by Peggy Webb
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Johnson, but I need to speak to you about Cee Cee.”
“What about her?” The woman said, and Lily’s fragile hope vanished. This woman didn’t know where Cee Cee was or who she was with. She was stubborn as a post behind her closed screen door and clueless as she glared at them.
“May we come in?”
“You might as well since you’re already here.”
Lily and Annabelle sat together on a sagging sofa in a sparsely furnished but clean front room where the wide-screen television was the centerpiece. They learned exactly nothing they didn’t already know about Cee Cee’s disappearance. To make matters worse, Leola seemed unconcerned.
“The girl’s nearly grown,” she said. “And she’s always had a mind of her own. I can’t keep up with her comings and goings. Besides, I thought you’d be doing that since she was with you.”
The woman was only saying what Lily had already thought. She should have been more watchful. She should have known what was going on under her own roof.
“I think we should report her missing to the police,” Lily said.
“She wasn’t with me when she left. I don’t have a thing to report.”
Since Leola was a foster parent, she probably didn’t want a missing child report showing up under her watch.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I can assure you I’m going to do everything in my power to find her.”
“You do that, Mrs. Perkins.” The woman looked pointedly at the large diamond on Lily’s left hand. “But don’t come back whining to me if you find out she’s run off with some boy and got herself pregnant.”
Lily’s cheeks blazed, but she managed to say a polite goodbye and get back to her car without saying, How dare you! She was incensed, both for Cee Cee and for herself. Now that she was engaged to a world-wide icon, her entire history was being pawed through by people who knew nothing about the real Lily Perkins and never would. They just wanted the latest tawdry gossip to make them feel better about their own lives.
“Mom? That was awful. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Rain lashed her Jeep as she pulled out of the driveway and headed back to downtown Ocean Springs. Fine. It suited Lily’s mood. “Annabelle, did Cee Cee have a boyfriend I don’t know about?”
“No.”
“Look, if she was seeing someone she asked you to keep a secret, now is the time to tell it. We have to look at every possibility.”
“Mom! She wasn’t seeing anybody. That mean old woman was just making stuff up.”
“All right. I believe you.”
When they came into view of the police station, Annabelle said, “I thought Jack was going with us.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of this by myself.”
Not that Jack wouldn’t have made things easier. But she had to grow up and forget about depending on him. Even more, she had to prove to herself that somewhere between being swept up in the dream of marrying Stephen and caught up in the whirlwind of his rituals, his strong will and his terrible lie, she hadn’t forgotten how to be a strong, independent woman.
Her stomach lurched as she parked the car. She didn’t know if it was anxiety over Cee Cee, or the wedding that was barreling toward her with the speed of a runaway train, or the fact that she’d wanted to retch ever since she found out Stephen had lied to her. It could simply be that she’d left home without an umbrella and was about to get soaked again on her dash to the front door of the station.
Seated inside, she and Annabelle had to wait their turn to speak with Detective William Yancy. He was a balding, past middle-age man whose paunch showed his fondness for the doughnuts that sat in an open box on his messy desk.
As Lily told her story, the detective was polite but almost as unconcerned as Leola Johnson. He laced his hands and kept cracking his knuckles as he talked.
“Kids these days are far more independent than we were growing up. They’re all the time running away to join this cause or the other, or meet up with a sweetheart, or just because they want to get away from home. She’s been gone what? A little more than twenty-four hours?”
“Yes. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Considering the disappearance of that young girl in Gulfport and the fact that Cee Cee didn’t even take her money or any identification with her, I’m really alarmed. Maybe there’s some connection.”
“Gulfport’s not my jurisdiction, but I’ll do a little digging. You go on home, Mrs. Perkins, and get ready for Christmas and this big wedding the papers say you’re going to have. The girl’s liable to show up any time. I’ll call one of the Allistairs if I find out anything.”
Fury ripped through Lily, and she could feel herself growing a spine on the spot. She propped both hands on his desk and leaned across as close as she could get to his face.
“I made the report. She’s like a daughter to me. You will call me and nobody else. Is that clear?”
“As a whistle.” He reached into his box and handed her a doughnut. “Here, ma’am. I think you need this more than I do.”
“Thank you.” Lily snatched it out of his hand and took a big bite. She didn’t care that powdered sugar sprinkled the front of her sweatshirt. “Call my cell phone the minute you hear something.”
He grinned and saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I think I’ve got that part down pat.”
Lily marched out with her head high. She didn’t care who was looking at the sugar on her shirt. She didn’t care who spread the gossip that she’d tossed her weight around at the police station.
She sighed. Actually, she cared because of Annabelle. She’d made a fool of herself in front of her daughter. The only good thing she could say about today was that when she got outside the rain had stopped.
“Wow, Mom! Way to go!”
“Don’t you ever do what I just did. You hear me? It was rude and crude and beneath my dignity.”
“I bet it worked, though.”
“I hope so.” Lily started her Jeep.
