SIXTEEN

      

       The Loews Hotel was too modern for Angie’s tastes, all square edges and glass, but it was plush and shiny and spotless. Mary Grayson met them in the lobby. A shapeless string bean of a woman, the charcoal gray business suit hung limply from her hips, the jacket buckled around non-existent breasts. But rimless glasses and a welcoming smile made Angie like her immediately.

Mary and Jarvis shook hands. All business, he asked, “Do you know where Sondergaard is?”

“He went up in the elevator about twenty minutes ago. I’ve been sitting right here…” she indicated a long black leather sofa. “From here I can see the elevators. He hasn’t come down.”

“What’s his room number?”

“Seven twenty-two.” Mary handed Angie a red folder. “This is the intro packet given to every conference attendee. It lists the schedules of meetings and discussion groups throughout the weekend. There are name tags for you inside, that’ll get you everywhere without any questions.”

“Thanks.” Angie tucked the folder under her arm. Jarvis was already punching the elevator button.

“You’re sure you only want to talk to him?” Mary asked.

“That’s all, just talk. I’ll see you later, and let you know how it went. Thanks for your help.”

Jarvis stepped into the elevator. He held the door for Angie. “You were going up without me, weren’t you?”

“This is police business, you can’t come.”

Angie laughed. “Don’t give me that, you don’t have authority here.”

“Did Ms. Grayson say anything helpful?”

“If you’d waited a minute, you would have known for yourself.” The elevator slid to a stop and the doors opened. “I wish you’d stayed around. I wanted you to watch her reaction every time I mention Sondergaard’s name. She’s very protective of him.”

“You think she knows more than she’s telling?”

“I have two ideas about that. Either she knows him on a personal level or really believes he’s developed the red and—”

“She wants the world to know.”

Their footsteps were soundless on the colorful carpet. He knocked three times on the door of seven twenty-two. Angie couldn’t hear anything from inside the room, yet the door slid open enough for Sondergaard to peek into the hallway. He was tall, six foot three or four. Olive green eyes blinked at the intrusion of light. Two parallel lines appeared at the bridge of the nose. He’d been expecting someone else.

Long, lean fingers that had recently seen a professional manicure, held the door in a no-nonsense grip. The third finger wore a gold filigree band with an emerald-cut yellow diamond. Angie couldn’t discern the filigree design from where she stood.

“Good afternoon,” Jarvis said in a low voice. “I’m Detective Colby Jarvis of the Alton Bay, New Hampshire, police. I wonder if I might ask you a few questions.”

The nose puckered further, the nostrils widened. “What about?” The voice didn’t bear the honey-like accent Judy spoke of; his words were angry. Behind him, the room was dark.

Unperturbed by Sondergaard’s manner, Jarvis gave a deliberate peek up and down the hallway then lowered his voice a little more. “I’m afraid it’s a rather touchy situation, sir. Could we come inside?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

A hint of humor touched Jarvis’s voice. “You watch too much American television. All we want to do is talk.”

“What about?”

“I don’t think you want to discuss it in the hallway.”

Sondergaard gave his own glance up and down then drew back to let them in. The curtains were drawn. The light from behind illuminated only a few feet into the room, just enough for Angie to see they stood in a small hallway. To the immediate right was the bathroom. Straight ahead were two uncomfortable-looking chairs. To the right of them, a full-sized bed wearing a white spread, crumpled into a ball. Sondergaard had been napping.

He moved away from them, becoming a shadow without features or details. He bent, his arm reached down and out of sight. Angie felt herself being pressed backward into the bathroom. She began to protest then realized Jarvis was getting her out of gunshot range. She clutched at his arm. His left hand snaked back, making sure she remained behind him. The room was suddenly thrown into bright light. She couldn’t see Sondergaard, but Jarvis relaxed his grip. She stepped around him to see Sondergaard approaching. He wore richly tailored slacks and a Brooks Brothers shirt, open at the collar, and no tee-shirt.

The silence stretched for several seconds. Finally Jarvis said, “We’re investigating the theft of a red iris from a breeder in—”

“There is no such thing as a red iris. There cannot be, the plants lack a red color gene.”

“Regardless of genes, you and I both know there is such a thing, Mr. Sondergaard. A man named John Bloom has—”

“I know no one by that name.” Sondergaard crossed his arms in the classic I’m-not-talking stance.

