Black Rose (25 page)

As she faded away, as the mists melted, another message appeared on the mirror. It said simply:

Forgive me.

“Y
OU COULD
’
VE BEEN
killed.”

Mitch paced the bedroom, anger all but sparking off his fingertips.

She’d gone down to make a pot of hot coffee, and to ask him to come upstairs. She’d wanted to be assured they weren’t overheard when she told him.

“I wasn’t. Happily.” The coffee was helping, but she was still chilled, and willing to bundle under a thick cashmere throw.

“You might’ve died, while I was downstairs putzing around with books and files. You were up here, fighting for your life, and I—”

“Stop.” But she said it gently. A woman who’d lived with men, raised sons, understood ego. “What happened, could have happened, didn’t happen—none of it was your fault. Or mine, for that matter. The fault lies in what is no doubt an emotionally disturbed ghost. And I don’t care how ridiculous that sounds.”

“Rosalind.” He stopped in front of her, knelt down, rubbed his hands over hers. They felt strong on hers, and warm. They felt solid. “I know how you feel about this house, but—”

“You’re going to say I should move out, temporarily. And there’s some good, solid sense in that, Mitch. But I won’t. You can say it’s because I’m stubborn, because I’m too damn hardheaded.”

“And I will.”

“But,” she said, “besides that, and the fact I won’t be chased away from what’s mine, the problem won’t be solved by moving out. My son lives on this property, as do others I care about very much. My business is on this property. Do I tell everyone to find other accommodations? Do I shut down my business, risk losing everything? Or do I stick it out, and work to find the answers?”

“She’s escalating. Roz, for years she did little more than sing to children, an odd but relatively charming addition to the household. A little mischief now and then, but nothing dangerous. In the past year she’s become increasingly unstable, increasingly violent.”

“Yes, she has.” Her fingers linked with his, held firm. “And you know what that tells me? It tells me we must be getting close to something. That maybe because we are, she’s more impatient, more erratic. Less controlled. What we’re doing matters to her. Just as what I think and feel matters, whether she approves or not.”

“Meaning?”

He probably wouldn’t take it well, she considered. But it had to be said. She’d promised him honesty, and took promises seriously. “I was thinking of you. Of us. When I finished sulking about tonight, and started to relax, I was thinking of the way I feel about you, and the way you feel about me.”

“She tried to kill you because we love each other.” His face stone hard when he pushed to his feet. “I’m the one who needs to leave, to stay away from here, and you, until we finish this.”

“Is that how you deal with bullies? You give them their way?”

He’d started to pace again, but whipped around now, fury ripe in his eyes. “We’re not talking about some asshole trying to steal lunch money on the playground. We’re talking about your safety. Your goddamn life!”

“I won’t give in to her. That’s how I stay alive. That’s how I stay in charge. You think I’m not furious, not frightened? You’re wrong.”

“I notice fury comes first.”

“Because it’s positive—at least I’ve always felt a good, healthy mad’s more constructive than fear. That’s what I saw in her, Mitch, at the end.”

Roz tossed the throw aside and rose to go to him. “She was afraid, shocked and afraid and sorry—pitifully. You said once she didn’t want to hurt me, and I think it’s true.”

“I also said she could, and I’ve been proven right.” He took her face in his hands, then slid them down to her shoulders. “I don’t know how to protect you. But I know I can’t lose you.”

“I’ll be less afraid if you’re with me.”

He cocked his head, very nearly smiled. “That’s very tricky.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around him, settled in when his came around her. “It also happens to be true. She asked me to forgive her. I don’t know that I can, or will, but I need the answers. I need you to help me find them. And damn it, Mitch, I just need you—and that’s hard for me to say.”

“I hope it gets easier, because I like hearing it. We’ll keep things as they are for now.”

“Thank you. When I got out of there.” She shifted her gaze toward the bathroom. “When I got out and pulled it together enough to think, I was so relieved you were downstairs. That I could tell you. That I wouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“Alone isn’t even an option. Now.” He scooped her off her feet. “You’re getting into bed, bundling up.”

“And you’ll be . . .”

“Taking a closer look at the scene of the crime before I mop it up.”

“I can take care of that, the mopping up.”

“No.” He tucked her in, firmly. “Give a little, get a little, Roz. Do what you’re told, and stay in bed like a good girl. You’ve had a long and interesting day.”

“Haven’t I just?” And it felt wonderful to snuggle in the bed, knowing there was someone to look after some of the details. “I’m not sure what I’ll have to give, but I’m going to ask you for a little something more.”

“You want some soup? Something hot? Tea? Tea’d be better than coffee.”

