Garden Of Scandal

Alec hunkered down and put out his hand, letting the dog lick it. “Good boy,” he murmured, leaning to dig his fingers into the thick ruff and shake it before smoothing the fur down. “Good dog.”

The clay Laurel was forming collapsed abruptly. She squashed it onto the wheel with both hands, squeezing the slick, malleable mass with unnecessary force. In a chill voice she asked, “You wanted something?”

There were a lot of answers he could make, but he didn’t trust himself to keep them civil. He settled for neutrality. “I didn’t know you were a potter.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I’m learning.” That was too true. “What are you making?”

“A pot.”

That told him exactly nothing. He watched her for a long moment, his eyes on the expressive clarity of her face. What he saw there, he was fairly sure, was contempt.

“Okay,” he said on a tight breath as he rose to his feet and braced a hand on the doorjamb. “What did I do wrong?”

Her rich blue gaze was steady. “Nothing that I know of. Can you think of anything?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn the bike around when you asked me. I didn’t understand. Now I do, all right?”

Her smile was cool and brief, a meaningless movement of the lips. “Certainly. Don’t think of it again.”

Fat chance. “I didn’t mean to upset you or make you do anything you didn’t want.”

“You didn’t make me do a thing, Alec. I know my own mind.”

He should be happy that she had used his name. Instead, it made him feel like the hired help. Which was exactly what he was, he supposed. Voice grim, he said, “If everything is all right, then why did you stop working with me?”

“I had other things I would rather do.”

He had no right to complain; that was what galled him. He wanted the right. But if this was the way she preferred it, he could do that, too.

“I’ve finished the painting. Unless you have other ideas, I’d like to get started on the fountain.”

Without looking at him, she said, “I think the big pine next to the fence shades the garden too much for roses. You could cut it. That’s if you know how to do it without letting it fall on the house.”

She expected him to refuse. He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. “No problem. I’ll need to take out the big limbs, then top it, so will have to have climbing gear.”

“My husband’s belt and spikes are around somewhere.”

“He worked in the woods?”

Her hands stilled, buried in the clay she was molding with quick, hard movements. “He was a lineman for the utility company—a good one.”

He’d had to ask, he thought with resignation. Changing the subject slightly, he inquired, “If he had the equipment, why didn’t he take the tree down?”

“He liked it there.” The look she gave him was brief. “You’ll have to ask Maisie about a saw. I think her husband keeps one for cutting firewood.”

Maisie’s old man was a mechanic, kept tools of all kinds, if he remembered right. “I’ll check it out. In the meantime, I can start gathering supplies for the fountain. I’ve run up quite a bill at the hardware already, but I’ll need plastic pipe, fittings, and so on. And I should lease a ditchdigger, or contract somebody to do the work.”

She squashed the clay flat again. “You’re asking if I have the money?”

Her tone set his teeth on edge. In taut control, he replied, “I’m asking if I have the authority to spend it.”

“So long as I see a copy of the bills. Otherwise, you needn’t concern yourself with my finances.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his brows meshing in a frown at her scathing tone.

She looked at him, her gaze steady. “Did I say something that struck a nerve?”

She knew. He didn’t know how she knew, but he would bet on it. Jesus. He thought he’d left all that behind him; but no, he was dragging it along like a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe. Not that it made any difference. He had beaten the odds before. He could do it again.

“For the record,” he said deliberately as he pushed off the door frame and started walking away, “it isn’t your money that interests me.”

It was the next morning that the opportunity came for Alec to talk to Maisie. Laurel had just gone back into the house after instructing him to prune the paint-spotted leaves on the shrubs around the base of the house. As if he couldn’t see for himself that it needed doing. She hadn’t said a word about the paint job, either. He didn’t expect compliments, exactly, and it annoyed him that he still wanted her approval, but she could have made some comment. For two cents, he would tell her to find herself another man to cut down her pine tree.

“What is it with her?” he asked the white-haired housekeeper in frustration when she brought him a glass of water. “Why is it I can’t get the time of day from her?”

A shrewd look came into Maisie’s fine old eyes. “She gets like this sometimes, usually when her mama-in-law has been around, or Zelda—that’s the sister-in-law, you know.”

“They get on her nerves?”

“You could say so. Mostly, they pick at her. Pickiest, most negative people I ever saw. Never a good thing to say about anything or anybody.”

Alec turned his water glass in a circle. “You think they’ve been talking? About me?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. Not that they got a lot of room for it. Zelda Bancroft is no better than she has to be. Never was. But she likes making trouble. The mama-in-law, now, she just has it in for Laurel.”

“Because of how Howard died?”

Maisie nodded. “Did her best to have Laurel arrested, called everybody she knew, pulled every string she could get hold of. Didn’t do her any good, mainly because of the sheriff. Tanning’s always been sweet on Laurel. Said any fool could see she couldn’t bring herself to hurt a flea if it was having her for supper.”

“She thinks she may have. You know that?”

Maisie nodded. “Have to say I’m amazed she told you, though. She didn’t say anything about her kids, did she?”

“Not much.”

“Something else she don’t talk about—guess it hurts too much. They think she did it, too. Got the idea from that mama-in-law of hers.” The housekeeper paused with distant consideration in her eyes. “Well, and maybe from the way Laurel acted at the time. She never said she didn’t mean it, you know. Never could say exactly how it came about.”

“Rough.” The comment didn’t seem adequate but was all he could manage.

“You got that right,” the older woman said and heaved a gusting sigh. “Strange, but she couldn’t make herself leave him while he was alive, still can’t leave him now since he’s dead.”

“You think she wanted to? Leave him, I mean?” He was much too eager for the answer, but he couldn’t help it.

“Lot of women would have left. Howard was a moody sort, not what you might call a barrel of laughs. Sort of tormented like, you know? What matters, though, is that he thought she might. That’s why he ran out after her that day.”

“She tell you that?”