She flicked on one light in the living room. Elva liked things dark. The walls and floors were rough-hewn wood and the couch was brown. A few cheap porcelain knickknacks lined the mantel of the small fireplace. She started at the sight of a fox peering around the couch. Not the owner of the truck, obviously, but just as startling. How had it gotten inside? After a minute, she realized it didn’t look quite right. It hadn’t moved, twitched or even breathed since she’d spotted it. It didn’t react when she walked closer. She reached down and touched it.
“Eww.” It was a stuffed fox, a real one.
A barn owl was poised to take flight from above the kitchen cabinets, and a raccoon held a fish in its paws on the coffee table. Sometime in the last eight years Elva had gotten into having dead animals around her home. Charming, real charming.
A hallway led to the two rear bedrooms and one bathroom. Holding the can aloft, she snapped on the light and surveyed Elva’s bedroom. Aside from the stuffed alligator—God, she hoped it was stuffed—all looked as usual. She even checked behind the shower curtain imprinted with tropical fish. When she opened the door to the second room, she spotted something more disconcerting than a stuffed alligator. Through the rear window she saw a structure out back with a light on inside.
Kim walked back outside and down the steps. Mosquitoes buzzed around her but didn’t alight. What did people do before spray, she wondered, waving them from in front of her face. When she walked around a bush, she saw what the structure was: a hothouse. Wood beams were covered in an opaque plastic that served as roof and walls.
A silhouette moved inside, a tall silhouette. Her fingers tightened on the can. For the first time, she wished Simon had come with her. He would have insisted they call the authorities, which wasn’t what she really wanted to do her first day back. She was tough, this was her property, and she’d handle it. If only her heart would stop pummeling her rib cage.
She wasn’t sure what the hothouse contained. Who knew what Elva’s latest interest was? Hopefully it wasn’t taxidermy, and there weren’t dead animals in various states of preservation inside. Her stomach clenched even worse as she advanced across the damp ground toward the structure. Anyone sneaking around on someone else’s property at this hour was probably up to no good.
The door was closed, but she could hear faint music inside. Did the person know she was even there? Maybe it would be better to call the sheriff’s substation and hope the shift commander wasn’t still Kinsey. Before she could think better of it, she’d pushed open the door, held out her can of tear gas, and said over the music, “You’re trespassing.”
The man standing amid a mass of orchids didn’t appear to be stealing them. In fact, he held a plastic spray bottle in his hand. He wore a shirt covered with mountain ranges and surfers. He took her in with eyes the color of the curling water on his shirt, glancing at the can in her hand briefly before meeting her gaze. Unfortunately, he didn’t look at all concerned. He misted the orchid he’d been poised over.
“You gonna deet me to death?”
She blinked. This was as bizarre as finding the stuffed fox in the house. “What?”
He inclined his head toward the can. “Deet. The chemical in swamp sucker spray.”
She dropped her gaze to the can—of Bug Off. Crap, she’d grabbed the wrong can. She set it on a flat board crammed with pots of orchids. “Zell,” she said in a sort-of greeting, the kind you give one of the last people you want to see.
“Kim,” he said in that same way, but added a slow appraisal that foolishly made her hope to see approval. He gave away nothing. He reached over and turned down the small iPod on the upper shelf as The Black Crowes sang about a remedy.
Her former stepbrother. He’d been just about gorgeous back then, if a bit rangy. Now he’d filled out some, more than some as evidenced by the slice of bare chest she could see since he hadn’t buttoned his shirt. The problem was, he knew he was gorgeous. Add that to his family’s money and name, and it was nearly disgusting. Not that he rubbed his money or his name in anyone’s face; at least he didn’t used to. He’d probably matured into a bigger jerk, so forget that lurch in your stomach, she told herself. Forget that Cupid’s bow mouth of his that had intrigued her even as she’d hated him. Despite her thoughts, she involuntarily ran her hand back over her hair as she looked around the hothouse.
