Love on the Vine

by Roxanne Smith

  Amos nodded his agreement. “I can run laps around purple. Just say go, little mama. I mean, ma’am. Sorry, got them creative juices taking over my brain. What do you want? Shades of purple, or contrast?”

  Kay made herself stop and think. Deep purple. With white. Paint? No. No paint. Something to reflect the light from the hanging bulbs. Glass tiles. Purple, white, and lavender. Small, like pebbles, but uniformed. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Shades for design.” She pointed at Seraphina, then at Amos. “Contrast for foliage. We can work with that, right?”

  “Totally.” Seraphina’s eyebrows were raised appreciatively as she studied Oliver. “That’s your assistant? He’s a keeper, Kay.” Then it was back to business, in her typical way. “Now, the centerpiece you mentioned?”

  Thanks, Kay mouthed to Oliver before turning her attention back to the drafting table. “Yes, about that. From old files, I know we just love our fountains here at Free Leaf Concepts, but I want to try something new.” She made a point to avoid looking at Jasper. “When I went to Capital Acres, I met with Tallulah and had her show me some of the trees that are known to grow well indoors. There’s always the option to put a skylight overhead, but that’s going to kill some of the intimacy we’ll get from the hanging bulbs.” Kay opened a drawer beneath the drafting table and pulled out the renderings she’d sketched last week. She slapped them onto the table and waited while her three team members shuffled and sorted through them. “So? What do you guys think?”

  Amos blasted Kay with a grin and a keen stare. “Tallulah. She told me she was working on something special. I’d say this is qualifies. A decent choice.”

  “A smart choice,” Kay added, unable to stop a satisfied smile stealing over her lips. “For a hearty indoor tree, my options were pretty limited. A ficus is what I had in mind, and Tallulah recommended a fiddle-leaf fig, which is in the same family. She showed me this, one of her pet projects. She figured eventually someone would have need of a tree with pink borders on the leaves. You should see it in person. Makes the green just pop. Best of all, it’s ready for transplant.”

  Seraphina’s blue eyes were alight when she smiled up at Kay. “Stunning. And no one has ever seen anything like it.”

  Amos grudgingly nodded his appreciation. “Ficus trees tend to shed and they can be annoying and take significant upkeep. A fiddle-leaf fig requires less maintenance, and I have to say, the leaf structure and color are ideal for our theme. You nailed it, Kay.”

  Kay smiled at her team. “We’ve got our launching pad, guys. Now, we just have to make Sweetclover soar. Guillermo and Seraphina, let’s get some real measurements on these rough sketches. Sera, feel free to find a few more crannies where we can string lights without the bulbs sticking out. Utilize corners as best you can. Guillermo, focus on operations of the spa. Labeled spaces for specific areas, and see about a source for the bulbs we want. If we have to alter the lighting, the whole design could change. Amos, can you hang back for a sec?”

  When they were alone, Kay came closer and lowered her voice. “So, did you find out anything when you visited the greenhouses? About the plant I couldn’t identify.”

  “Glad you asked. I went, and I asked about pink carpet. It’s in Greenhouse Eight, by the by, you ever wanna check for yourself again, but they wasn’t nothing else growing in there with it. Maybe they moved the flowers you wanted to know about, but you have to ask Pattie. Rowan didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.”

  Interesting. “Amos, can I ask...um, well, I noticed you kind of looked at me funny when I mentioned the fittonia and the pink carpet, and asked about the mystery plant. I’d give you a dollar to hear what was running through your head.”

  If he were involved in Free Leaf’s shadier activities, she wouldn’t get much out of the question. He might even deny the strange look he’d given her. Either way, his answer might provide an important clue.

  Amos nodded as if to himself. “Now, it ain’t my business to say what qualifications a, uh, person like yourself should have. But it seems to me like someone in your position ought to know when they askin’ about some psychedelics.”

