Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  “How wonderful!” Elsa gave her a soft sisterly pat on her arm. “I hope he takes you dancing, too. In high school, all the girls swooned over his ability to dance. You know, Torrie, it’s time to get back in the groove.”

  “What groove? There never was a groove. Just a huge ditch I fell into six years ago.”

  “Because you won’t let anyone get close.” Elsa stated the obvious. “You know Ivan Winters down at First National has persistently asked you out.”

  “And I persistently refuse.” Torrie wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather snuggle up to an adding machine than date him. He never stops talking about numbers or boring interest rates and the stock market.” And he continually throws subtle hints at me about the money I owe him…and maybe some other special favors.

  But my, how good it felt to be wrapped in Rich Redman’s arms, she thought. The man was solidly built, all muscle without an inch of fat on his body. Why, oh why, had she ever agreed to have dinner with him? They were complete opposites. This was a high profile man, a well-known lawyer. A man who could find out the truth about her, about Iris, and about the debt she owed to Ivan Winters.

  “Of course he likes to talk about money. He’s a banker, after all.” Elsa’s words jerked her wandering mind back to reality.

  “Yes, I guess, you’re right.” She fidgeted in her chair. “I need a favor. I need to borrow a dress for tomorrow night and a pair of your heels. I asked Rich to take me out of town so no one would see us, and he said to wear a knock-out dress if we’re going to eat fancy and use his grandmother’s ’67 Goat.”

  “Good luck with sneaking out of town in a red muscle car.” Elsa snickered. “And do I have the perfect dress for you.” Grinning, she rose from the table, disappeared into her bedroom, and returned with a crimson dress with the tags on it. It was a flirty-looking, short mini-sheath dress. Strappy, four-inch gold shoes dangled from her other hand. “This dress will fit you perfectly and will make your hair shine like moon beams, and these shoes will make you look like you’re all legs, but not slutty. There are advantages to looking irresistible when you spring on him your desire to keep those flowerbeds intact.”

  “Elsa, I’m not trying to get the man aroused or gain advantage by using any kind of sexual ploys. This is strictly a dinner between friends.”

  “Sure it is,” Elsa said in a knowing voice.

  Chapter Six

  The night was still young when Rich walked out on the porch with a glass of Lucille’s homemade lemonade. He shoved a hand into his back pocket, leaned against a porch post, and looked at the distant field glowing like a golden blanket in the light from the huge full moon above. The frogs and insects in the grass sang their ongoing soft, comforting chorus of music. He realized he had missed it, having lived so long in the city. He decided it had to be the whiskey the last time he heard his grandmother’s voice. He’d be more careful and would only occasionally imbibe. He had to keep his wits and sanity intact. Right now, he needed a clear head to think.

  “Pretty sight, isn’t it?” a scratchy voice from the opposite end of porch said.

  Startled, Rich jumped and looked over at the rocker. It started to move even though the night was windless and quiet.

  “Sheesh, I thought I was hallucinating the other night or having a bad dream,” Rich said. “Then I decided I was only having a bout of insanity brought on by exhaustion, or maybe top-shelf whiskey overload. I convinced myself you didn’t really exist, Grandmother Gertrude.” He heard a cackle and watched the rocker move slowly then pick up speed to a rhythmic cadence.

  “Sorry, no hallucinations, no dreams. Now your sanity, I can’t vouch for that, my boy.”

  He turned and looked back out over the yard. “Tell me, why did you and Torrie Larson start all those flowerbeds beside the shed?”

  “We wanted to save the last surviving white rose bush your Great Grandmother Hilda planted from clippings she brought to America from Austria. Torrie loves roses. She’s trying to make a go of it with the landscaping business and her floral arranging. You should stop in and see all the beautiful bouquets and planters Larson’s Landscaping offers. The girl has talent.”

  “I just might do that,” Rich admitted.

  “So you’re taking her to dinner on Friday night?”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t believe he was having a conversation about dating with a ghost. And the ghost of his grandmother to boot.

