Blue Dahlia gt-1 Read online

  She walked quietly back into the kitchen, and let out a yelp when she saw the dim figure in the shaded light. The figure yelped back, then slapped at the switch beside the stove.

  "Just draw and shoot next time," Roz said, slapping a hand to her heart.

  "I'm sorry. God, you scared me. I knew David was going into the city tonight and I didn't think anyone was back here."

  "Just me. Making some coffee."

  "In the dark?"

  "Stove light was on. I know my way around. You come down to raid the refrigerator?"

  "What? No. No!" She was hardly that comfortable here, in another woman's home. "I was just going to make some tea to take up while I do a little work."

  "Go ahead. Unless you want some of this coffee."

  "If I drink coffee after dinner, I'm awake all night."

  It was awkward, standing here in the quiet house, just the two of them. It wasn't her house, Stella thought, her kitchen, even her quiet. She wasn't a guest, but an employee.

  However gracious Roz might be, everything around them belonged to her.

  "Did Mr. Kitridge leave?"

  "You can call him Logan, Stella. You only sound pissy otherwise."

  "Sorry. I don't mean to be." Maybe a little. "We got off on the wrong foot, that's all, and I... oh, thanks," she said when Roz handed her the teakettle. "I realize I shouldn't have complained about him."

  She filled the kettle, wishing she'd thought through what she wanted to say. Practiced it a few times.

  "Because?" Roz prompted.

  "Well, it's hardly constructive for your manager and your landscape designer to start in on each other

  after one run-in, and less so to whine to you about it."

  "Sensible. Mature." Roz leaned back on the counter, waiting for her coffee to brew. Young, she thought. She had to remember that despite some shared experiences, the girl was more than a decade younger

  than she. And a bit tender yet.

  "I try to be both," Stella said, and put the kettle on to boil.

  "So did I, once upon a time. Then I decided, screw that. I'm going to start my own business."

  Stella pushed back her hair. Who was this woman who was elegant to look at even in the hard lights? Who spoke frank words in that debutante-of-the-southern-aristocracy voice and wore ancient wool

  socks in lieu of slippers? "I can't get a handle on you. I can't figure you out."

  "That's what you do, isn't it? Get handles on things." She shifted to reach up and behind into a cupboard for a coffee mug. "That's a good quality to have in a manager. Might be irritating on a personal level."

  "You wouldn't be the first." Stella let out a breath. "And on that personal level, I'd like to add a separate apology. I shouldn't have said those things about Logan to you. First off, because it's bad form to fly

  off about another employee. And second, I didn't realize you were involved."

  "Didn't you?" The moment, Roz decided, called for a cookie. She reached into the jar David kept stocked, pulled out a snickerdoodle. "And you realized it when ..."

  "When we came downstairs—before dinner. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I happened to notice ..."

  "Have a cookie."

  "I don't really eat sweets after—"

  "Have a cookie," Roz insisted and handed one over. "Logan and I are involved. He works for me,

  though he doesn't quite see it that way." An amused smile brushed over her lips. "It's more a with me from his point of view, and I don't mind that. Not as long as the work gets done, the money comes in, and the customers are satisfied. We're also friends. I like him very much. But we don't sleep together. We're not, in any way, romantically involved."

  "Oh." This time she huffed out a breath. "Oh. Well, I've used up my own, so I'll have to borrow

  someone else's foot to stuff in my mouth."

  "I'm not insulted, I'm flattered. He's an excellent, specimen. I can't say I've ever thought about him in

  that way."

  "Why?"

  Roz poured her coffee while Stella took the sputtering kettle off the burner. "I've got ten years on him."

  "And your point would be?"

  Roz glanced back, a little flicker of surprise running over her face, just ahead of humor. "You're right. That doesn't, or shouldn't, apply. However, I've been married twice. One was good, very good. One was bad, very bad. I'm not looking for a man right now. Too damn much trouble. Even when it's good, they take a lot of time, effort, and energy. I'm enjoying using all that time, effort, and energy on myself."