  Kay blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Pink carpet and fittonia. They both psychedelic plants. My guess, they growing all together for a reason. For safety. Say we were landscaping a day care. You’d be wanting to avoid anything poisonous, right? Same for them other plants. Don’t want no little kids tripping balls while Mommy’s at work. We’d get sued real quick. Knowing what’s toxic to animals is important, too.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward Kay. “Look, I ain’t saying we ain’t all got some gaps in our knowledge. But you might wanna read up on that stuff.” He bobbed his head once, smiled, and dashed away.

  Kay tucked away the information for later. She had a feeling it would mean more to Oliver, but the significance of the greenhouse in question wasn’t lost on her. Someone had sent Amos to the wrong one.

  * * * *

  Playing with fire. It was one of Oliver’s newly acquired hobbies, apparently.

  For starters, there was Kay. She was bright, hot fire, and he was all but begging to handle the coals. He wasn’t ready to face the reason behind his strong desire, but his mind kept wandering back to Finn Welk.

  Kay had made a villain of herself to save Finn from having to face the fact she wasn’t really in love with him. She basically took their engagement outside and shot it, rather than let the dying thing linger and suffer and make everyone miserable and unhappy. Oliver understood what she’d done, but he didn’t want it for himself. It was Kay’s idea to be truthful with one another, but would their truce override her instinct to protect his feelings if she decided she didn’t want to get involved with a beat cop gone rogue?

  She didn’t have the whole story yet, but by this afternoon, she’d have more than she wanted. Oliver wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, glanced up and down the hall, and tried to focus on the lock pick. He didn’t know if the pressure was an effect of trying to break into Merit’s office in the middle of the day—more tempting the flames—or because he could hear Cap’s voice in his head, spilling the last of his secrets.

  A snick whispered into the coldly quiet hall, and Oliver’s breath caught as the handle turned silently in his hand.

  Merit’s swift and sudden departure thirty minutes ago, resulting in a bulletin from Brit that she’d be gone from the office for a few hours, meant Oliver had a tiny window, and Cappy Don simply hadn’t given him the right incentive to avoid taking chances. Not when Oliver’s last unplanned foray had proved relatively fruitful.

  No client meetings were scheduled, so Mr. Arnell would be shut up nice and tight in his office until lunch. Oliver only had to worry about bumping into Brendan, and right about now, he wouldn’t mind a chat with the guy.

  He stepped inside Merit’s office. With the door closed, he didn’t waste any time. Panel to panel, Oliver pushed, pulled, and tried to pry panels from the wall. Twenty minutes later, huffing and frustrated to the point of anger, he dropped into Merit’s chair and made himself think.

  Math wasn’t Oliver’s favorite subject, but he was pretty damn spiffy with numbers, and shit wasn’t adding up. A room existed somewhere on this floor. He had the plans in his apartment; he knew it existed. Maybe he could ask Brendan. But what if he wasn’t actually playing for their team? A mole’s mole.

  He leaped from Merit’s chair and slipped outside, while trying to smother his internal caution lights. They were flashing yellow, but Oliver was already here. Snooping through Brendan’s small work area—a hobbit-sized room hardly bigger than Oliver’s own office—was half as risky as going through Merit’s.

  So long as Brendan wasn’t in it. Oliver crept down the corridor, past the conference rooms, and stopped just outside Brendan’s door, next to the stairwell. He tapped lightly. No one answered. Oliver tried the knob, which turned smoothly, and he let himself inside.

  Oliver grimaced as he took in the small sq
uare room. Bigger than his office, but the difference was in inches. The room felt smaller, though, because Brendan was a slob. The waste bin overflowed onto the floor, a stack of magazines had toppled and spread like a smear across the carpet along one wall. Oliver groaned as he took in the desk, jumbled with crap and piled high with junk food wrappers. He was about to leave, already shaking his head in disgust, when it hit him.

  He surveyed the room again. A crumpled ball of paper was on the keyboard. A magazine was on the floor just behind the wheels of the rolling chair. Discarded chip bags and soda cans littered the desktop over manila file folders.

