Ashes of Roses

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  The grunts, gasps, and pounding of paws grew louder, until at last, from around the corner, burst a fat little pug. His muscles were surely rippling under the rolls of fat that covered even his short little legs. His mouth was open, his tongue hanging, and his big bulgy eyes glazed. They latched onto us, and he put on an admirable burst of speed.

  And then… Trixie stood, and faced him. The pug’s big eyes grew bigger.

  Without so much as a single bark, he made a u-turn, and raced back where he came from. A moment later, we heard the bang of what must be a dog door.

  “Well… so much for that,” Miles remarked, and I laughed.

  We faced the door once again, and once again, Miles knocked. Once again we waited, only this time there was silence on the other side.

  Maybe Bob was too busy comforting his traumatized pup, to answer. Or… maybe he didn’t want to. People did have the right to ignore those who showed up on their doorstep without invitation. The longer we stood there, the more certain I was that busy or not, Bob was not going to answer. I sighed in disappointment.

  “Now what?” I wondered.

  “I’m honestly not sure,” Miles’ eyebrows knit as he mulled over our lack of viable options. “It’s not like we can force him to come outside, if he doesn’t want to.”

  There was a strangled sound right behind us, and we whirled. Bob Green stood there staring at us, his wild eyes bulging much like his pug’s did, at sight of Trixie.

  Trixie! That dog, oh my word, that dog! She sat there beside him, looking back at us without a shred of concern or remorse. And why wouldn’t she? As far as she was concerned, problem solved. And so many new ones created!

  But, I do not have to have an answer for everything. I don’t have to come up with an explanation, either!

  “Whoa, Bob,” Miles said, as he caught the thoroughly bewildered fellow by the arms before he could fall over. “Are you feeling alright?”

  “You look like you should sit down,” I added, because it was the truth!

  “I—who—” Bob stuttered.

  “Seriously, Bob, you’re not looking so well,” I observed with concern. His balding head shone with perspiration, and his chin quivered. “You should lie down, or something.”

  “May I?” Miles asked, as he motioned toward the door. Bob swayed in response, so he opened it, and we led the poor man inside. There was no time to give the space more than a cursory glance, but that was all it took to locate the couch. Bob wilted into it, and pulled the couch throw up to his chin. He shivered, and his eyes closed.

  “Not to be redundant, but he does not look well,” I spoke quietly to Miles. I felt genuine concern for the man, and suddenly, I was concerned for us, too. If he needed medical care, or heaven forbid he should die, what then? To leave him here for who knows who to find, after who knows how long, was definitely not an option. Explaining how we got to the UK on the ferry’s off-day, wasn’t either!

  “He’s in shock,” Miles said, as he checked Bob’s pulse, and I seized a pillow from the nearest chair.

  “Should we put this under his feet?” I wondered anxiously.

  “Not with him lying on his side,” Miles replied. “A cup of tea might help his feelings.”

  I turned, and there behind me was the kitchen. I hurried through the arched doorway, scanning the small space as I went.

  There was a kettle on the stove, that was good. It held water, and it was hot, that was good, too. Unlike most tea canisters I’d met, Bob’s had tea in it, and that was even better. Cups hung within easy reach underneath the cabinet, and a bowl of sugar sat on the counter. At least… I hoped it was sugar. It would make for one disgusting cup of tea, if it was salt! It might raise his blood pressure though, and that wouldn’t be a bad thing if he was in shock, though why his blood pressure wouldn’t be sky high already after the unexpected trip he just took, I couldn’t imagine.

  I took my chances, or Bob’s was more like it, and added the white crystalline grains to the freshly brewed cup, then carried it to the couch, where Miles was monitoring Bob’s pulse.

  Don’t die, Bob! Don’t die on us!

  “How is he?” I asked with concern.

  “His pulse is strong,” Miles reported, and I breathed a cautious sigh of relief.

  “I made you some tea,” I told the man who was seemingly lifeless, except for the pulse. He cracked an eye, and looked at me. I guess I passed muster, because he assisted Miles in sitting himself up, then took a cautious sip. He didn’t spit it across the room, so I took that as a good sign. That the bowl held sugar, anyway. I wasn’t willing to bet on Bob’s long-term prognosis just yet.

