Нора Робертс - Black Rose

She waved a hand. “I just can’t speak of it.”

“Then we won’t. I really have to get back to work.”

“But I haven’ttold you. My tongue just runs away from me when I’m upset. He wasthere , with that ridiculous, brainless girl again. He was there, Roz, at Jan and Quill’s, big as life, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Drinking champagne and dancing, smoking cigars out on the veranda. Talking about hisconsulting company. Just turned my stomach.”

She held a hand to it, as if even now it threatened to revolt. “I know Jan said you’d sent your regrets, but I lived in horror that you’d change your mind and walk in any minute. I wasn’t the only one, either.”

“I’m sure.” Very sure, Roz thought, that there’d been plenty of excited buzz, and half-hopeful glances toward the door. “Jan’s entitled to have anyone she wants to in her own home.”

“I certainly don’t agree with that. It’s a matter of loyalty, if not good taste. And I had lunch with her today to say just that.”

As she spoke, she opened her purse and took out a compact to blot her nose. “Turns out Quill cleared the way for him. They’re doing some business together, not that Jan seems to know a thing about that, the woman’s just clueless when it comes to money matters. Not like you and me.”

“Mmm” was the most polite response Roz could think of, as Cissy had never worked a day in her life.

“To her credit she was mortified while we talked about it over lunch. Mortified.” Taking out a lipstick, she repainted her mouth to match her suit. “But there are some, and I admit I heard some of this at the party as well as here and there, there are some who feel some sympathy for the man. Who actually believed he was treated poorly, which just beats all, if you ask me. The worst of it is, the version that you physically assaulted him the night of the party, running him out when he attempted to make bygones, so to speak. That you threatened him and that silly girl even when they went out again. Of course, every time I hear it, I do what I can to straighten it out. I was there, after all.”

Roz recognized the avid tone. Give me some fuel for this fire. And that she wouldn’t do, no matter how angry, how vilified she felt. “People will say or think what they want to say or think. There’s no point in me worrying about it.”

“Well, some are saying and thinking that you didn’t come to Jan’s, or other get-togethers, because you knewhe would be there, and sporting a woman nearly half your age.”

“I’m surprised anyone would spend so much time concerned with speculating on how I might react to someone who is no longer a part of my reality. If you see Jan, be sure to tell her not to worry about it on my account.”

Roz rose. “It was good to see you. I’ve just got to get back to work here.”

“I want you to know I’ll be thinking about you.” Cissy got to her feet, gave Roz another air peck. “We’ve got to have lunch sometime soon, my treat.”

“You and Hank have a good time in the Caymans.”

“We will. I’m going to send you those brochures,” she called over her shoulder as she walked out.

“You do that,” Roz muttered.

She walked out the opposite way, furious with herself for being hurt and insulted. She knew better, knew it wasn’t worth it, but still the score to her pride ached.

She started to turn into the propagation house, but veered off. In this mood she’d do more harm than good. Instead, she skirted around, headed into the woods that separated her private and personal domains, and took the long way home.

She didn’t want to see anyone, speak to anyone, but there was David out in the yard, playing with Stella’s boys and their dog.

The dog spotted her first, and with a few welcoming yips raced over to jump, and scrabble at her knees.

“Not now, Parker.” She bent to scratch his ears. “Not a good time now.”

“We’re hunting buried treasure.” Luke ran over. He wore a silly black beard hooked over his ears and hiding half his freckled face. “We have a map and everything.”

“Treasure?”

“Uh-huh. I’m Blackbeard the pirate, and Gavin’s Long John Silver. David’s Captain Morgan. He says Captain Morgan can put a shine on a bad day. But I don’t get it.”

She smiled, ruffled the boy’s hair as she had the dog’s fur. She could use a belt of Captain Morgan herself, she decided. A double. “What’s the treasure?”

“It’s a surprise, but David—Captain Morgan says if we scallywags don’t find it, we have to walk the plank.”

She looked over at Gavin, who was hobbling around with a broomstick strapped to his leg. And David, sporting a black eyepatch and a big plumed hat he must have dug out of his costume party bag.

“Then you’d better go on back and find it.”

“Don’t you wanna play?”

“Not right now, sugar.”

“Better find my pieces of eight,” David said as he came over, “or I’ll hang you from the highest yardarm.”

With an un-piratelike squeal, Luke scrambled off to count off more paces from the map with his brother.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing.” Roz shook her head. “Little headache, came home early. I hope to God you didn’t actually bury something. I’d hate to fire you.”

“New PlayStation game, up in the crook of the lowest branch of that sycamore.”

“You’re a treasure, Captain Morgan.”

“One in a million. I know that face.” He lifted a hand to it. “It’d pass most anybody, but not me. What’s upset you, and what the hell are you doing walking all that way without a jacket?”

“I forgot it, and I do have a headache. Brought on by some foolishness Cissy Pratt was obliged to carry over to me.”

“One of these days her flapping tongue’s going to wrap around her own throat.” He flipped up his eye patch. “And when she’s in the funeral home, I’m going in and dressing her in an outdated, off-the-rack outfit from Wal-Mart. Polyester.”

It brought on a half smile. “That’s cruel.”

“Come on inside. I’m going to fix us a batch of my infamous martinis. You can tell me all about it, then we’ll trash the bitch.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I think what I need is a couple of aspirin and a twenty-minute nap. And we both know you can’t disappoint those boys. Go on now, Captain.” She kissed his cheek. “Shiver some timbers.”