Look at you, she thought, Dr. Studly, with your black tie loose, and your tux shirt rolled up to the elbows, offering to make me soup. She reached for his hand as he sat on the side of the bed.

“No, but thanks. I’m going to ask you to keep what happened here between us for now.”

“Roz, how does your mind work?” Frustration was so clear in his voice, on his face, she nearly smiled. “You were almost drowned in the tub by our resident ghost, and you don’t want to mention it?”

“It’s not that. We’ll mention it, document it, go into great detail and discussion if need be. I just want to wait until after Stella’s wedding. I just want a little calm. When Harper hears about this . . . Well, he’s not going to take it well.”

“Let me just say a big fat: Duh.”

She laughed. “Everyone’ll be upset, distracted, worried. And what good will it do? It happened, it’s over. There are so many other things to deal with right now. I’m already going to be dealing with the fallout from what happened at the club. I can promise you word will be out, and it’ll be a topic at my breakfast table tomorrow.”

“And that bothers you.”

“Actually, I think I’ll enjoy it. I’m just small enough to bask in it. So let’s leave this between us, until Stella’s had
her wedding. After that, we’ll tell everyone, and deal with the fallout. But for the time being, we could use some undiluted happiness around here.”

“Okay. I don’t see that it’ll matter.”

“I appreciate it. I’m not so mad and scared now,” she added, and slid down on the pillow. “I stopped her. I fought her off. I could do it again. That has to count for something.”

Mitch leaned over to press his lips to her cheek. “Counts for a hell of a lot with me.”

W
ITH THE BABY
on her hip, Hayley bolted into the kitchen the next morning. Her hair was bunched in a short tail at the back of her head, her eyes were huge, and she’d misbuttoned her pajama top.

“I just talked to Lily’s sitter,” she announced to the room at large, “and her aunt belongs to the country club. She says Roz was in a fight last night.”

“I certainly was not.” Life could be heartwarmingly predictable, Roz thought and continued to spread jam thinly on a triangle of toast.

“What kinda fight?” Gavin wanted to know. “A punching fight?”

“I was not in a punching fight.” Roz handed him the toast. “People exaggerate things, little man. It’s the way of the world.”

“Did you kick somebody in the face?”

Roz raised her eyebrows at Luke. “Of course not. You might say, metaphorically, I kicked somebody in the ass.”

“What’s met . . .”

“A metaphor’s a fancy way of saying something’s like something else. I could say I’m a cat full of canary this morning.” She winked at Luke. “And that would mean I’m feeling very satisfied and smug. But I never laid a hand on him.”

“Who?” Stella demanded.

“Bryce Clerk.” The answer came from David as he poured more coffee. “My intelligence network is far-flung and faster than the speed of light. I heard about it last night, before eleven o’clock, Central Standard Time.”

“And didn’t tell anybody?” Hayley glowered at him as she strapped Lily in her high chair.

“Actually, I was waiting for all to be present and accounted for before I brought it up. Ah, here comes Harper now. I told him his presence was required at breakfast this morning.”

“Really, David, it’s no big deal, and I need to get ready for work.”

“On the contrary.” Shaking his head over his coffee, Mitch looked around the table. “It was extraordinary. The woman,” he said with a long look at Roz, “is extraordinary.”

Under the table she took his hand, gave it a warm squeeze. A silent thanks for letting this play out without any of last night’s horror marring the mood.

“What’s up?” Harper demanded. “We’re having omelettes? How come we’re having omelettes?”

“Because your mama likes them, and she needs to recharge her energies after hauling out her can of Whoop Ass last night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roz replied, even as a chuckle tickled the back of her throat.

“What about last night? What Whoop Ass?”

“See what you miss when you don’t go to the club?” David told Harper.

“If somebody doesn’t fill in the blanks soon, I’m going
to go crazy.” Hayley gave Lily a sip-cup of juice and plopped down. “Spill, every deet.”

“There’s not that much to tell,” Roz began.

“I’ll tell it.” Mitch returned Roz’s bland look equably. “She’ll leave stuff out. Now, some of this I pried out of her, because I wasn’t there at the time, and some of the other I got from my son. But I’ll tell it all in one piece—more impact.”

He started with the brief stop by the Forresters’ table, then moved to the bathroom scene, then dramatized the altercation between Roz and Bryce outside the lounge area.

“Oh, my God, they walked out while you were talking to that . . .” Hayley cleared her throat, amended her first thought as she remembered the children. “Man.”

“His back was to them,” Mitch filled in. “It was perfectly staged.”

Hayley fed Lily bits of egg and gaped at Roz. “It’s so cool. Like, I don’t know, a sting.”