  “How are you, Bob?” Miles asked. “Can we get you anything else?”

  While Bob struggled to decide, I noticed the pug sitting in the far corner, with its back to the room. His pudgy shoulders looked so dejected, I felt terrible for the little guy. Here he was having the best day, defending his castle, and then a girl dog gave him a dirty look. A semi-transparent girl dog, at that. I hoped the wound inflicted by shame wasn’t a mortal one.

  “I—I haven’t a clue,” Bob replied hoarsely. “I haven’t a clue who you are, either.”

  “I’m Miles, and this is my wife, Anika,” he replied. “I hope you’re feeling better. You had us worried, there for a minute.”

  While Bob sipped tea and took stock of his current health status, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pug give a cautious glance over its shoulder. Trixie ignored him completely, which was probably just as well. The little dog looked at Bob, then Miles, then me. It seemed he was encouraged by the lack of attention directed his way. He relaxed a little, and panted cautiously in an effort to calm either himself, the rest of us, or both.

  “Your dog is adorable,” I said. He was, and maybe Bob could use a distraction. “What’s his name?”

  Bob glanced at the pug.

  “Mister Poly,” he replied. “But he answers to Roly.”

  “Oh my goodness, what a perfect name!” I laughed. “He looks like a little Roly Poly.”

  Thus encouraged, the dog’s panting increased, and he turned to face us. All his little fat rolls wriggled hopefully, as he looked back at me.

  “He’s a bit of a terror at times I’m afraid, fashions himself more of a Doberman when there’s a knock, but he’s harmless, really,” Bob said somewhat apologetically. I was relieved to see he looked much, much better than he did just a minute ago. I had a seat in the chair facing him.

  “Aw, he’s just doing his job defending the manor,” I risked saying. There was no darkness surrounding Bob, but he lost some color at that. I was certain it had more to do with whatever happened at Bannerman Manor on the night in question, than it did concern over what Mister Roly Poly had planned, before Trixie changed his mind.

  As for Mister Roly Poly pudding puppy, he waddled over and sat on the floor beside me. I reached down and scratched behind his ears, and he beamed up at me until his eyes were mere slits, in his roly poly face.

  I glanced over and saw Trixie looking at us. I’m jealous often enough myself to recognize it in others, and did I ever regret my friendly overtures! She did not look happy.

  I felt bad for her, but what to do about it? Roll Mister Poly, back into his corner? Scratch behind the semi-transparent dog’s ears? Because that, wouldn’t seem weird at all.

  Not that Trixie cared. She got up and sat on my other side, and waited expectantly. She also gave Mister Poly a smug look.

  There was nothing for it, but to pet her. I really hoped Bob wasn’t looking.

  Bob shrieked, dropped his teacup, and nearly fell off the couch. Not because I was petting the semi-transparent Trixie, but because that dog was now very much visible!

  Miles caught the teacup, and if he didn’t supernaturally keep Bob from an unforgiving landing on the wood floor, then the laws of physics were routed by some other means. The poor man clutched his heaving chest, his eyes huge in his pale face, as he stared wildly at the golden retriever in his l
iving room.

  “Would you like more tea?” I asked, because I had no idea what else to say! Or do! Except continue petting both dogs, one of whom was capable of leaving us to find our own way back to the manor.

  “I m-must be l-losin’ my mind,” Bob gasped for breath, as he risked hanging onto his heart one-handed, while he mopped his shirtsleeve across his forehead with the other.

  “It seems we neglected to introduce you to my dog,” Miles said. “She came along with us, when we brought you back inside.”

  “That’s true,” I quickly added.

  “Her name is Trix,” Miles said, and he gave her a pointed look. “She’s full of them.”

  Trixie was enjoying a thorough scratch behind the ears, so the reproach was lost on her. It was just as well, since she was our only means of travel.

  Bob mopped his whole face this time, as he risked looking away from Trixie long enough to look from me, to Miles, and back.