“Are we going back to Dark Shadows mansion?”
“Yes.” A smile tugged Lily’s lips. She was glad Annabelle hadn’t lost her sense of humor. “I have to check on the tile setters.”
She also wanted to log onto her computer and see if she could find out anything about Glenda Jane trying to kidnap other girls. She wanted to give her rawness over Stephen’s lie some time to heal. She wanted to figure out whether to confront him directly or whether to chalk it up to his own anxiety over Cee Cee and his desire to protect Lily.
Could that be it? He didn’t want her to know the horror story of the fire and the poor demented woman, especially on top of Cee Cee’s disappearance?
“I want to see the greenhouses,” Annabelle said.
“What?” Yesterday Lily would have been delighted. Today she hardly knew her own mind. “What brought this on?”
“I’ve been thinking. If this is going to be my home and Stephen’s going to be my dad, I might as well start getting used to it.” Was that Jack talking, or was her stubborn teenager finally gaining some maturity? “Besides, I like flowers. I might even like to study horticulture someday.”
“Hmmm.” Lily needed the time alone, to think, but Stephen hated anything impromptu. She was getting ready to say no and make excuses when a streak of independence a mile wide grew inside her. He hated surprises. So what? She loved them. It was high time to quit bowing to his will just because he was an Allistair and older and supposedly wiser.
Just as she swung left onto the road that led to the office building of Allistair Roses, the rain started again. Great. She’d get a cup of coffee when she got home and regroup in a quiet place with only the rain to keep her company.
Chapter Nine
Stephen loved the sound of the rain slashing against the glass of the greenhouse he called his nursery. He loved the soft strains of Beethoven coming through strategically placed speakers during the daylight hours. He reveled in—no, craved--the quiet time with his babies, his culti
vars that would spend years growing strong and beautiful under his hands before they were ready for their debut into the finest rose societies of the world.
He stood in front of his pink cultivar, the Daphne, almost swooning. Using his bare hands to gently work the fertilizer into the soil, he crooned, “Here you are, baby. Daddy’s got something yummy delicious for you.”
The tender young stem seemed to perk up at the sound of his voice, to expand and grow strong as he mixed exactly the right amount of rose food to keep her growing and yet not burn her tender roots. As he worked with the Daphne, he quoted a line from the Edna St. Vincent Millay poem by the same name.
“’A pink bough for your embrace.’ See, pretty baby. It’s all for you. The poem. The music. The food. Everything I do is so you will turn into a beauty who will take the world’s breath away.”
When he had finished her feeding, he stood back so she could feel him there, a benevolent and proud parent who would take care of her every need, her creator who would nurture and protect her until she was ready to propagate and spread her progeny into the finest gardens in America.
He imagined his upcoming union with Lily would be much like the propagation of a rose. A tender, delicate affair that would produce beautiful offspring.
As the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony washed over him, he closed his eyes for a moment. His future had never looked brighter. His marriage would ensure that his and Clive’s work would carry forward into the next generation. It would also mean the fruition of his wildest dreams, a rose so spectacular he didn’t dare breathe her name for fear her secret would spread on the wind.
He crooned a sweet parting to the Daphne then walked to the deep sink in the corner to wash her special fertilizer off his hands. Then he picked up another bucket and made his way to the Margaret.
“I have something special for you today. Daddy’s beautiful blue baby is going to love it.”
Each rose had to be treated differently. Only the most skilled rosarians knew this. As he mixed the rich dark fertilizer into her soil, he imagined the young sprout sucking at his fingers, licking at the silky rose food in hungry gulps.
“See. I knew you’d like it. Now my baby can get a head start on some tender green leaves for spring.”
Beethoven and the rain and contentment flowed through him, an endless river of sound, an infinite source of delight. He reached out and stroked the Margaret, encouraging her as any good parent would.
“Daddy’s sweet girl is going to be the most beautiful blue rose in the world, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”
While he was washing up, the cell phone in his pocket pinged and Lily’s name popped up. He tamped down his irritation. He should have left his cell phone in his office. He despised interruptions while he was feeding his cultivars.
Reluctantly he read the text.
Can I bring Annabelle by so she can spend the afternoon with you? We filed a police report on Cee Cee, and I think it would help take her mind off things to follow you on your rounds with the roses. I’m going to be working on the house, and anything to do with decorating bores her.
The last thing he wanted today was Annabelle tagging along behind him. He thought about not responding to her text. He could pretend he was working without a phone. He often did in the greenhouses.
But, then, his future hinged on her.
Lily, darling. Of course she can come. I’m delighted to spend some quality time with my soon-to-be daughter. I’m in the greenhouse nursery. You can drive right up.
That should put a smile on her face. It might even quell talk about postponing the wedding. He was going to marry her in January no matter what it took to get her down the aisle.