“Think hard.” Jarvis enunciated the two syllables, “John Bloom.”

“I know no one by that name,” Sondergaard repeated. “And I’ve never been to New Hampshire.”

This was a losing battle. Pedar Sondergaard wasn’t about to admit to, or divulge, anything. But Jarvis wasn’t ready to leave.

“We know you were in New Hampshire as recently as ten days ago, sir. We also know you’ve had numerous communications with Mr. Bloom regarding a specific red iris.”

“I am from Holland. I have arrived for this conference only. I am to deliver a speech in—” he glanced at his watch— “one hour’s time.”

“We know all about it,” Jarvis said. “We also know the subject of your intended speech. You are a dedicated geneticist. You—”

“I speak of genetics in general—not of one iris.”

“You and Mr. Bloom were seen having a serious discussion at a local diner. You gave him three million dollars for—”

“You are mistaken.” Jarvis remained firm. He mimicked Sondergaard’s previous posture, legs spread, arms crossed, prepared to wait him out. More than a minute passed. Finally Sondergaard said, “Let us say I was in New Hampshire. What does it matter?”

“It matters because there is a red iris and it has disappeared.”

Sondergaard’s eyelids twitched slightly. It could have been normal blinking, it could have been surprise, Angie couldn’t tell.

“Bad news, yes. But it has nothing to do with me.”

Jarvis waited again.

Suddenly the man lunged forward. Jarvis thrust Angie into the bathroom. Sondergaard stopped four feet away. His voice edged almost an octave higher. “You are thinking that I have stolen this flower.”

“We make no accusations. We merely want to ask you about your relationship with Mr. Bloom.”

The Dane tried again, “I told you.”

“Yes. You do not know this man. There is no red iris. No three million dollars.” Jarvis gave an elaborate sigh. He spoke to Angie without taking his eyes from Sondergaard, “I guess we’ll have to take him in for questioning.”

“You have no reason. No right.”

“You were seen having a serious discussion with Mr. Bloom just days before the flower disappeared. Days before the man was murdered. Those are the only reasons we need.”

“I will miss giving my speech.”

“Yes.”

“You have no authority here.”

“Under the circumstances, even Joe Blow Citizen has the authority to bring you in.”

Sondergaard frowned at Jarvis’s use of slang. “I want you to leave my room.”

“You are awfully calm for a man who’s just lost three million dollars. Too calm.”

“I know nothing of—”

“You did a good job disguising the money trail. Just not good enough. Angelina, call security.”

Sondergaard looked at his watch. The exchange had eaten up almost twenty-five minutes. Sondergaard blew out a mouthful of air. Angie grinned. Jarvis the Master. She would’ve deemed this man unbreakable.

“All right, all right, I agree to talk with you, but first you must allow me to give my speech. We will meet afterward and I will tell you everything.”

Jarvis nodded. “Fair enough.”

Angie pulled open the door. Someone burst inside. “Pedar, I’m so sorry I’m late. I—”

Seeing Angie, the woman stopped talking. Angie stopped too, shock and recognition infusing her limbs. The woman’s eyes widened in astonishment, the color drained from her face.

“Donna,” Jarvis, Sondergaard and Angie exclaimed at the same time.

Jarvis stepped around Angie and took Donna’s elbow. He led her down the corridor, leaving Angie alone with Sondergaard. In the stark light of the hallway, the pale man was almost albino-like. Intense green eyes glared at her. How could she have found him handsome?

She tilted her head in the direction Donna and Jarvis had gone. “How do you know her?”

“I do not.”

“Why then, did she apologize for being late? Why did she call you by name?”

His thin lips tightened, becoming almost invisible in the clench of his jaw. “She had the wrong room. I do not know that woman.”

“Want to hear my theory?”

“Not really.”

“How’s this? You and Donna worked together to steal Rhapsody in Scarlet from John Bloom. You were planning to market it as your own.”

The words were soft, but unmistakable, “The red was already mine.”

Angie’s mouth went dry. “Is that why you gave Bloom three million? To develop it?” He didn’t reply. She continued, “Here’s what I think happened. John fell in love with Rhapsody in Scarlet. He refused to turn her over to you. You killed him in a fit of anger.”

Sondergaard backed two steps and slammed the door in Angie’s face.