  “We didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. “We would like to fill in some blanks, though. What do you know about the events that occurred at Bannerman Manor, this past Wednesday and Thursday?”

  I hoped it wasn’t too soon to ask, but that was why we were here, and sooner or later he’d want to know, anyway.

  Don’t die, Bob!

  The portly grower shivered, and his gaze wavered.

  “I’ve no idea, of course,” he lied firmly. “I’m sure I haven’t a clue.”

  “Bob,” I sighed. I felt like rubbing my forehead. “You want to believe you’re safe, that this won’t follow you around, but… look at you. You’re a nervous wreck. At this rate, you’ll have a heart-attack waiting for the knock that means the police figured it out. No matter how badly you want to believe they can’t, the longer you sit here, the more certain you are they will. And the thing is, they will, unless you go to them first, and tell them what happened. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were there to steal Finn’s record book listing his hybrids’ seed and pollen parents, and that was wrong. So was trying to cover up what happened, instead of calling the police immediately. But it wasn’t wrong to defend yourself when Harry Price walked in, and pulled out a knife. He didn’t say a word, but the way he smiled was sadistic. He blocked your exit, and trashed the place hunting you down. Who could blame you when in a move that would rival one of Don Knotts’, you grabbed at the pitch fork behind you, it fell forward, and Harry Price impaled himself with the force intended to drive his knife into you. He stumbled backward, and the tines that ran through his back and shoulder, punctured the metal housing of the unit behind him. There was so much blood, and he did want you dead, and you were afraid if you helped him, he’d try again. You hesitated at first, but he was fading fast, so you struggled to pull out the pitchfork, which isn’t recommended in the case of a stab wound as the blade or tine may be all that’s preventing an artery from bleeding out, but in this case, he was a goner either way. You panicked, no one would believe the truth. For all you knew, he worked there, and you weren’t supposed to be there at all. Panic doesn’t come close to what you felt. So you tried to cover it up, by hiding the body. You’d been to the manor before, you knew about the compost piles. It would buy you time, and maybe the body never would be found. You went back to the greenhouse, and tried to cover up what happened there. But it was impossible, so you finally broke several sheets of glass, hoping the storm would take care of the rest, and left. You covered your stained clothes under one of the jumpsuits in the garden shed where you got the Bobcat, then put on the raincoat you carry in your car. You waited in your vehicle until the ferry opened, then rode it back across the water, drove home, and this is where you’ve been ever since.”

  There was fear in Bob’s dilated eyes as he looked back at me, and his hands trembled as he pulled the couch throw up to his chin.

  “H-how do you know?” his voice wavered.

  “What matters, is that you know it yourself, and that you tell the police what happened,” I said gently.

  “They’d never believe me,” Bob worried.

  “They’re more likely to if you go to them, rather than wait for them to come to you,” Miles advised. “This is no ordinary situation, nor is there an option that will guarantee an escape from all possible consequences. We’re not suggesting there is, but if you leave the authorities to figure this out for themselves, the conclusions they draw will not be in your favor.”

  Bob slumped.

  “I went back that night, after Delacroix rang. I’d no idea Lady Carlisle reached out direct. Livid he was, accused me of goin’ behind his back an tryin’ to cut him out, an after he set the stage talkin’ me up, an all. There was no reasonin’ with him. He said I’d be the one cut out, an I’m not proud if it, but I saw the book. I knew right where it was kept. So I stayed on the Isle, an went back that night. None of the hybrids was registered, not to the gardener, an not the Carlisles. Just a look, an I’d know enough. Even one would be enough. I’m not proud of it, an I’ve repented every moment since, but it’s why I was there. The book wasn’t, though, nor the sprouts. Someone took the whole lot, an left nothin’ of worth behind. An then the rest happened, just as you said.”

  “The police need to hear this,” I urged. Bob had no idea how useful his knowledge could be in their multi-faceted case against Delacroix. We couldn’t tell him, either, because then he’d have knowledge he shouldn’t have, and couldn’t explain satisfactorily.

