over, kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “Try and get some sleep.”

He went out, shutting the door behind him. Angie remained there a long time, part of her wanting to invite him back, part of her needing to be alone. He’d known that, and, as much as he needed her right now, had put her needs first. Facing Angie was her reflection in the mirror above an outdated dresser. She looked quickly away. But that one glance had left an image etched in her mind—the image of her mother. Angie had never noticed a resemblance to either of her parents before.

Most of her mother’s emotional decline took place during the fifteen years of Angie’s childhood. During that time, Angie blamed her father’s alcoholism for Gloria’s retreat from reality. As Angie grew older, she realized that maybe it would have happened anyway, that possibly the horrific things her father did while drinking weren’t the entire cause of Gloria’s emotional downfall. Gramps always said that life had a way of throwing things at you, and you either ducked or got hit by the pitch. Instead of ducking, Gloria gave up. Until Bud’s appearance in their lives. Bud’s strength and determination rejuvenated everyone, including Angie.

A wide irrepressible yawn and a vision of it in the mirror jolted her back to reality. She stood up and moved closer to the mirror. The image of her mother disappeared. Angie saw a fifty-something year old woman, who had been as her grandfather used to say, rode hard and put away wet. Angie raked her fingernails through the billowy blonde hair. After a shower, feeling a little better, she crawled into bed and lay on her back. The ceiling had been painted recently. Funny Jarvis hadn’t mentioned doing any redecorating.

Movement in the kitchen. The sound of cabinets shutting and water running lent an air of domesticity to the tense situation they were all in.

She’d spoken out of anger saying she wouldn’t marry him. She tended to blurt out things like that during stressful times. But did she really want a life with someone who could accuse her of such heinous things? You don’t do that to a person you love. Angie buried her face in the pillow so Jarvis wouldn’t hear her crying.

Bright sunshine flooded the room around the edges of the shades. The LCD clock on the side table stood out clearly—7:30. Couldn’t be. Unfortunately her watch said the same thing. She’d slept the entire morning. Angie strained her ears but couldn’t hear movement anywhere in the house. She dressed, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and went to find someone.

Fourteen or so hours had dulled her anger, but hadn’t changed her mind about marrying him. She couldn’t spend her life with someone who could so easily change his allegiances.

The door to the spare bedroom was open. The bed made. Empty. The living room was empty too. But Jarvis had been there. A blanket and pillow were folded at one end of the couch. How would he react when she told him they couldn’t be married? Would he still feel inclined toward friendship? Probably not. Men’s values were different than women’s. If he couldn’t be her husband, it was unlikely he’d want to continue the relationship.

Where was everyone? The scent of bacon was in the air. The room was neat and clean. Breakfast dishes were propped in the dish drainer. On the table, leaning against an empty Styrofoam take-out container was a note—two notes, really. The first from Bud and Gloria saying they’d gone to a motel, to give the lovebirds some privacy. The second had her name at the top. Good morning Sleepyhead, Wilson called. New information I hope will bring the case to a close. Coffee is made, just turn on the pot. I’ll be home by 9:00 to pick you up for our trip to Philadelphia. Please stay put. Remember, I love you.

Jarvis

Angie folded the paper and got up to turn on the coffee. She went to the living room and opened the heavy drapes that covered the big bay window. Brilliant sunlight flooded the room. She folded her arms and leaned her forehead against the sun-warmed glass. Across the narrow road, another house, similar to this one except it had once been bright green. The color had faded to a putrid shade of olive. The blinds, like square white eyelids, were down. Two cars were in the driveway, one a late model, the other several years old.

Remember, I love you.

What was love anyway? She guessed it was different things for each person. For her it had meant disappointment, wasted years.

Don’t forget all the good times.

Angie couldn’t stifle the sigh as she retraced her steps to the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee. Is there any way to tell when someone told the truth?

Take a chance.

That’s what her brain said when she’d thought about going back to Will. She never could’ve trusted him again, Angie argued with her subconscious. So how can it be right to give Jarvis another chance?

Angie went back to the big window. A man came out the front door of the green house. He wore a sports coat and black slacks. A woman followed, wearing a pink bathrobe and a blue bandana around her head. She wrapped her arms around him. They kissed deeply. Angie turned away.

Love. L-O-V-E. A four-letter word. As a child, she’d received a mouthful of soap for saying four letter words.

Angie finished the whole pot of coffee. Now she was wired. 8:40. She thought about going for a jog, but going out meant being in the public eye. Something she’d really catch hell for when Jarvis found out.

She took the cup to the bedroom while she unpacked the clothes she’d brought and repacked for the one-night trip to Philly. Next Angie booted up Jarvis’s laptop and checked her email. A note from Mary Grayson changed her whole mood.

In the kitchen, Angie rinsed out the mug and put it in the drainer. One of his jackets hung in the tiny entryway. She put it on and went outside. The older car was gone from the neighbor’s driveway.

Jarvis’s yard had new shoots of green grass that reached for the warmth of the springtime sun. Not much of a landscaper; there were only two overgrown rhododendrons on either side of the cement porch, their bulging flower buds also waited for sunshine to explode them into a riot of pink. Angie walked around the house. There were no shrubs or plants at all in the back. A three-foot high picket fence in need of paint separated Jarvis’ property from the abutter. A birdbath in the middle of the yard was full of raunchy brown water and slimy leaves. She tipped everything out then started into the house for a scrub brush and pail of water. Three cement steps led up to the back door. Locked. Angie cursed and went around the front. Locked. The next curse was much stronger, and not under her breath. She walked around the house. All the windows, and the bulkhead were locked.

That’s when the phone started ringing. Angie stood on tiptoe and peered into the window as though by staring at the phone she could tell the identity of the caller. Who else but Jarvis checking on her? A tiny smile etched her face as she pictured him angrily slamming the phone down. “Damn her! Why can’t she just once do what I tell her?”

She sat on the back stoop, elbows on thighs, chin on hands.

Had she really done all right for herself? Till a year ago, she had what she thought was a good marriage, and a good job at the hospital. One upheaval found her divorced and running a small theater with Tyson. Another upheaval brought Gloria to town. And then John had been murdered. Did she want to face another total turnaround in lifestyle and marry Jarvis?

The squeal of tires out on the main road brought her head up. Most people would think first of a car accident. But she knew it was Jarvis. She swiped at her wet cheeks as another squeal brought the car into the driveway. She stood up, walked around the house and collided head-on with him. He grabbed her before she fell. Instead of yelling, he pulled her close, holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe. “Thank God you’re all right,” he said, hoarsely.

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t answer the phone.”

“I came out for some air and got locked out.”

He pulled her to him again, burying his face in her hair. She could feel his hot breath on her scalp. After a while he led her inside.

She tapped the note he’d left. “You said you had information.”

“I’ll tell you on the way to the airport.” And he did. “The check on the McCoy’s came back.” He recited the couple’s history as if reading a shopping list. “They arrived in town five years ago and purchased the home they still reside in. Blake worked at the hospital until two months ago. She’s worked for Monsanto almost twelve years. They’re deeply in debt, to a total of four hundred and forty-three thousand dollars, not including the mortgage. The business expenses account for a little more than two hundred thousand.”

Angie didn’t like where this was leading.

“What it means is Trynne’s got a much bigger reason to steal that three million dollar flower.”

“I have some news too. Checked my email this morning. Mary Grayson heard a rumor that Pedar Sondergaard is going to reveal the red this weekend.”