Damn. She hadn’t meant to let Jarvis’s cat out of the bag. Likely he’d deliberately neglected to mention John Bloom’s death. Had her momentous announcement registered on Sondergaard’s face? No, she thought not. He hadn’t heard anything after she said John couldn’t give up the red.

What about Sondergaard’s relationship with Donna? Were perhaps he, John and Donna involved? Angie hoped Jarvis was having better success with Donna. Rather than chance disturbing them, Angie strode to the bank of elevators and pushed the button.

In the lobby, she perched on the edge of the black leather sofa, probably the way Mary Grayson had while watching for Sondergaard. Soon Jarvis, Donna and Sondergaard stepped off the elevator. The Dane and Donna turned left and disappeared through a door at the end of the corridor. Jarvis watched them then stomped to the main desk. He spoke to the clerk, who disappeared through a doorway. The man reappeared moments later followed by a uniformed guard. Jarvis talked. The man nodded and then headed toward the doorway where Donna and Sondergaard had gone.

Jarvis looked very dashing as he walked the twenty or so feet toward her. “I got security to keep an eye on them.” Jarvis didn’t sit. “I need a drink and something to eat.”

“Good idea. Then what?”

“We talk to people.”

“About him?”

“And her. Did you bring the photo?”

“As a matter of fact.” Angie dug into her purse and pulled out the pictures Wilson had copied for her.

“What time is Sondergaard’s speech over?”

Angie checked the event schedule. “Eleven.”

“That leaves plenty of time for dinner.” His fingertips grazed hers as he took the photos. She ignored the tingles that shot up her arm. A glance at Jarvis said she’d failed. He gave that patented Mona Lisa grin of his. He dangled the pictures. “I’ll check us into our room while I’m there.”

“Two rooms,” Angie said.

Although she hadn’t eaten since morning, she wasn’t hungry. She allowed Jarvis to lead the way to a very plush dining room. Her order of a double-vodka on the rocks brought a lift to his brows. They didn’t speak until the drinks arrived. Then Angie asked, “I suppose Donna denied having a relationship with Sondergaard?”

“No. She admitted the whole thing. They met two years ago at a conference in New Mexico and have been seeing each other off and on ever since. See also admits to ‘keeping an eye’ on Bloom at his request.”

“I wonder how far Donna’s ‘keeping an eye’ on John went. Remember John’s neighbor said he noticed a small blue car in the driveway. I wonder if Donna began a relationship with John in order to keep on top of the situation.”

“No pun intended, right?”

Angie slapped his arm. She relaxed against the back of the chair and crossed her ankles. Donna might have insinuated herself into John’s life. Her love of irises would be the perfect impetus for a relationship. Things might even have progressed to the point that he confided in her about the red, showed her his creation.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

“If John had already let the cat out of the bag with Donna, would he still feel the urge to tell Trynne and the rest of us?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“He invited us all to a gathering after the performance. He said ‘I have an announcement—no, a wonderful discovery.’”

“So, you’re thinking that if he’d told Donna, the cat wouldn’t be so anxious to get out of the bag.”

“Crudely put, but yes.”

“Then again, some people want to blurt the news to everyone when they’ve done something special.”

“Right. But as far as we know, he managed to keep it quiet for almost three years. Seems funny the urge would be that uncontrollable after so long.”

“Humans are unpredictable. Jeez, where’s our food? I’m starving.”

She sipped her drink and set the glass down in the same ring it had left on the coaster.

“Donna swears John and Sondergaard’s only relationship was that he paid John to develop the red,” Jarvis said. “They met regularly to discuss the progress of the reproductive features.”

“Did she meet with him while he was in Alton Bay?”

“She says no. She said she didn’t even know he was there.”

“You believe her?”

He nodded. “She seemed angry.”

“Did she have the idea he knew about the theft of the iris?”

“She says she didn’t tell him, she’s been unable to reach him for almost two weeks.”

“She might be telling the truth. He seemed surprised when I told him.” Angie sipped again, letting the smooth clear liquid float over the ice cubes and onto her tongue. She put the glass down. “Let’s say Sondergaard stole the red. He’d be able to say he never received the goods, he could demand his three million back, claiming John defaulted on their contract.”

“So, why kill John?”

“Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“Think we’ve been barking up the wrong tree?” Jarvis asked.