He continued misting the orchids. “I was wondering when you were going to make your way out here.”
“You knew I was here? Why didn’t you come out?”
“Like I said, figured you’d make your way out here eventually. Didn’t expect you tonight, actually. Thought you’d be coming in tomorrow to meet with Sam.”
Zell hadn’t done much in a hurry, she remembered, always thinking through new situations at his leisure. If he hadn’t been expecting her, he’d probably been thinking through her arrival. Which didn’t excuse his giving her the heebie-jeebies, though she wouldn’t admit that to him.
Whatever he was spraying on the orchids smelled like soapy dishwater. He was focusing on his task while she focused on a muscle in his forearm that moved with every squeeze of the trigger. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
He slid her a look. “Trespassing on private property it would seem.”
That was something else she remembered about the exasperating Zell Macgregor: he didn’t answer questions straight out.
“Well, you are trespassing.”
His mouth quirked at the corner. “I suppose I am, technically speaking.”
He leaned past her and sprayed the orchids next to her, accidentally—or maybe not—misting her. He smelled like mosquito spray, cologne, and male, a combination that smelled oddly intriguing. He ought to look silly, wearing that tropical shirt and misting orchids, but he managed to somehow pull it off. She wasn’t going to back away as he brushed by her.
When he seemed absorbed in his task, she decided not to let him bother her and looked around. There were squares of screen that acted as windows, letting in what constituted a breeze and keeping out the mosquitoes that were itching to get in. She realized then that she’d slid back to her old ways, closing the door as soon as she’d entered the hothouse to keep the buggers out.
Hothouse was the right word for it, too. It was like a steam bath scented with earth and flowers. The humidity wrapped around her and dampened the hair at her neck. The place was crammed with orchids of every kind, from the showy to ones with prissy little flowers. Larger plants were mounted on the wood support beams. Toward the back was a table with bags of bark pieces and pots. Elva was definitely into orchids. Or had been, she thought as a shadow crossed her heart. She turned back to Zell, surprised to find him watching her.
He hung the bottle on a hook and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Guess these are yours now. Best take care to keep them alive before you sell them.”
“That’s what you were doing here? Taking care of Elva’s orchids?”
He leaned an arm against the support beam. “It would appear so.”
The man was infuriating. Not once had he smiled at her, though she supposed her entrance hadn’t warranted a warm welcome, armed with bug spray and accusing him of trespassing and all.
“So, you’re helping Elva? Or…me?” Those words had come through a tightened throat.
“Now, don’t go thinking I’m doing anything benevolent. Particularly on your behalf.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and hoped she didn’t look defensive. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
He grabbed the iPod, hit the stop button, and headed to the door. “I was merely protecting my interests.”
“And those would be?”
“These orchids. Elva borrowed the money for these from me. She had a mind to start an orchid breeding business. Started out with a couple dozen and then bought out some guy’s collection in Miami.”
She could only stare at him for a moment. Great. Now she was probably into Zell for a couple hundred dollars. “She borrowed money f
rom you?”
“I’ve got a contract at the house. She insisted on having it drawn up legal like. I can get you a copy.”
She shook her head. “I believe you.” Zell didn’t need to lie for money. “I’ll pay you back when I get everything settled.” She turned back to the orchids. “I guess this means I have to keep these things alive.”
“If you want to get your money out of them.”
She took in the hundred or so plants. “Are they easy to take care of?” Of course, she was probably asking too much; like he’d said, he wasn’t going to help her. He’d help anyone but her, she imagined.
He seemed to weigh being helpful with family loyalty and past betrayals. In the end, he set down the iPod. “Sure, as long as you know their individual needs. I’m no expert, I only remember what Elva told me.” He walked over to a shelf of plants with beautiful orange flowers. “In general, they like humidity and music. Some people talk to their plants, but Elva played music for hers. I don’t play that country stuff she likes, but they’ve been okay with rock and roll.” He nodded toward the section closest to the door. “Here you got your Oncidiums, otherwise known as dancing ladies because that’s what they look like.” They did indeed look like Spanish dancers wearing flowing yellow dresses with orange bodices.
