The Bluebonnet Betrayal (11 page)

“Be the bluebonnets you want to see! New members are reminded to pay the treasurer for their Austin Rocks! sweatshirts and to proudly wear them at every meeting—or be prepared to pay a fine! T-shirt orders for spring and summer are now being taken, and don't forget our selection of mugs and phone covers. Remember, all proceeds go toward our hill country restoration fund. Please see Rosette Taylor for details.”

New Members' Corner, from
Austin Rocks!
the e-newsletter of the Austin Rock Garden Society

“Ah, there you are!” Pru said as she leapt up and her packaged sandwich went flying, caught by Chiv.

A frisson of excitement coursed through Pru's body, leaving her toes tingling. “Hey, everyone, I'd like you to meet Kit. Kit—” For a moment she blanked on the surname they'd chosen as his cover. She'd almost called him Kit Carson. She swallowed a nervous giggle and said, “Kit Morrison.”

They'd decided on Kit as an easy name to remember—it was a British nickname for Christopher. The Brits on the crew weren't aware of Pru's husband's name, and so it wouldn't seem unusual to them. The Austin women had heard of Christopher, but wouldn't know about the nickname. All bases covered.

Chiv got up and shook Christopher's hand, and the others nodded greetings. “Kit's one of our crew now,” Pru prattled. “He's come up from Hampshire. He works for Simon and me—I told you about Simon, didn't I? He's my brother, and we take care of the garden at Greenoak. Simon wasn't able to come, but Kit here said he could and so he's come up today—”
Stop babbling,
she told herself.

“Well, honey, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Ivory said. “Here, you need to be official.” She went off to the shed and came back holding out an ARGS bluebonnet sweatshirt—
AUSTIN ROCKS
! “You're one of us now, Kit.”

He'd rather not, Pru could see that. With the sweatshirt, he was instantly labeled as a member of the ARGS crew for all to see—including DCI French if he got it in his head to stop back by. Without the sweatshirt, he would be an anonymous person working on one of the many sites at buildup and could fade into the background with ease. But to refuse would single him out among the crew, each one, Pru told herself, a likely suspect he might want to chat up.

“Yeah, sure,” Christopher said, removing his high-vis vest in order to pull on the sweatshirt.

Ivory introduced each of the Austin women. When she got to “KayAnn and Nell,” Christopher cut in.

“Sorry, which one of you is KayAnn?”

“Don't worry about it—everybody gets us mixed up,” the ash-blonde said. “I'm KayAnn and this is Nell.”

Well, that was easy.

Pru continued with the others. “I'm sure you'll meet our designer and sponsor—whenever they arrive. We've just stopped for lunch. I got an extra sandwich in case you made it in time. It's coronation chicken—is that all right? I'll switch with you if you'd rather have bacon and egg.” She didn't want to make too big a deal about it—coronation chicken was a favorite of his and so she'd kept it back, but she needed to appear as if that hadn't been on purpose. Or was she worrying needlessly?

“That's grand, thanks.” He took the sandwich from her and gave her a smile—a friendly smile. A co-worker's smile.
This was fun.

“Are you from Hampshire, Kit?” Iris asked. She and Chiv sat on the edge of the shallow pit, and Teddy had settled on the driver's seat of the excavator.

“No, Edenbridge,” Christopher replied.
True,
Pru thought, remembering that Christopher said it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible, and to make any necessary lie simple and easy to remember.

When Christopher found a dry stack of stones to sit on—just big enough for one person—Sweetie squeezed in next to him, their bums snug up against each other. Pru watched over the rim of her tea, forgetting how scalding the liquid could be in those takeaway paper cups until she felt it sear her upper lip. She took the lid off and blew on the contents, sending a cloud of steam into the air.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Sweetie dipped her head and smiled up at him. “So, Kit, you're able to just up and come to London for a job? No ties back there in Hampshire?”

“My wife couldn't take the time off,” Christopher replied.

Sweetie's smile melted as she looked down at the ring on his finger. She returned to her original stone seat next to Rosette.

“What does your wife do?” Ivory asked.

“She's a chef.”