  "Do you get lonely?"

  "Yes. Yes, I do. There was a time I didn't think I'd have the luxury of being lonely. Raising my boys,

  all the running around, the mayhem, the responsibilities."

  She glanced around the kitchen, as if surprised to find it quiet, without the noise and debris generated by young boys. "When I'd raised them—not that you're ever really done, but there's a point where you have to step back—I thought I wanted to share my life, my home, myself with someone. That was a mistake." Though her expression stayed easy and pleasant, her tone went hard as granite. "I corrected it."

  "I can't imagine being married again. Even a good marriage is a balancing act, isn't it? Especially when you toss in careers, family."

  "I never had all of them at once to juggle. When John was alive, it was home, kids, him. I wrapped my life around them. Only wrapped it tighter when it was just me and the boys. I'm not sorry for doing that," she said after a sip of coffee. "It was the way I wanted things. The business, the career, that started late for me. I admire women who can handle all those balls."

  "I think I was good at it." There was a pang at remembering, a sweet little slice in the heart. "It's exhausting work, but I hope I was good at it. Now? I don't think I have the skill for it anymore. Being with someone every day, at the end of it." She shook her head. "I can't see it. I could always picture Kevin and me, all the steps and stages. I can't picture anyone else."

  "Maybe he just hasn't come into the viewfinder yet." Stella lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. "Maybe.

  But I could picture you and Logan together."

  "Really?"

  There was such humor, with a bawdy edge to it, that Stella forgot any sense of awkwardness and just laughed. "Not that way. Or I started to, then engaged the impenetrable mind block. I meant you looked good together. So attractive and easy. I thought it was nice. It's nice to have someone you can be easy with."

  "And you and Kevin were easy together."

  "We were. Sort of flowed on the same current."

  "I wondered. You don't wear a wedding ring."

  "No." Stella looked at her bare finger. "I took it off about a year ago, when I started dating again. It

  didn't seem right to wear it when I was with another man. I don't feel married anymore. It was gradual,

  I guess."

  At the half question, Roz nodded. "Yes, I know."

  "Somewhere along the line I stopped thinking, What would Kevin say about this. Or, What would Kevin do, or think, or want. So I took off my ring. It was hard. Almost as hard as losing him."

  "I took mine off on my fortieth birthday," Roz murmured. "I realized I'd stopped wearing it as a tribute.

  It had become more of a shield against relationships. So I took it off on that black-letter day," she said with a half smile. "Because we move on, or we fade away."

  "I'm too busy to worry about all of this most of the time, and I didn't mean to get into it now. I only wanted to apologize."

  "Accepted. I'm going to take my coffee up. I'll see you in the morning."

  "All right. Good night."

  Feeling better, Stella finished making her tea. She would get a good start in the morning, she decided as she carried it upstairs. She'd get a good chunk of the reorganizing done, she'd talk with Harper and Roz about which cuttings should be added to inventory, and she'd find a way to get along with Logan.

  She heard the singing, quiet and sad,
as she started down the hall. Her heart began to trip, and china rattled on the tray as she picked up her pace. She was all but running by the time she got to the door

  of her sons' room.

  There was no one there, just that same little chill to the air. Even when she set her tea down, searched

  the closet, under the bed, she found nothing.

  She sat on the floor between the beds, waiting for her pulse to level. The dog stirred, then climbed up

  in her lap to lick her hand.

  Stroking him, she stayed there, sitting between her boys while they slept.

  * * *

  On Sunday, she went to her father's for brunch. She was more than happy to be handed a mimosa and ordered out of the kitchen by Jolene.

  It was her first full day off since she'd started at In the Garden, and she was scheduled to relax.

  With the boys running around the little backyard with Parker, she was free to sit down with her father.

  "Tell me everything," he ordered.

  "Everything will go straight through brunch, into dinner, and right into breakfast tomorrow."

  "Give me the highlights. How do you like Rosalind?"