“The timing was exquisite,” Mitch agreed. “You should’ve seen your mother, Harper, cool and slick as an iceberg, and just as dangerous.”

“This kitchen is full of metaphors this morning,” Roz commented. “Isn’t anyone going to work?”

“Seen her like that.” Harper scooped up some omelette. “Scary.”

“It happened I was in a position to see the reaction of the ladies behind them,” Mitch said, “and it was beautiful. He’s mouthing off, bragging about how he can keep screwing around, the phone calls, the credit cards, and so on, and nobody’ll pin him. He’s insulting Quill, calling Mandy stupid. Utterly full of himself, and Roz just stands there—he doesn’t even know she’s just brought the ax down on his neck. She doesn’t flick an eyelash, just keeps prompting him to say more and more until the son of a . . .” He remembered the kids. “. . . gun is buried in his own words.
Then, then, when it’s done, she just waves a hand, so he turns and sees they’re behind him. And she strolls away. It was beautiful.”

“I hope they fell on him like dogs,” Stella said under her breath.

“Close enough. Apparently, he tried to talk his way out of it, convince them that it was all a mistake, but the blonde, she’s hysterical. Screaming, crying, slapping at him. The other goes straight to her husband, fills him in, so he knows it was Bryce’s vindictiveness that lost him one of his top clients. He loses it—according to my son—and bulls his way to Bryce and punches him. People are jumping up, glasses are crashing, the blonde jumps on Clerk and starts biting and scratching.”

“Holy cow,” Gavin whispered, awed.

“They had to drag her off, and while they were, Quill took another shot, and they had to drag
him
off.”

“I wish I’d seen that.” Harper rose to get his choice of morning caffeine and came back to the table with a can of Coke. “I really do.”

“People were running for cover, or pushing to get closer to the action,” Mitch continued. “Slipping on olives from martinis, sliding around in salmon mousse or whatever, knocking over tables. They were at the point of calling the cops when in-house security broke it up.”

“Where were you?” Hayley wondered.

“I was on the terrace making out with Roz. Dancing with Roz,” he corrected with a wink. “We had a decent view through the doors and windows.”

“It’ll be the talk of the town for some time,” Roz concluded. “As far as I’m concerned, all of them got just what they deserved. A bellyful of embarrassment. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve got to get to work.”

“Wait, wait, what about Bryce?” Hayley forked up some eggs for herself. “You can’t leave us hanging.”

“I couldn’t say, but I suspect he’ll scamper out of Shelby County with his tail between his legs. I don’t think he’ll be around anymore.”

“That’s it?” Hayley wondered. “You’re not going to—” She broke off, wiped Lily’s face. “That’s good. It’s good he’s gone.”

Roz ruffled both boys’ hair, then got up to lay a kiss on the top of Lily’s head. “I’ll be giving the police my statement regarding possible charges for fraud this afternoon, as will Mitch, who heard everything Bryce said. I imagine they’ll speak with the others who heard him flapping. Then we’ll see what happens next.”

“Even better,” Hayley said with a smile. “Even much better.”

“I don’t punch or kick people in the face, at least not to date. But I don’t get pushed around for long, either.”

She walked out, pleased, even comforted, that the day had begun with laughter instead of worry.

R
OZ STOOD ON
the little slope at the edge of her woods and studied the spread and form of In the Garden. There were wonderful blocks of color, tender spring green, bold pinks, exotic blues, cheery yellows, and hot, hot reds.

The old, time-faded brown tables were full of those colors, displaying bedding plants in flats and pots. The ground itself erupted with it, blooming in an enthusiastic celebration of the season. The buildings looked fresh and welcoming, the greenhouses industrious. There were planters exploding with color and shape, hanging baskets dripping with them.

From this vantage she could see slices of the shrub area, and the ornamental trees, and all the way back to the field-grown, with its ruler-straight rows and muscular machines.

Everywhere she looked there were people, customers
and staff, bustling or browsing. Red wagons chugged along like little trains carrying their hopeful cargo. Flatbeds bumped over the gravel paths, and out to the parking area where their loads could be transferred into cars and trucks.

She could see the mountains of mulch, loose and bagged, the towers of pavers, the rails of landscape timbers.

Busy, busy, she thought, but with the charm she’d always envisioned in homey touches. The arbor already twined with morning glory vines, the curved bench strategically placed by a bubbling garden fountain, the flashy red of a hummingbird feeder dangling from a branch, the music of a wind chime circling gently in the breeze.

She should be down there, of course, doing some bustling herself, babying her stock, calculating inventory. Having a manager—even an exceptional one like Stella—didn’t mean she shouldn’t have her finger on every pulse.