He pointed to a section of tall plants with white flowers going from the top down to the base of the plant. “These are Phalaenopsis. They like humidity but no sun. A slice of sun cruises through that far corner during the day so they get just enough. The ones in the hanging pots are Vandas, and they’re about ready to be repotted. Those are Dendrobium Nobiles, and since they’re flowering, they like to be in a cooler area. Cattleyas like to dry out between waterings. Miltonias, on the other hand, can’t dry out at all. That group of Phalaenopsises have some kind of bacteria on them.”
He nodded toward the bottle he’d been using. “Spray them with that once in a while. Wash your hands after touching them so you don’t spread it to the others. That’ll get you started, anyway.”
“Yeah, thanks.” For nothing, she wanted to add. He knew exactly what he was doing; giving her so much information at once, he was no help at all. “How about you take these in payment for what Elva owed you?”
“I don’t do orchids. Just keep them alive and you’ll get your money out of them.”
No way. She was the biggest brown thumb she knew. It was all she could do to keep her philodendron and fern alive.
“How much did Elva borrow, anyway?”
“Five thousand.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Dollars?”
“She was serious about this orchid thing, so don’t let those plants die now. Some of them are rare. That one in the back corner is worth about three hundred dollars by itself. The one next to it will probably net you four hundred. The rest of them are worth from twenty to seventy apiece.”
“Dollars?” she repeated.
“Orchids are big business.” He nodded, the closest he’d get to a civil parting, she supposed. She watched him walk to his truck through the screen window, though all she could see was his silhouette in the shadows. She felt a twisting in her stomach she was sure was frustration and irritation, both at Zell and herself. Why should she care if he hadn’t smiled or asked how she was doing? They may have been loosely related once upon a time, but there wasn’t one warm fuzzy between them. And that was before the murder trial.
Only after he left did she pull her gaze back to the hothouse. Zell’s iPod was sitting on the table near the door. Oh, well, she’d get it back to him. She tucked it in her pocket and surveyed the odd-looking plants. They all seemed to be looking at her, clamoring for care and attention: Feed me! Feed me! She imagined them marching slowly forward, closing in around her, and then like that movie with the man-eating plant, they started nibbling on her.
She shook her head. Grief and frustration and waning adrenaline were all warping her brain. Add nine hours of driving on top of that, and it was no wonder she was nearly hallucinating. She was pretty sure it wasn’t her imagination that many of them looked as though they were sticking their tongue out at her, though.
“Elva, what kind of mess did you leave me in? In charge of keeping a couple hundred orchids alive and in debt to Zell Macgregor. Can it get any worse?”
Even as she uttered the question, she thought: famous last words…
Zell paused at the end of Elva’s driveway and glanced back at the dark hammock. So, Kim was back. He was sure she wasn’t going to stay long. No reason unless she had some crazy idea about running the bar. He tensed at the thought of her living there again. Nah, she didn’t have the guts to do that. He pulled out onto the highway and headed north. It was then that he realized he’d left his iPod in the hothouse. He’d get it tomorrow when he brought her a copy of the agreement. Maybe she didn’t have the nerve to call him a liar, but he’d just as soon make it on the up and up. He had another little surprise for her, too. He grinned at the prospect.
He drove between the stone columns announcing Heron Glen. His dad had recently put those in. To Zell’s thinking, it was a bit like rubbing it in. Like Winn was making a point since the big house couldn’t be seen except by air or boat. Zell stopped at the crossroads. The alligator farm loomed in the near distance, lit up for security. To the left sat the big house, Heron’s Glen itself. To the right was his place. Charlotte and her family had taken over the house, with Winn in residence, and Zell was happy to let them have it. He’d built his octagon house himself, with the help of a few friends. It sat on short stilts at the edge of a marsh prairie. The bay was pretty enough, but looking out over a vast prairie with palmetto heads in the distance was more his style.