“If I were John, I’d make sure to put a clause in the contract that allowed me to keep the money—or at least a generous percentage—regardless of whether I successfully developed the red. After all, the odds were so stacked against it.”

“He put a big portion of his life into this project.” Jarvis ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I wonder why we haven’t turned up a contract.”

“Maybe the thief has it.”

“If I were John, I would’ve stored it someplace safe.”

“We’ve already determined he wasn’t the type to do the logical thing. By the way, I stuck the three million into our conversation. He seemed genuinely surprised I knew about it.” Before he could chastise her for talking about the money, she added, “I had another idea. We kind of talked about this before. What if Bloom set the whole theft up himself?”

“Motive?”

“For many years, the development of that flower has been as illusive as the cure for cancer. John finally does it. He falls in love with this plant.”

Jarvis gave a sharp laugh. Angie moved her hands so the waiter could set her plate on the table. “His main focus over the past thirty or thirty-five years was that flower.”

“Where do you get thirty or thirty-five years? Sondergaard only hired Bloom three years ago.”

“Yes, but remember, Trynne said way back in his teens, he dedicated himself almost to the point of obsession.”

Jarvis sampled the food, chewed and swallowed before nodding.

“So, what if John calls Sondergaard and says he’s exhausted all possibilities and is giving up? Sondergaard takes the next flight from Amsterdam. John shows him a bunch of reddish or brownish, or whatever color flowers as the offspring. Sondergaard is devastated, or angry, or just plain depressed, doesn’t matter, he demands his money back.”

Jarvis aimed the fork at her. “And Bloom says no way, he’s keeping the three mill as payment for what he’s put into this. Sondergaard gets pissed and—”

“And what?” Angie asked. “Kills John?”

“No. I can’t buy it. John’s murder was well staged, no pun intended. If Sondergaard was going to do it, he would’ve done it right there. Crime of passion, and all that.”

“You’re probably right.”

The scream didn’t come from anywhere in the dining room, but it pierced Angie’s eardrums as though the screamer stood beside her. She and Jarvis rocketed to their feet and dashed out of the room. Unable to tell where the sound had originated, they stopped. A crowd had gathered down the hall. Angie and Jarvis raced in that direction. Jarvis pushed between the onlookers and, before the opening could close up, she followed, and found herself in the entry to the main meeting room. Another scream ripped through the air.

Donna Marks stood against the back wall, hands on either side of her face. The whites of her eyes showed all around. Her mouth opened to screech again. The house lights came on, bringing the place into harsh reality. Voices murmured, then exclaimed. Another scream, this from the front of the room. Jarvis pushed through, carving a zigzag path to the front. Angie took hold of his shirt and plowed along with him, knowing she wouldn’t like what she found when they finally reached the end.

Sure enough, slumped like a used dishrag beside the podium was Pedar Sondergaard. “Somebody call an ambulance,” Jarvis hollered, wrenched his shirt from Angie’s clutches and knelt beside the man.

Angie, adrenaline pumping like lava, stepped around Sondergaard and knelt too. He was doubled into the fetal position. His left hand clenched the hilt of a large knife protruding from the center of his chest. His white silk shirt had absorbed much blood. The excess pooled beneath him. Angie realized she was standing in it. Ridiculously she imagined throwing away another pair of shoes, the first being dinged after the trek to Bloom’s greenhouses, was it only a week ago?

She closed her mind to the grisly sight and allowed her nurse’s instincts to take over. She rolled him gently onto his back. Sondergaard’s eyes popped open. He gazed at her without recognition. While Jarvis wadded napkins and attempted to staunch the flow of blood, Angie touched the first two fingers of her right hand to Sondergaard’s carotid artery. The pulse pumped weak and thready. She counted his breaths, each more labored than the last as the fluid collected in his lungs. “More pressure,” she told Jarvis, whose face was pale. She heard the desperation and futility in her voice as she encouraged Sondergaard. “Hang on, an ambulance is coming. Just hang on.”

The Dane’s eyes focused on her. He opened his mouth. A tiny bubble of blood popped between his lips. As she leaned down to listen for what might be his last words, the bubble grew larger and larger until gravity pulled it into the crease at the side of his mouth. It ran down, joining the ever-widening puddle on the floor. She put her ear to his lips. In the background, rejoicing voices told Angie help had arrived. Unfortunately it also obscured Sondergaard’s words. “Say it again,” she pleaded.