But she’d wanted the air, the movement of it around her after hours in the denseness of the propagation house. And she wanted this view of what she’d built. What she’d worked for, gambled on.

Today, under a sky so freshly blue it might have been painted on glass, it was beautiful. And every hour she’d spent over all these years sweating, worrying, calculating, struggling was worth it.

It was solid and successful, and very much the sprawling garden she’d wanted to create. A business, yes, a business first and foremost, but a lovely one. One that reflected her style, her vision, her legacy.

If some insisted on seeing it as her hobby, let them. If some, even most, thought of her as the woman who’d glided around the country club in a gold gown and diamonds, that was fine. She didn’t mind slipping on the glamour now and again. In fact, she could enjoy it.

But the truth of her, the core of her, was standing here,
wearing ancient jeans and a faded sweatshirt, a ballcap over her hair and scarred boots on her feet.

The truth of her was a working woman with bills to pay, a business to run, and a home to maintain. It was that woman she was proud of when she took the time to be proud. The Rosalind Harper of the country club and society set was a duty to her name. This, all the rest, was life.

She took a breath, braced herself, and deliberately pushed her mind in a specific direction. She would see what happened, and how both she and Amelia would deal with it.

So she thought: If this was life, hers to live, why couldn’t she gamble yet again? Expand that life by taking into it, fully, the man who excited and comforted her, who intrigued and amused her?

The man who had somehow strolled through the maze that grief and work and duty and pride had built around her heart.

The man she loved.

She could live her life alone if need be, but what did it prove? That she was self-sufficient, independent, strong, and able. She knew those things, had been those things—and would always be those things.

And she could be courageous, too.

Didn’t it take courage, wasn’t it harder to blend one life with another, to share and to cope, to compromise than to live that life alone? It was work to live with a man, to wake up every day prepared to deal with routine, and to be open to surprises.

She’d never shied away from work.

Marriage was a different kettle at this stage of life. There would be no babies made between them. But they could share grandchildren one day. They wouldn’t grow up together, but could grow old together.

They could be happy.

They always lie. They’re never true.

Roz stood in the same spot, on a gentle rise at the edge of the woods. But In the Garden was gone. There were fields, stark with winter, barren trees, and the feel of ice on the air.

“Not all men,” Roz said quietly. “Not always.”

I’ve known more than you.

She walked across the fields, insubstantial as the mist that began to spread, a shallow sea, over the bare, black ground. Her white gown was filthy, as were her naked feet. Her hair was a tangle of oily gold around a face bright with madness.

Fear blew through Roz like a sudden, vicious storm. But she planted her feet. She’d ride it out.

The light had gone out of the day. Heavy clouds rolled over the sky, smothering the blue with black, a black tinged with violent green.

“I’ve lived longer than you,” Roz said, and though she couldn’t stop the shudder as Amelia approached, she stood her ground.

And learned so little. You have all you need. A home, children, work that satisfies you. What do you need with a man?

“Love matters.”

There was a laugh, a wet chortle that screamed across Roz’s nerves.
Love is the biggest lie. He will fuck you, and use you, and cheat and lie. He will give you pain until you are hollow and empty, until you are dried up and ugly. And dead.

Pity stirred under the fear. “Who betrayed you? Who brought you to this?”

All. They’re all the same. They’re the whores, though they label us so. Didn’t they come to me, ram their cocks into me, while their wives slept alone in their saintly beds?

“Did they force you? Did—”

Then they take what’s yours. What was
mine!

She slammed both fists into her belly, and the force of the rage, the grief, and the fury knocked Roz back two full steps.

Here was the storm, spewing out of the sky, bursting out of the ground, swirling though the fog and into the filthy air. It clogged Roz’s lungs as if she were breathing mud.

She heard the crazed screams through it.

Kill them all! Kill them all in their sleep. Hack them to bits, bathe in their blood. Take back what’s mine. Damn them, damn them all to hell!

“They’re gone. They’re dust.” Roz tried to shout, but could barely choke out the words. “Am I what’s left?”

The storm stopped as abruptly as it began, and the Amelia who stood in the calm was one who sang lullabies to children. Sad and pale in her gray dress.

You’re mine. My blood
. She held out a hand, and red welled in the palm.
My bone. Out of my womb, out of my heart. Stolen, ripped away. Find me. I’m so lost.

Then Roz was alone, standing on the springy grass at the edge of the woods with what she’d built spread out below her.

S
HE WENT BACK
to work because work steadied her. The only way she could wrap her mind around what happened at the edge of the woods was to do something familiar, something that kept her hands occupied while her brain sorted through the wonder of it.