  These weren’t random pieces of trash; they were booby traps. To open the drawers, read the files, log on to the computer, or to even sit in the chair would disturb an article, and give away that the office had been searched. That alone was evidence as far as Oliver was concerned. He grinned to himself and turned to leave. He’d come back another time, prepared. He’d take notes on positions of everything, and painstakingly return each item after a detailed search.

  He pulled the door open, almost stepped out, and froze at the sound of voices in the stairwell. The door leading out to the stairwell swung open, and Merit burst through seconds before Oliver swung Brendan’s door almost closed—he left a crack and pressed his ear against it.

  “Easton, please, don’t be paranoid,” she whispered urgently. “I checked with Brit, the floor is empty.”

  Easton cleared his throat nervously. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have gone out.”

  “You’re right,” Merit agreed. She was exasperated. “I don’t know what you were thinking. It’s so important that you stick with your routine, Easton. Noon to two. The rest of the time, you need to be here. We need you here.”

  Easton’s breathing seemed labored. Oliver strained to hear him as the two headed away, down the hall toward the conference rooms. “I know. I know that. I just feel so out of the loop. I want to engage. I want to be involved.”

  Oliver had no problem catching Merit’s placating voice. “I know you do. I know. But you have to have faith in the system we’ve established. You have to trust me. I’ll handle it. Just leave everything to me, Easton.”

  They moved too far for Oliver to catch Easton’s reply. He leaned against the door and scratched his head. He didn’t know what to make of the conversation.

  Objectively, without context, the exchange could be perfectly innocuous. But Oliver had plenty of context, and nothing could be taken for granted here at Free Leaf. For a long time, he thought Merit might be Cappy Don’s anonymous tipster. Now, he’d bet money on the exact opposite. And another thought came to mind—Brendan’s office was next to the stairwell, which gave him instant knowledge of Mr. Arnell’s comings and goings. The day Oliver had been caught in Easton’s office, had Brendan seen him enter? Or had he heard Mr. Arnell leave, and gone to do his own search, only to find Oliver had beat him to the punch?

  He made it safely back to the fourth floor using the stairwell and went to his own office. It really was about the size of a janitorial closet, but he had very little of his own work to accommodate. Mostly, his job was to facilitate Kay’s job.

  He paced the small area and went over everything he knew—as well as what he didn’t. He came up with one small, untapped lead. Kay knew which plants were locked in the special greenhouse, and it was time for her to contribute to the team. He took out his cell phone and tapped a message.

  Whatcha doin, Boss?

  Color board. What do u want?

  Oliver smiled. He could see her face screwed up in concentration. What colors went well with purple? He thought about offering more help, but what the hell did he know about the color wheel? Since you ask...What plants were in grn hse 5?

  Her reply was almost instant. Finally, some trust. Fittonia, pink carpet, and one plant I couldn’t identify. Sent Amos to ask and it’s gone now, pink carpet, Fittonia separated, moved to new greenhouses.

  Oliver had his laptop booted up and was logging into his profile when another message popped up.

  Amos says both are psychedelics. Coincidence?

  Well, someone was having a productive morning. Doubtful, Oliver texted back with a frown. His heartbeat picked up speed. This was significant information. It could be the break they were looking for, or at the very least, a hardcore lead.

  Oliver already knew a term like “edible psychedelic garden plants” would ping on the company’s servers. He logged into the private mobile Wi-Fi network Molly had so graciously provided and plugged “fittonia” and “pink carpet” into the search engine. Boom. Three results down, an entire web site dedicated to the topic.

  The fittonia came up first. Fittonia albivenis, an evergreen perennial native to rainforests, was also known by the names nerve plant or mosaic plant. Labeled ornamental. No special permits were required to harvest or purchase the plants, but in large, dried quantities exceeding a certain limit, some states considered it possession of a narcotic or controlled substance.

