Page 69 of The Queen of Roses

An almost imperceptible thread of pale gray smoke rose from the smoldering edge of the leaf.

With another gust, the smoldering leaf glowed and then burst into flame. A blade of grass lying under the leaf ignited, spreading to another oak leaf and then another. The cap of an acorn caught flame, and then so did a twig snapped off a scrub oak by the weight of a mountain chickadee trying to tear at bark fibers to build her nest that spring.

A small fire burned now, crawling across the clearing floor and grasping for its next bit of fuel. A California quail raced by, its inverted comma of a plume bobbing as it ran from the threat that was growing by the minute.

chapter twenty-five THERESA

June 1960

Theresa looked up from her shorthand as Miss Pearce suddenly fell silent. She was surprised to see a grimace of pain on the older woman’s face.

“Miss Pearce, are you all right?”

Miss Pearce’s expression unclenched, and her shoulders went slack. “Just a momentary ache. They are common at my age, I’m afraid.”

It was the same excuse Miss Pearce had given on the first day Theresa had met her—aches and pains of a seventy-nine-year-old body were simply part of life now—but something about the older woman’s pallor set her worrying.

“Are you certain you’re all right? I could find Matt—”

“No!” Miss Pearce’s eyes snapped open. “No. There is no need to bother him at the nursery. I’m simply tired. I did not sleep well last night.”

“Why don’t I go and leave you to rest?”

When Miss Pearce did not protest, Theresa collected their coffee cups and saucers and took them inside as usual. She picked up her check as always, but as she walked out to her car, she hesitated. Instead of unlocking the Bug, she walked down the road to the nursery.

A teenager in khaki shorts and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up in the heat directed her out past the wooden tables full of plants, beyond a roped off area where customers were not allowed. There she found Matt, hunched over a small shrub with glossy green leaves.

“Hello,” she called.

He turned to her voice, a smile breaking out over his face. “Well, if it isn’t Theresa Johnson, star reporter.”

She laughed. “Hardly.”

“How are you?”

“I’ve just come from Miss Pearce, and I’m a little worried.”

Immediately his expression sobered. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.” Her hand twisted around the strap of her handbag. “She seems in pain and… I don’t know, weaker than usual? She said she hadn’t slept well so maybe it’s nothing, but…”

Matt shook his head. “I’m glad you told me. I’ve been trying to drop in on her every day since this shoulder injury. I just live in the old caretaker’s cottage on the boundary between the house and the nursery.”

“Does she have help around the house?” she asked.

“She had a housekeeper who comes in once a week to clean, but she does all the cooking herself. I’ll make a point to check in on her more.”

Theresa nodded. “Maybe I’m being too cautious, but she looked so pale…”

“Why don’t you give me your phone number?” he said, sending a little flicker of something fluttering in her stomach. “I can call you and let you know how she’s getting on.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

She scribbled her work and home numbers down on a piece of paper she tore out of the back of her reporter’s notebook and handed it to him. He glanced at it and then carefully folded it and put it in his back pocket.

“Why does that plant look like it has electrical tape on it?” she asked, lifting her chin in the direction of the shrub he’d been attending to.

“It’s a graft.”