  The rocker slowed a little. “Go easy on her, Richard Lee, she’s very fragile, despite her seemingly confident attitude. The girl has a heap of troubles for someone so young.”

  Rich turned and stared at the flower beds, a colorful whirl of color underneath the rays of the moon. “I checked with the lawyer’s office and the bank, and I see you set up a trust fund for me and this lost, nameless half-sister of mine. How do I give half the proceeds from a trust to someone I don’t know—or can’t even be sure exists? Where do I find this person?”

  “You’ll figure it out. Don’t you want to meet her?”

  “And what if I don’t?” He sighed.

  “Don’t want to meet her?”

  “No, what if I don’t figure it out? What if I can’t or don’t get the money to her?’

  Gertie laughed. “Then I’ll have to come back and haunt you.”

  Rich looked heavenward. His expression was one of pained tolerance. “I thought that’s what you’re doing now.”

  “Phfftt. Don’t be impertinent, Richard Lee Junior. It doesn’t fit with your moral integrity, nor with your kind but too often noble nature.”

  He looked over at the rocker, which had come to a dead stop. Suddenly a cool breeze swirled around him and disappeared.

  Gertie was irritated and was obviously finished talking.

  Chapter Seven

  Rich stood in his bedroom before a floor length wardrobe mirror with four pairs of eyes watching him. It was fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet Torrie at her apartment for their dinner date. On the bed, Estella sat cross-legged, two pigtails jutting out from the sides of her head and tied with pink ribbons. Beside her, the purple giraffe gazed silently at him as well. Dressed in three different shades of pink with a green apron, Lulu sat in a wingchair by the window with her lips pursed. Marlene in her signature four-inch high but now electric blue heels, stood at the corner of the bed shaking her head in exasperation. Across the foot of the bed at least a dozen ties were laid out and lined up like tin soldiers. When he had solicited the females to help him select one, he had no idea what fashion horrors he was about to endure.

  “Okay, the blue shirt with the gray slacks doesn’t make you look as stiff and lawyerly-looking as the white shirt does,” Marlene said. “Too bad you don’t have any softer-colored shirts.” She dangled three other ties in her hand she had brought along with her.

  Rich glowered at her. “Lawyerly-looking? Softer-colored? Are they even words? All I want to do is not look like an affluent stuffy lawyer with a stick up—” He stopped and looked over at Estella, then continued in an irritated voice. “I want to look dressy, but not straitlaced or smug. You know what I mean.”

  “But you are a stuffy lawyer, and it’s no secret your bank accounts won’t bounce, you dolt,” Lulu said with a huff. “I thought you and Torrie were going out as friends.”

  “We are. But I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, and I want to feel casual, but well-dressed.” He picked up a blue and white striped tie and held it to his chest. All three females groaned. He chose a darker blue one and the groans grew louder. He glared at them. “I’ll have you know some of these ties are pure Italian silk and cost a fortune. To some people, neckties are a symbol of success and authority.”

  “Then send them back to Rome and let the Pope bury the lifeless-looking things.” Lulu rose. “They look like they should be on a corpse.”

  Rich looked at Marlene. “Can you believe I’m paying her to insult me?”

  Lulu snorted. “No, Perry Mason, you’re paying me to feed you, do your l
aundry, and oversee the household. The advice is free.” She headed for the door. “I’m going home, kids. See you in the morning.”

  “I can’t wait,” Rich muttered and followed it with a dismal shake of his head.

  Lulu paused and offered him a don’t-you-dare-tangle-with-me stare, then looked at Estella with a tender, warm, grandmotherly smile. “Your daddy doesn’t realize the only reason I take his grief is because I love to be with you, doll face. You have a good night with Marlene. Tomorrow we’re making brownies and Perry Mason is getting zip, zero, none, nichts, nada.” She headed out the door.

  “Stop calling me Perry Mason!” Rich shouted at her retreating back. He heard her cackling laugh as she hustled toward the stairs.

  “Okay, Sunshine,” was the only response that filtered up to him.

  Laughing, Marlene said, “Well, I can see Lulu fits in perfectly with this household. She can hold her own with you, Richard Lee Junior.”