Once again his lips flattened against each other. Once again, she missed what he said.

The crowd parted and, like angels two EMTs floated in. Jarvis relinquished hold on the napkins to the first attendant, rose and turned away. “Pulse is fifteen and thready,” Angie said. She’d started to rise when a flash of something in Sondergaard’s hand caught her eye. Hiding her movements behind the leg of her slacks, she wedged her fingers into his and pried the object loose. As she followed Jarvis’s retreat, she poked the thing into her pocket.

Jarvis would beeline for Donna, who’d obviously witnessed—or perpetrated—Sondergaard’s ‘accident’. Not seeing either he or Donna, she stepped into the hallway, the object she’d taken from Pedar practically burning a hole through her clothes. All she knew so far was that it was about two inches long, and shaped like a teardrop. It felt solid, but pliable at the same time. Cool air assaulted Angie and she realized how stifling the room had been.

“All right. Everyone back inside,” boomed a voice from behind. A squad of uniformed officers swarmed the corridor. Angie ducked behind a huge potted palm to watch people being herded back into the meeting room; the questioning was about to begin. When the doors closed, securely locking the horror of the evening inside, Angie went back to the restaurant.

The food was cold, but she hadn’t wanted it anyway. She pushed the plate away, downed the remainder of the vodka, reached once again into her pocket and pulled out the teardrop-shaped object. She laid it on the tablecloth. The waiter appeared out of nowhere and she instinctively cupped her hand to cover it.

He swept up the empty glass and spoke to her, but his eyes were focused on her right hand. “You look like you could use a refill.”

“Yes, please.” Instead of moving away, the young man lingered beside her. Angie turned an innocent expression upon his youthful face.

“What’s going on over there? I heard somebody got killed.”

Angie suppressed a smile as she realized this guy probably thought she hid the murder weapon. “A man was stabbed. He’s still alive.”

“I love all this cloak and dagger stuff. ’Course I hate seeing anybody get hurt. I’m an avid mystery buff, I love true crime stories. Can’t get enough of them, actually. I bet they locked all the suspects in.”

Angie raised her available hand to silence him. “I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I can’t talk about this right now. It’s been very traumatic.”

“Oh sure. Sure. I’m sorry.” But he wouldn’t let it go. “Um, did you know the person who—”

She gave him a didn’t-you-hear-what-I-said look that at once brought her mother to mind. Angie thought about apologizing, but didn’t have the energy. “Thank you for understanding.”

He turned on a heel and left. From across the room she felt him watching, waiting for her to expose her hidden treasure. Discreetly, Angie slid it off the table and back in her pocket.

Seconds later, he returned with her drink. This time he didn’t hang around. Angie sighed. How did she keep getting herself into these situations? This cloak and dagger stuff, as the waiter so succinctly put it, should be left to the professionals. Then she remembered that, this time, she wasn’t here of her own accord. She’d been forced to come; her life was in danger. Someone wanted her out of the way. Jarvis had brought her to Philly so the thugs in Alton Bay couldn’t find her. What a joke. The suspects were here.

Pressure on her left shoulder made her leap out of the chair. Her arm jostled the glass and she grabbed blindly before it tipped over. The pressure on her shoulder tightened, a face appeared. Jarvis’s cheek brushed hers. Before Angie could turn around, he eased a very agitated looking Donna Marks into the opposite chair.

The waiter appeared again. “Can I get you something, sir? Ma’am?”

“Yes,” Jarvis said. “A bloody Mary for the lady and a gin and tonic for me. Do you want yours freshened up?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Oh yes, take away these plates too, would you?”

“Would you like them reheated or something?”

Jarvis shook his head. “Just bring a plate of something we can pick at.”

“Yes sir, right away.”

Donna’s hands, clenched in a ball on the table, were nearly lost against the stark whiteness of the cloth. Her eyes darted from Angie to Jarvis to the door, as though she expected any moment for the authorities to barge in and haul her away in handcuffs.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” Angie asked.

“You want me to tell her?” Jarvis asked.

Donna picked at something on the back of her left hand. She spoke without looking up, “I’ll do it.”

There was another delay as the waiter arrived with the drinks. “The hors d’hoeuvres will be right out.”