  “The sooner you tell them, the better off you’ll be,” Miles added.

  Bob dropped his gaze, and nodded.

  “You’re right, you must be. You seem to know absolutely everything else. But how am I to go about it? An what’s to come of Mister Poly, if I’m arrested for my troubles?”

  Those were both legitimate concerns. Mister Poly needed a safe place to hang out for the time being, and Bob needed someone by his side to guide him through this process. So, a temporary home was found for the pup, and legal representation was arranged for Bob.

  Finding the right home, and the right lawyer, took up more of our time than we expected it to, but it’s not like we had anything better or more important to attend to. This was the last puzzle piece, and it was with much satisfaction that we saw Bob safely inside the office of the attorney Jackson’s source recommended.

  “Our work here is done,” Miles said quietly, as we continued down the street, casually looking for a good place to disappear.

  “I’m glad, for lots of reasons,” I replied. “It feels good knowing the police are closing in on Monsieur Delacroix. He’s got a lot to answer for.”

  “It’s fortunate Jackson has the international connections he does, otherwise we’d wonder if the many tips provided were enough for the detective to reach the appropriate conclusions,” Miles remarked. “Thanks to those inside sources, we know he has. It’s satisfying to realize that Delacroix will soon be called to account for his crimes, and that not only can the Carlisles afford to repair the manor since their investment took a major turn for the better, they’ll also soon be able to sue Delacroix for the damage done.”

  “That is very satisfying,” I agreed. “Now, we can relax and enjoy the ball.”

  “To that end…” Miles said, as he took a casual glance around, then guided us behind a group of shrubs. “Next stop, our room at the Estate.”

  With a bump of Trixie’s hip, our visit to England came to an end.

  Chapter 26

  The windows of our bedroom at the Estate were white with snow. It was the perfect setting for a day spent together with Miles in front of a blazing fire, accompanied by a good book, unlimited lattes, and slices of white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.

  But, today we had a ball to get to, and to get ready for. There were no logs of massive proportions befitting a lengthy stay, and there were no lattes or slices of delectable cheesecake. However, the firelight that flickered cheerfully from the modest fire in our fireplace shone just as bright. The cocoa, sandwiches, and pastries arranged for
by Grandma Polly, were delectable in their own way. Especially after the day we had, which was once again short a meal or two. There was no book, good or otherwise, but there was an iPad. Miles and I were together, but instead of alone, beside us on our bedroom couch, sat Grandma Polly.

  I looked from the corset in my left hand, to the iPad in my right.

  “What do you think?” I said doubtfully.

  “Between you, me, and this YouTube video, I’m certain we can figure it out, dear,” she replied with confidence.

  “Excellent,” Miles said, as he kissed my cheek, then stood. “I’ll go and see to my own attire then, as this is one thing I know nothing about.”

  “You have no idea how lucky you are that’s the truth,” I teased.

  “Honey… I’m pretty sure I do,” he teased back, but he was also right. Because that was the truth! Laughter lit his eyes as he glanced at Trixie, who lay soaking in the warmth of the fire. “Although I’m not sure which of you is worse.”

  She opened her eyes briefly, and Miles smiled.

  “Trix said Anika is much worse. As long as he stays with Grandma Polly.”

  Grandma Polly laughed, and reached down to pat Mister Roly Poly, who leaned against her knee gazing up at her adoringly.

  “Of course he is, dear. I’ll take good care of him for as long as he needs,” Grandma Polly answered, although I’m pretty sure Mister Poly’s welfare wasn’t big on Trixie’s list of concerns. He was on ours, though. In lieu of a more local option, we were thankful Grandma Polly was willing to step in.

  “It may not be for long,” Miles reminded one of them. Probably Trixie.

  “However long or short, the little man is welcome,” Grandma Polly assured.

  Miles carried the garment bag containing his authentic Victorian era suit to the room next door, and Grandma Polly and I got back to the YouTube video.

  “Let us hope this is a good fit already,” Grandma Polly commented, as she gave the strange contraption a speculative look. “Although… your husband may prove more helpful with this than he realizes, if it isn’t.”