  When Rich gave her a scathing glance, she held out the ties in her hand and sighed. “Pick one. They all go well with the shirt, and they aren’t as severe or boring as yours. Hurry up, or you’re going to be late.”

  “Those? It looks like someone scribbled on them.” Rich eyed the ties suspiciously.

  “The designer would be thrilled by your compliment.”

  “I have an idea, Daddy,” Estella scampered off the bed with her giraffe under her arm. “Take them with you and ask Torrie which one she likes the best.”

  Rich let out a long audible breath of relief and scooped up his daughter in his arms. “Estella, My-Bella! Yours is the first good idea I’ve heard all day.” He kissed her on both cheeks and twirled her around. “Don’t give Marlene a hard time, now,” he instructed. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He grabbed his sport coat and the ties and tore out of the bedroom.

  Torrie’s apartment was only ten minutes away and Rich arrived with just minutes to spare. Scooping up the neck ties and four white roses from the passenger seat, he took the stairs two at a time to her second-floor apartment. It was a drab little place of brown wood siding with unpainted wooden steps, but Rich suspected she chose it because of the cheap rent.

  With sweaty palms, he stopped on the landing before pushing the doorbell and blew out a breath of air to calm himself. He was out of his comfort zone. He was not used to dating. In fact, he had rarely gone out since his wife died two years ago. Often the guys in the office had tried to fix him up with someone, but most times he had declined—declined even meeting new women for drinks after work when friends were present to break the ice. He hated the whole idea of hanging out in bars and local clubs and hooking up. He just didn’t feel ready to move on until he’d met Torrie Larson. She was literally a down-to-earth kind of girl. And she looked sexy whether she was wearing oversized coveralls or cargo shorts splattered with mud.

  But nothing prepared him for the Torrie Larson who answered the door. She was wearing a simply sumptuous, strapless, satin dress in vibrant red. The dress made her aquamarine eyes glow like rich jewels and exposed her flawless, creamy neck and back, so smooth he wanted to reach out and caress every inch of her bare skin. And it was so short, it was every man’s dream of what a real dress should be. Her killer gold heels were designed to get a man’s attention and drive him crazy when his eyes locked onto those shapely legs disappearing under the dress. She had her hair tied into a fancy twist at the back of her head, but already errant tendrils escaped to frame her face.

  “Wow, you look stunning,” he said and handed her the four white roses.

  “Then this qualifies for knocking your socks off?” She took the roses and laughed. It was a pleasant, musical laugh, soothing to a poor, sex-starved soul.

  Rich followed her inside the tiny apartment. Of the matchbox variety, it had a small eat-in kitchen and a pass-through counter as well. The cupboards, obviously old, had been repainted in a creamy white and new tan countertops had been installed along with new black appliances. Pictures of animals, drawn and colored by a child of elementary age, were splattered all over the front of her refrigerator. Through the pass-through window, he could see a tiny living room full of mismatched furniture, but pulled together with an assortment of colorful pillows. In a corner, a round willow basket was filled with toys and stuffed animals. He surmised a postage-stamp-sized bedroom and bath were in the back.

  “Four roses? Not a dozen? Not one? But four?” Torrie smiled.

  “For four days of knowing you.”

  “Ah, so sweet. Thank you.” She poured water into a bud vase, trimmed the lower leaves, and arranged the blossoms.

  He leaned against the counter watching her. “I have a problem.”

  She studied his downcast face. “Can I help?”

  “I was trying to decide which necktie to wear and couldn’t.” He held up the three ties Marlene had purchased for him.

  She dried her hands on a dish towel. “I’m assuming the sport coat is navy blue.”

  “Yes, it’s in the car. “How’d you know?”

  “You seem like a classic kind of guy who likes navy.” Brows wrinkled in concentration, she fingered each one, then selected the dark blue tie that looked like someone had scribbled on it in colors of lighter blues and gold.

  He set the other two ties on the counter, flipped up the collar of his shirt, and wound the tie around his neck. “Do you have a mirror?” he asked, fumbling with the ends.