Hardly five minutes passed before Lily’s car cruised to a stop and both of them got out. Annabelle looked like a drowned rat. Lily was gorgeous, as usual, even with her hair slicked back and raindrops dripping off her eyelashes. But she was unusually quiet. And when he kissed her, she held herself stiff. Still, that was okay. It just meant she’d finally come around to the idea of keeping herself pure until their wedding night.
He was reluctant to break the kiss. Suddenly he wished the whole world would disappear for forty-eight hours so he could wed her, bed her, and then get on with his work without all that other clutter in his mind.
It was actually Lily who pulled away. “I have to go, Stephen.”
She looked perfect in the nursery, like one of his more exotic roses. He thought she might linger over the goodbye, but she just left without a backward glance and drove off.
On the other hand, her bedraggled daughter stood out like black spot blight. He was actually afraid his babies would catch something from her.
Ironically, she was looking around the greenhouse with interest. “Are these the new roses you’ve created, the ones you’re going to turn into those beautiful blooms I saw at the party?”
He almost loved her then. He almost forgave her many wretched habits.
“I’ll be happy to show you around and tell you what I do here.” He led her away from his prize babies, the Daphne and the Margaret. After a feeding, he didn’t want them disturbed by a strange teenager with a big mouth.
The roses on the other side the nursery would likely get culled anyway. Their early promise had vanished, and even special care hadn’t proved successful. There was little harm Annabelle could do to them.
As he pointed out the rose food in buckets by the sink and explained the process, she peppered him with questions, some of them surprisingly intelligent. That was a good thing, actually. It meant his son would inherit the same sort of intelligence from Lily. Combined with his genes, the boy would likely be a genius.
“Hello. I heard you had company.” Clive was suddenly at the door, his rain hat and parka dripping. He must have walked all the way from the offices. No small feat for a man his age.
“Here.” Stephen moved toward him. “Let’s get you out of those wet things. I don’t want to risk pneumonia again.” The bout last winter had almost killed him.
As he busied himself with the wet clothes and led Clive to a bench along the wall, he noticed his grandfather’s face was paler than usual. Maybe a checkup was in order.
“Eww! A fingernail!”
Stephen froze, and Clive made a strangling sound.
“It’s blue,” Annabelle added.
He turned around to find her near the sinks, holding onto a tiny object. “Where did you get that?”
“The bucket marked bone meal.”
Clive was eyeing the teenager with dark suspicion. “Did you break your fingernail?”
“No, and I never wear fingernail polish.”
“Several of my employees who help with the roses do,” Stephen said. “Obviously, one of them broke a nail.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. He had to do something, otherwise he might cross over there and slap the girl.
“They garden in nail polish?” Annabelle made a face. “That’s stupid.”
“It’s also stupid to make quick judgments,” Clive said. His face had gone from pale to mottled with anger. The situation was quickly escalating out of control.
Stephen couldn’t bear to think about the effect this ugly confrontation would have on his grandfather or his rose babies.
And then there was Lily. What would her nosy daughter tell her?
“The Gator’s outside.” Fortunately it was the full-sized crossover series that could easily seat all three of them. “Let’s go back to the office and all dry off, Annabelle. Then I’ll show you how the business end of Allistair Roses works.”
“I’m done for the day. I’ll walk.”
Stephen wasn’t close enough to stop her as she whirled out of the greenhouse and into the pouring rain. He could probably overtake her, but then what? A confrontation would only make a bad situation worse.
He and Clive stared at each other as the rain pounded the glass house. It sounded like somebody trying to get inside.
“Did she take it with her?”
Clive said.
Stephen walked to the bucket of bone meal. The lid was off and his fertilizer was there, beautiful as ever except for an indentation where Annabelle’s hand had dipped inside and dug out something she called a blue fingernail. He squatted and swept his hand over the floor around the bucket.
There. Wedged near the edge of the bucket.
“It’s here.” He straightened up and dropped the tiny bit of blue into his pocket.
“She’s going to be a problem.” Clive stood up and reached for his raincoat and hat.
“I know. I’ll take care of it.”
He helped his grandfather to the Gator, and they rode back to the office where he put Glenda Jane in charge of making sure Clive got dried off and warmed up. Afterward, he would have a private talk with her about tromping around in his kitchen garden at all hours of the night, anytime she pleased.
Clive had indulged her craziness for years, but not out of guilt. Clive never let that useless emotion color his judgment. His grandfather put up with her behavior because she knew the business side of Allistair Roses from top to bottom, and she reveled in long hours every day plus overtime, even on holidays. They would never find another assistant like her.
Still, Stephen couldn’t have her crazy behavior scaring off the woman who was going to give him an heir to the Allistair throne.
“Glenda Jane, come into my office when you’ve finished with Clive.” She nodded as he headed to his office. He closed the door and pulled out his cell phone.
Lily answered on the first ring. Though she didn’t sound happy to hear from him, he could overlook it considering the circumstances.
“Darling, I just wanted you to know Annabelle decided to come back to the house by herself. In the pouring rain. Is she okay?”