  "I like her a lot. She manages to be straightforward and slippery. I'm never quite sure where I stand

  with her, but I do like her."

  "She's lucky to have you. And being a smart woman, she knows it."

  "You might be just a tiny bit biased."

  "Just a bit."

  He'd always loved her, Stella knew. Even when there had been months between visits. There'd always been phone calls or notes, or surprise presents in the mail.

  He'd aged comfortably, she thought now. Whereas her mother waged a bitter and protracted war with

  the years, Will Dooley had made his truce with them. His red hair was overpowered by the gray now,

  and his bony frame carried a soft pouch in the middle. There were laugh lines around his eyes and

  mouth, glasses perched on his nose.

  His face was ruddy from the sun. The man loved his gardening and his golf.

  "The boys seem happy," he commented.

  "They love it there. I can't believe how much I worried about it, then they just slide in like they've lived there all their lives."

  "Sweetheart, if you weren't worrying about some such thing, you wouldn't be breathing."

  "I hate that you're right about that. Anyway, there are still a few bumps regarding school. It's so hard being the new kids, but they like the house, and all that room. And they're crazy about David. You

  know David Wentworth?"

  "Yeah. You could say he's been part of Roz's household since he was a kid, and now he runs it."

  "He's great with the kids. It's a weight off knowing they're with someone they like after school. And

  I like Harper, though I don't see much of him."

  "Boy's always been a loner. Happier with his plants. Good looking," he added.

  "He is, Dad, but we'll just stick with discussing leaf-bud cuttings and cleft grafting, okay?"

  "Can't blame a father for wanting to see his daughter settled."

  "I am settled, for the moment." More, she realized, than she would have believed possible. "At some point, though, I'm going to want my own place. I'm not ready to look yet—too much to do, and I don't want to rock the boat with Roz. But it's on my list. Something in the same school district when the time comes. I don't want the boys to have to change again."

  "You'll find what you're after. You always do."

  "No point in finding what you're not after. But I've got time. Right now I'm up to my ears in reorganizing. That's probably an exaggeration. I'm up to my ears in organizing. Stock, paperwork, display areas."

  "And having the time of your life."

  She laughed, stretched out her arms and legs. "I really am. Oh, Dad, it's a terrific place, and there's so much untapped potential yet. I'd like to find somebody who has a real head for sales and customer relations, put him or her in charge of that area while I concentrate on rotating stock, keep ahead of the paperwork, and juggle in some of my ideas. I haven't even touched on the landscape area. Except for a head butt with the guy who runs that."

  "Kitridge?" Will smiled. "Met him once or twice, I think. Hear he's a prickly sort."

  "I'll say."

  "Does good work. Roz wouldn't tolerate less, I can promise you. He did a property for a friend of mine about two years ago. Bought this old house, wanted to concentrate on rehabbing it. Grounds were a holy mess. He hired Kitridge for that. Showplace now. Got written up in a magazine."

  "What's his story? Logan's?"

  "Local boy. Born and bred. Though it seems to me he moved up north for a while. Got married."

  "I didn't realize he's married."

  "Was," Will corrected. "Didn't take. Don't know the details. Jo might. She's better at ferreting out and remembering that sort of thing. He's been back here six, eight years. Worked for a big firm out of the

  city until Roz scooped him up. Jo! What do you know about the Kitridge boy who works for Roz?"

  "Logan?" Jolene peeked around the corner. She was wearing an apron that said, jo's kitchen. There

  was a string of pearls around her neck and fuzzy pink slippers on her feet. "He's sexy."

  "I don't think that's what Stella wanted to know."

  "Well, she could see that for herself. Got eyes in her head and blood in her veins, doesn't she? His

  folks moved out to Montana, of all places, two, three years ago."

  She cocked a hip, tapped a finger on her cheek as she lined up her data. "Got an older sister lives in Charlotte now. He went out with Marge Peters's girl, Terri, a couple times. You remember Terri,

  don't you, Will?"