  “Here, I can do this.” Torrie stepped up to him and took the two ends of the tie lying on his chest. “With three brothers, I’m a pro.”

  She was standing so near his lips brushed the hair at her forehead, and she was wearing a heady perfume all over her luscious body. It smelled like a mixture of citrus and flowers and could drive a man absolutely insane. If they didn’t get out of this small apartment, he was going to grab her right on the spot and kiss her senseless.

  Within seconds, she had the tie in place. She lightly patted his chest. “There. You look perfect.” When their eyes met, Rich swore she could read his mind. She nervously stepped back, spun, and dashed to the living room where she grabbed her purse and a lacy wrap from the back of a recliner and hurried to the front door.

  “Who’s the famous artist on the refrigerator?” he asked as he passed it.

  “Kids,” she said evasively. “Did you know Elsa has two boys?”

  ****

  Torrie settled into the passenger seat of the GTO and decided she would cast aside her worries for a few hours and just enjoy an evening out. The ride to Gibson Lake was heavenly. Rich had thoughtfully put the convertible’s top up and had barely interrupted her reverie as she watched the countryside fly by. She had forgotten how silence between two individual needn’t be painful, but peaceful and comfortable. It had been ages since she had been at a restaurant that wasn’t fast food and cost over a few dollars for a meal. It wasn’t in her budget. These days there wasn’t much in her budget except hotdogs and cheap food, rent, and utilities. Sometimes Henry even let her rent slide a month when unexpected bills popped up. She was also paying Ivan a little each month on her personal loan, but he was getting bolder each month, pressuring her to date him even though she had no inclination to become involved.

  When they finally stopped at a German restaurant on the wharf beside the lake, Rich broke the silence. “I hope you like German food. But if not, I heard they have fabulous seafood and steaks.”

  Torrie tilted her head and chuckled. “Most of the time I’m eating on the run, grabbing a sandwich or hamburger from a fast food place. This will be delightful. Honestly.”

  The hostess led them through the dimly lit restaurant to a small, secluded table overlooking the water. Flickering blue candles accented the crisp white of the table linens. Night was drawing near. Outside, miniature lights in the potted greenery lining the wharf twinkled like a swarm of fireflies. It was a fairyland sight inside and out. When she opened the menu, Torrie noticed it was in both German and English. She also noticed the prices were extra
ordinarily high. She sucked in a breath of air.

  “Something wrong?” He leaned forward and looked at her with concern. “If you don’t like what’s on the menu, I’m sure we can get you a special order. I never thought to ask whether you had diet restrictions or food allergies.”

  She shook her head. “No, I was just thinking my German needs some work,” she lied. She was glad when they were interrupted by a waitress who brought out a bottle of wine, a well-aged German Riesling, obviously called in by Rich earlier in the day. She smiled a warm, welcoming smile at Torrie, then poured some wine for Rich to approve. He nodded, and she filled both wine glasses before moving toward another table.

  “Please, Rich, tell me our wine didn’t cost over twenty-five dollars a bottle.”

  He looked at her with a gentle, bemused gaze. “Relax, Torrie. Let’s just enjoy the night. What’s a German meal without a good imported wine? Please allow me the honor of paying you back for rescuing Estella and me.” He raised his glass to hers. “To renewing old friendships.”

  A flash of humor crossed her face. “And finding misplaced jewels and relatives.”

  He set his glass aside and leaned back in his seat. “You know, I have a proposition for you.”

  Torrie choked on her wine. “What kind?” She brought her napkin to her sputtering lips.

  “Not what you’re thinking, but I am open to all kinds of possibilities.” His voice was warm, soft, and husky. “You said you’re off on Wednesdays, and I need someone to examine the journals and help me with the German.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” Torrie dropped her gaze and knew his sharp eyes were scrutinizing her. Wednesday was the only day she had during the week to see Iris. It was the day she cut Henry’s payroll, although it didn’t take more than an hour using the software and a computer since all his employees used direct deposit. “I’m pretty busy. I have Henry’s payroll.”