Pru choked on her tea.
Lie
—but certainly one she'd remember. Nell rushed over and patted her on the back. “Swallowed wrong,” Pru managed to say. “Sorry.”

They made it through the afternoon, Pru and Christopher purposefully staying away from each other lest they blow their cover. Eventually, work slowed even with Chiv and his wall. The police had removed all the footing stones that Chiv had placed in the bottom of the trench. Only the far end of the wall had been left alone, where a three-foot length looked complete. And quite lonely.

Now Chiv had started to replace the missing footing stones, but had come to a halt when he reached the last six feet or so, where Twyla's body had lain. He stared at the spot, as if caught in a dream.

Christopher, Teddy, and Iris were carrying wide pine boards into the Great Pavilion to spread them out. The boards would be attached to the front of the shed, creating the hill country gas station, which needed to look as if it had been there for eighty years, not eight days. This would be accomplished by charring the new boards with a butane torch and then sanding them down, adding streaky remnants of red and black paint, before affixing them to the utility shed. The Chelsea Flower Show was as much theater as horticulture, and the individual gardens just like the sets of plays.

“He seems nice.” Ivory nodded to Christopher.

“They all seem nice at first,” Sweetie said, casting a glance at the Aussie's garden—no Skippy in sight.

“Yes, he's great, really, a hard worker,” Pru said, struggling to keep a rein on her enthusiasm.

“But he doesn't have a full-time job?”

Pru shrugged. “No, I guess not—but he seems to stay busy.”

“Too bad your husband couldn't come up and help,” Ivory said.

“No time off for him,” Pru replied, shaking her head.

“He's a policeman, isn't he?”

Pru avoided Ivory's gaze, not sure if this was a casual comment or Ivory had sensed something. She and Christopher had talked this part out. “Yes—special constable out of the Romsey station. He's traffic warden for the local school and teaches pedestrian safety to the kids.”
True,
although more than once the local DI had asked for Christopher's assistance on bigger cases. “And quite often, he's called out to round up Kitty Bassett's ducks.”
True again
. KayAnn and Nell laughed, and Pru saw Ivory grin. “The life of a country policeman,” Pru said airily, hoping she'd completed the picture of a fellow in a rumpled uniform who worked less time than he spent exchanging news at the pub.
Such a lie
.

When Pru noticed that Chiv remained in the same spot, staring into the trench, she walked over and stood next to him. Tears streamed down his face. “I don't know if I can do it,” he whispered. “Cover it up, as if she were never here.”

Moved to the brink of tears herself at the sight of Chiv's despair, Pru put her arm around his shoulders. “This is for her now,” she said. “We build this garden for Twyla.” He looped his arm around her shoulders and responded with a squeeze, swiped at his face, and stalked off to the shed.

Pru dried her own eyes. The ARGS women stood in a tight group listening to Ivory and nodding, except for Rosette, who stuck her hands in her pockets and shrugged.

Ivory looked round the site and said, “Is everybody here? Listen—we want to invite y'all over to our house tonight. It's Friday—and yeah, I know we'll be back here working in the morning—but still we should get to know each other. Nothing fancy—we'll make it a potluck. What do you think?”

“It's a fabulous idea,” Pru said. “We can all be there—can't we?” She swept her arm out in a general manner. They couldn't've asked for a better evening. She and Christopher could work the room learning all sorts of things.

“How lovely. That's very kind of you.” Iris appeared pleased.

“Shall I let Forde and Roddy know?” Pru asked. It was only fair, wasn't it?

“Oh sure, you go ahead.”

They all agreed on eight o'clock. Pru sent texts to Roddy and Forde, and gave out directions to the Lamont Road house. As everyone packed up for the day, Iris came to Pru and asked, “What sort of food is potluck? Is it Asian?”

“It isn't a style of food,” Pru said. She had grown up on potlucks and covered-dish dinners, but had forgotten the term wasn't known in Britain. “It's a dinner where everyone brings a dish to contribute—a salad or main or pudding, doesn't matter. You could pick something up at the market. That's what I'll do, because I don't cook.”
Too true.
“Not like your wife, Kit. Not like Sonia.” She saw a ghost of a smile appear and disappear on Christopher's face.
Lie,
but an easy one—Sonia was one of Kitty Bassett's pet ducks.