  "Can't say as I do."

  "'Course you do. She was homecoming and prom queen in her day, then Miss Shelby County. First runner-up for Miss Tennessee. Most agree she missed the crown because her talent wasn't as strong

  as it could've been. Her voice is a little bit, what you'd call slight, I guess."

  As Jo talked, Stella just sat back and enjoyed. Imagine knowing all this, or caring. She doubted she could remember who the homecoming or prom queens were from her own high school days. And here was Jo, casually pumping out the information on events that were surely a decade old.

  Had to be a southern thing.

  "And Terri? She said Logan was too serious-minded for her," Jo continued, "but then a turnip would be too serious-minded for that girl."

  She turned back into the kitchen, lifting her voice. "He married a Yankee and moved up to Philadelphia

  or Boston or some place with her. Moved back a couple years later without her. No kids."

  She came back with a fresh mimosa for Stella and one for herself. "I heard she liked big-city life and he didn't, so they split up. Probably more to it than that. Always is, but Logan's not one to talk, so information is sketchy. He worked for Fosterly Landscaping for a while. You know, Will, they do mostly commercial stuff. Beautifying office buildings and shopping centers and so on. Word is Roz offered him the moon, most of the stars, and a couple of splar systems to bring him into her operation."

  Will winked at his daughter. "Told you she'd have the details."

  "And then some."

  Jo chuckled, waved a hand. "He bought the old Morris place on the river a couple of years ago. Been fixing it up, or having it fixed up. And I heard he was doing a job for Tully Scopes. You don't know Tully, Will, but I'm on the garden committee with his wife, Mary. She'll complain the sky's too blue

  or the rain's too wet. Never satisfied with anything. You want another Bloody Mary, honey?" she

  asked Will.

  "Can't say as I'd mind."

  "So I heard Tully wanted Logan to design some shrubbery, and a garden and so on for this property

  he wanted to turn over."

  Jolene kept on talking as she walked back to the kitchen counter to mix the drink. Stella exchanged a mile-
wide grin with her father.

  "And every blessed day, Tully was down there complaining, or asking for changes, or saying this, that,

  or the other. Until Logan told him to screw himself sideways, or words to that effect."

  "So much for customer relations," Stella declared.

  "Walked off the job, too," Jolene continued. "Wouldn't set foot on the property again or have any of

  his crew plant a daisy until Tully agreed to stay away. That what you wanted to know?"

  "That pretty much covers it," Stella said and toasted Jolene with her mimosa.

  "Good. Just about ready here. Why don't you go on and call the boys?"

  * * *

  With the information from Jolene entered into her mental files, Stella formulated a plan. Bright and

  early Monday morning, armed with her map and a set of MapQuest directions, she set out for the

  job site Logan had scheduled.

  Or, she corrected, the job Roz thought he had earmarked for that morning.

  She was going to be insanely pleasant, cooperative, and flexible. Until he saw things her way.

  She cruised the neighborhood that skirted the city proper. Charming old houses, closer to each other

  than to the road. Lovely sloping lawns. Gorgeous old trees. Oak and maple that would leaf and shade, dogwood and Bradford pear that would celebrate spring with blooms. Of course, it wouldn't be the

  south without plenty of magnolias along with enormous azaleas and rhododendrons.

  She tried to picture herself there, with her boys, living in one of those gracious homes, with her lovely yard to tend. Yes, she could see that, could see them happy in such a place, cozy with the neighbors, organizing dinner parties, play dates, cookouts.

  Out of her price range, though. Even with the money she'd saved, the capital from the sale of the house

  in Michigan, she doubted she could afford real estate here. Besides, it would mean changing schools

  again for the boys, and she would have to spend time commuting to work.

  Still, it made a sweet, if brief, fantasy.

  She spotted Logan's truck and a second pickup outside a two-story brick house.

  She could see immediately it wasn't as well kept as most of its neighbors. The front lawn was patchy.