She went inside, directly upstairs. She took the self-prescribed aspirin, then stretched out on her bed.

How long, she wondered, how long was the albatross of that joke of a marriage going to lay across her neck? How many times would it flap right up and slap her in the face?

So much for her superstitious hope that by letting the fifteen thousand dollars she’d discovered he’d nipped out of her account slide, she would have paid the debt, balanced the scales of the mistake.

Well, the money was gone, and no use regretting that foolish decision. The marriage had happened, and no point punishing herself for it.

Sooner or later he’d slip again, screw the wrong woman, bilk the wrong man, and he’d slither out of Memphis, out of her circle.

Eventually people would find something and someone else to talk about. They always did.

Imagine him being able to convince anyone that she’d attacked him—and in her own home. Then again, he did play the injured party well, and was the most accomplished liar she’d ever known.

She could not, and would not, defend herself on any level. Doing so would just feed the beast. She would do what she had always done. Remove herself, physically and emotionally, from the storm of talk.

She’d indulge in this brief sulk—she wasn’t perfect, after all. Then she’d get back to her life, and live it as she’d always done.

Exactly as she chose.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t expect to sleep, but she drifted a bit in that half-state she often found more soothing.

And while she drifted, she sat on the bench in her own shade garden, basking in the late-spring breeze, breathing in the perfumes it had floating on the air.

She could see the main house, and the colorful pots she’d planted and set herself on the terraces. And the carriage house, with its dance of lilies waiting to open wide.

She smelled the roses that climbed up the arbor in a strong stream of golden sun. The white roses she’d planted herself, as a private tribute to John.

She rarely went to his grave, but often to the arbor.

She looked over beyond the rose garden, the cutting garden, the paths that gently wound through the flowers and shrubs and trees to the spot where Bryce had wanted to dig a swimming pool.

They’d argued over that, and had a blistering fight when she’d headed off the contractor he’d hired despite her.

The contractor had been told, she recalled, in no uncertain terms that if he so much as dipped a blade into her ground, she’d call the police to scrape up what she left of him.

With Bryce she’d been even less patient while reminding him the house and grounds were hers, the decisions made involving them hers.

He’d stormed out, hadn’t he, after she’d scalded him. Only to slink back a few hours later, sheepish, apologetic, and with a tiny bouquet of wild violets.

Her mistake in accepting the apology, and the flowers.

 Alone is better.

She shivered in the shade. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

 You did this alone. All of this. You made a mistake once, and look what it cost you. Still costs you. Don’t make another.

“I won’t make another. Whatever I do, it won’t be a mistake.”

 Alone is better.The voice was more insistent now, and the cold deeper.I’m alone.

For an instant, only an instant, Roz thought she saw a woman in a muddy white dress, lying in an open grave. And for that instant, only that instant, she smelled the decay of death under the roses.

Then the woman’s eyes opened, stared into hers, with a kind of mad hunger.

ROZ CAME INTOthe house out of a nasty, sleeting rain. She peeled out of her jacket, then sat on the bench in the foyer to drag off her boots. David strolled out, sat beside her, and handed her the cup of coffee he’d brought out of the kitchen.

“Dr. Delish is in the library.”

“Yes, I saw his car.” She drank coffee, holding the cup in both hands to warm them.

“Harper’s with him. He snagged our boy for an interview. We had ours over lattes and applesauce cake earlier.”

“Applesauce cake.”

“I saved you a big slice. I know your weaknesses. They’re saying we might get some snow out of this.”

“So I heard.”

“Stella and the boys are at Logan’s. She’s going to fix dinner over there, and the boys are hoping the snow comes through and they can stay the night.”

“That’s nice. I need a shower. A hot one.”

He took the cup she passed back to him. “I thought you might want to ask our handsome professor to stay to dinner. I’m making some hearty chicken and dumplings to ward off the cold.”

“Sounds good—the chicken—and Mitch is certainly welcome to stay if he likes, and doesn’t have other plans.”

“He doesn’t,” David said confidently. “I’ve already asked.”

She chuckled at his broad grin. “Just who are you matching him up with, David? You or me?”

“Well, being the utterly unselfish person I am—and seeing as the doctor is unfortunately and absolutely straight—I’m going with you.”

“Just a pitiful romantic, aren’t you?”

She started up, and only rolled her eyes when he called out: “Put something sexy on.”

In the library, Harper nursed his after-work beer. It didn’t seem to him that he could tell Mitch much more than he already knew, but he’d answered the questions, filled in little gaps in the stories both his mother and David had already related.

“I’ve got David’s rundown of the night you saw her outside, in the gardens, when you were boys.”

“The night we were camping out, David, my brothers, and me.” Harper nodded in acknowledgment. “Some night.”

“According to David, you saw her first, woke him.”

“Saw, heard, felt.” Harper shrugged. “Hard to pin it down, but yeah, I woke him up. Couldn’t say what time it was. Late. We’d stayed up eating ourselves half sick, and spooking ourselves out with scary stories. Then I heard her, I guess. Don’t know how, exactly, I knew it was her. It wasn’t like the other times.”

“What was different?”

“She wasn’t singing. She was more . . . moaning, I guess, or making these unintelligible sounds. More like what you’d expect from a ghost on a hot, moonlit night when you’re a kid. So I looked out, and there she was. Only not like before, either.”

Brave boy, Mitch thought, to look out instead of pulling the sleeping bag over his head. “What was it like?”