The mass of them departed from the London gate, the women turning left and the rest right, heading up to the Sloane Square Tube station. “Ivory,” Pru called. “I'll just run home and change and be over early to help out.”

“I'm staying with my sister, Claire, in Gunnersbury,” Christopher said to Iris, as they stood waiting on the platform at the station. Sister Claire—
true;
Gunnersbury—
lie,
but a good one for logistical reasons. To reach his destination of Gunnersbury, Kit would need to get on a different train from Chiv and family—the District Line that ran from Sloane Square split farther on. This made the deception easy—because Kit would not be on the same train as Chiv, no one would actually see where he got off.

It hadn't mattered which train Pru took—both stopped at Turnham Green—so she had boarded the first one with Chiv, Iris, and Teddy, got to the flat first, and so left before Christopher arrived. He'd probably waited another train or two, adding that much more of a cushion. At the last minute, Pru grabbed Evelyn's lasagna to take along—a far better contribution than something from the market.

The women at the Lamont Road house had clearly all tried their best to choose clothes that didn't look as if they'd been working all day in the garden. At the counter, Sweetie, in a loose white shirt over tight denims, turned several plastic containers of chopped salad into a serving bowl, while KayAnn and Nell—reverting to their patterned tights, short shorts, and sheepskin boots—arranged a cheese platter.

“The guy at the store thought I wanted the cheese for dessert,” Nell said as she popped a cube of red Leicester in her mouth, “but I told him cheese is snack food in Texas.”

Ivory had the sleeves of her cardigan pushed up above her elbows and a scarf tied to hold back her voluminous hair as she washed grapes, while Rosette, in the dining room and buttoned up in a tidy blazer and trousers, fussed with a line of wineglasses.

Chiv and family arrived—Iris checked with Pru, who told her that the platter of mini sausage rolls from Waitrose was a perfect choice for a potluck. Kit came next with two bottles of wine to add to the bar.

“That's lovely, thanks, Kit,” Pru said as she took the bottles from him. Their fingers touched, and it felt as if an electric current ran up her arms. She tugged at the bottles, and Christopher, his face revealing nothing, gave a little tug back.

“Want me to take those?” Ivory asked. Pru jumped and let loose of one bottle, which was deftly caught by Kit.

“No,” Pru said, taking the bottle back and clutching both to her chest, her cheeks burning. “I've got them, thanks. I'll just put them on the drinks table.”

Pru told herself to stay away from Kit or she just might blow their covert op sky-high by throwing herself in his arms. She stood by the fireplace and watched as the group met and dispersed, conversations starting up in various rooms. This was exactly what they needed—a party.

She headed for the sitting room and perched on the arm of a chair as KayAnn said to Iris, “My boyfriend designs and builds the insides of grocery stores.”

“He's a fitter?” Iris asked. “He decides where to put the frozen fish fingers?”

KayAnn cut her eyes at Pru, who looked at Iris and said, “Yes.”

“He works for Sweetie's hus—” KayAnn caught herself, but not soon enough. Sweetie—in the opposite corner struggling through a conversation with Teddy—glanced over and away. “Ex,” whispered KayAnn.

“Chardonnay, ladies, was that right?” Christopher held out two glasses of wine.

“Thanks, Kit,” KayAnn and Nell chorused.

“Pru, can I get you a drink?”

“Yes, thanks—I'd love a glass of wine,” Pru said.

“White?” he asked.
Good and easy lie
—Kit and Pru weren't so close that they'd know each other's drinks.

“I prefer red.”

“Red it is.”

Pru couldn't help but admire Christopher's form through the evening—even the way he stood looked casual, more like a laborer, less like a policeman. When Roddy MacWeeks arrived and worked the room until he made it to the drinks table, pouring himself a gin and tonic, Christopher chose that moment to reach for a bottle of beer, making it easy to strike up a conversation. Pru wished she could listen in, but she must hold up her end of the investigation—she must conduct background checks.

“Ivory, did you say you've left your husband back in Austin?” Pru asked.