Donna flattened her hands on the table on either side of her glass. “I d-don’t know who did this…this awful thing.” She stopped to sip the drink and clear her throat. “Pedar’s talk was going so well. He hates public speaking; he gets so nervous he actually has to take a pill to relax. Most people don’t realize how shy he is.” She’d recovered her voice and spoke in a monotone. She had disassociated herself emotionally. As a nurse, Angie had seen this frequently in extra emotional times.

Now Jarvis cleared his throat. Donna flinched but didn’t look up. “Someone behind the curtain—I only saw an arm—called to Pedar. He excused himself and went to the sideline. I couldn’t see him. When he turned back to the audience—”

“How long was he gone?” Angie asked.

“Not more than a second or two. When he turned back, he was staring down at his shirtfront looking, I guess surprised is the best word. His hands were closed around something red…well, that’s what I thought at first. Then I realized it was blood. And a knife.”

Angie had seen the knife, buried to the handle in Pedar’s chest. But try as she might, she couldn’t focus her mind on it. “What kind of knife?”

“A regular steak knife,” Jarvis said.

“H-he staggered and fell. That’s when I screamed. I couldn’t stop myself, it just came out. Then everybody got up. I wanted to go to him, but the crowd…” Donna sobbed. Each word came out with a gasp for air. “I tried…but I couldn’t get…through. I kept getting pushed back till I was…crushed against the wall.”

“Did you have an impression of whether a male or female stabbed him?”

Donna closed her eyes. Tears squeezed loose and rolled down her face. “I was sitting near the back of the room. Pedar said it made him nervous if I was close.” She shook her head as if trying to cast off the memory. “I saw a long sleeve. Black or navy blue. Maybe someone closer got a better look.”

Jarvis put a hand on Donna’s arm. “I’ll tell the rest for you. Donna and Sondergaard—”

“Pedar,” Donna corrected.

“—began seeing each other.”

“You were still married to Paul.” Angie hadn’t meant the words to sound accusatory, but once they were out of her mouth, she couldn’t reclaim them. Donna started picking at the back of her hand again. Jarvis reached over and pushed the drink closer. Obediently she picked up the glass and sipped.

“Since Donna was married to Paul, their meetings were restricted to conferences and such.”

With a slow, lazy eye-roll Donna looked at Angie. There was apology in those eyes, and Angie knew it was for all the times she had put down Will for his cheating.

“Pedar was everything Paul wasn’t,” Donna said. “Considerate and thoughtful, always bringing me gifts.” Angie refrained from saying that’s what lovers did. “In bed, he…” Donna gave Jarvis and embarrassed glance.

“We understand,” he said. “A few months later, they were having dinner at a conference. John Bloom interrupted asking if he might have a few minutes alone with Pedar. Donna went up to the room, leaving the men alone. When Pedar came up about an hour later, he was excited, but all he’d say was that he had a line on something that would make him very rich.”

“For someone so very laid back,” Donna said softly, “it was wonderful seeing him so animated.”

“Did you know John’s identity at that time?” Angie asked. “Did you know he lived right in town?”

Donna shook her head.

“Did he know you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Pedar made occasional trips to New Hampshire,” Jarvis continued, “nice for Donna because she saw more of him.”

“Where did you meet when he visited?”

Donna answered, “The motel.”

“Paul never found out?”

She gave a slow nod. “It’s what broke us up.”

“As I told you earlier, Pedar enlisted Donna’s help keeping an eye on John.”

“Did Pedar know you were sleeping with John?” Angie asked.

Donna’s nod consisted of one very slow up motion of her head, and one down.

“Did John confide in you about his discovery?”

“Not until four months ago.”

“You’ve seen Rhapsody?”

She smiled. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Neither Pedar nor I had anything to do with the theft. I swear.”

“Say something that’ll make me believe you,” Jarvis said.

“You’re a cop, so there probably isn’t anything I can say.” Donna eyed him ruefully. “You don’t know the iris world. Discovering the red is like finding the Holy Grail. It’s a dedication regular people can’t understand. The person who achieves it will be rich, not only in dollars and cents, not only in the iris world; this discovery could open doors to color genetics in other plants, other fields. He’d be world famous. That’s something Pedar valued above everything else. Over money.” She hesitated, and added, “Over me.”

Jarvis was looking at Donna, but Angie saw belief mirrored there. So, where did that leave the case?

With Trynne.