“Holy—”
Out of the darkness came Tullie on her bike, her long blond hair swaying as she turned toward him. He swerved to the left and came up beside her. “What are you doing out this time of night? Does your mama know where you are?”
The girl was as pretty as one of those orchids and just as mysterious. She had the trademark Macgregor blonde locks that would turn darker with the years (unless she dyed them like Charlotte did), but she’d gotten her daddy’s lighter blue eyes. She hardly ever smiled or laughed, and that bothered him more than anything else about her.
She was breathless, looking as serious as always, but not panicked in a the-house-is-on-fire way. “Uncle Zell, I gotta talk to you.”
“Let’s put your bike in the back.” He jumped out and set the bike in the bed of his truck.
She climbed in and slid across the driver’s bench. He got in and closed the door, letting the cold air wash over them. The colder the better, though he turned the fan down for Tullie’s sake and turned on the interior light. “What’s up, angel?”
That endearment always got a ghost of a smile out of her. This time she hugged him harder than he thought she’d be able to. When she sat back, he said, “What was that for?”
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Course I’m okay. Well, according to most folks, anyway.” Some of the women he’d dated would call him self-centered, and they were right. Others might call him full of himself, but he wasn’t so sure about that. “What’s got you so worried?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “You believe me, right? About my feelings, I mean.”
“Course I do. Did someone give you a hard time again?”
She shook her head, but that solemn look said otherwise. Charlotte was probably the worst offender, dismissing the child altogether. Not that she called Tullie names, but Charlotte should accept her child no matter what.
“I had one of those dreams with the bad feeling again. You were in it.”
He ruffled her hair. “And you were worried about me.” She nodded, and his throat tightened at the love he saw in her eyes. “Well, I’m fine, see.” He held out his arms.
“Will you be careful, Uncle Zell? At least until that Kim Lies leaves?”
“Who?”
“Kim somebody, the one who b
etrayed us.” She rubbed her finger.
“How do you know about her?”
“I think she was in the dream, too, her and you. Something bad was happening, but I couldn’t tell what it was.”
He leaned against the steering wheel. “What did she look like?”
“She had blond short hair, short like Mama’s, and she was tall, for a girl, anyway. Not as tall as you. Pretty, but not as pretty as Mama.”
He considered that for a moment. “That does sound like Kim.” She wasn’t as pretty as Charlotte, but Kim had surprised him by being prettier than he’d remembered. Her blonde hair wasn’t as short as Shar’s, though. It flipped up at the ends, grazing her shoulders. Her mouth was full and wide. She’d filled out that gawky too-tall frame of hers some. The unthinking male part of him might even be interested in her if it didn’t know any better. “She’ll be gone soon enough.”
“I hope so.”
“Is that all that’s bothering you?” When she nodded, he said, “I’m going to take you on home. I’ll cut my lights so you won’t get in trouble. I presume no one knows you’re out here?”
“Nope.” Again, that ghost of a smile. “Thanks, Uncle Zell.”
He put the truck in reverse, speeding backward until he reached the intersection. As promised, he cut the headlights and then grabbed the bike out of the bed. In the yellow glow of the running lights, Tullie’s solemn face looked at him.
“Uncle Zell, what’s smoking weed?”
That took him back. “Why would you ask something like that?”
“That’s why I’m strange, ’cause Mama smoked weed when she was preggers.”
Zell knelt down to her level. “Who told you that?”
Her voice went soft. “I heard her say it to Grandpa. She said that’s why animals eat their young.”
He swallowed a curse so it came out as a hiss and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re not strange, Tullie. Different, but not strange. There’s nothing wrong with being different. In fact, it’s a good thing. We got our own personal warning system in you. Nobody else around here has that.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and stood. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Go on in, now. I’ll watch over you.”
I'll Be Watching You Page 3