  “Said to produce visions of eyeballs?” Oliver shook his head. Didn’t sound like a good time at all, but indigenous tribes were also known to use teas made from the plant for treating headaches. “I think I’ll stick with Tylenol.”

  A few entries down, pink carpet, or delosperma cooperi. Another perennial evergreen. Also called an ice plant or a trailing ice plant, and well known to contain tryptamines. Oliver recognized the term. They were psychoactive compounds.

  His pulse quickened. This was the most firm lead he’d stumbled upon in the year he’d been at Free Leaf Concepts. He didn’t think it was good enough for a warrant, though. They operated greenhouses, and these were common ornamental plants. The evidence was circumstantial at best. He had to find the link, tying the plants to the mushrooms, but so far, the street team had no luck posing as buyers. Sellers were paranoid and beyond discreet.

  “Pink carpet, not a bad choice. Better than the fittonia. Not sure if the Followills are up for that level of maintenance, even with our landscapers on retainer.”

  Oliver almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled around. “Brendan. Hey.” His mind raced. Did he confront him? No. No, Oliver couldn’t do that. He was already pushing the limits of Cappy Don’s patience. He threw himself into his usual song and dance, distancing himself from the uncertainty that might’ve nakedly crossed his face when he saw Brendan. “Kay wanted me to research some stuff for the spa.” It was the best excuse he could come up with and had the benefit of sounding totally legitimate. He closed his laptop and pasted a proud smile on his mouth. “I made a pretty significant contribution earlier. Maybe they’ll invite me to pull up a seat at the drafting table one of these days. Hey, you catch that new girl? She’s Kay’s friend. A big deal, I hear. About to go to work for Grant Gallagher.”

  For several seconds, Brendan stared, but Oliver had the feeling he wasn’t the object of scrutiny. Finally, Brendan snapped out of it and raised his eyebrows slowly and deliberately, in a show of appreciation. “Gallagher? Really? That’s impressive. Hey, Oli, do you happen to know if Kay’s got anything on her calendar for lunch today? Plans, meetings?”

  Oliver kept his jaw from clenching with brute determination. Why did people keep assuming he liked that nickname? It should be standard social practice to ask first.

  Hey, Richard, mind if I call you Dick?

  Why, yes, actually. I absolutely mind.

  Secondly, say Brendan was on the up and up, why was he deliberately breaking protocol by making contact with Cappy Don’s other informant? Oliver carelessly cracked his knuckles and opened Kay’s calendar file. “Nope. Looks clear. Should I pencil something in for her?”

  Brendan smiled wide, showing off a mouthful of too many teeth, and winked. “A lunch date with yours truly.”

  Oliver didn’t fully grasp the statement at first. But when he did, he was damn near certain that Brendan wasn’t one of Cap’s. Contact between informants was prohibited, in case someone wat
ching closely put two and two together. Trying to date one of them? Plain fucking stupid. But Oliver couldn’t dismiss it as a ploy, either—a bone to throw Kay’s clueless assistant, easily explaining away why he wanted to see Kay.

  He carefully composed his features into a mask of indifference. It was twice as difficult as it should’ve been, because he was wrestling with twice the emotions he normally would experience. First, alarm that he might have a fake mole on his hands. Second, the rampant jealousy charging like a bull though his veins.

  He cleared his throat, keeping tight control over his nonchalant grin. “Sure. I’ll get on that right away, Brendan.” He made his own stomach flip by returning the wink.

  * * * *

  Orange was out of the question. Halloween wasn’t what Kay wanted clients to think of when they stepped inside. Green would already be a prominent color. Red was too strong. It might clash with some of the flowering plants, or overpower the purple. She needed what she called a threading color. It was responsible for binding all the elements together. A touch here, a shadow there. The word tacky floating from Seraphina’s mouth kept taunting Kay, dancing in and out of her thoughts. The fear of screwing up was keeping her from making what should be a pretty simple decision.

  A text vibrated the phone in her pocket. Oliver’s message made her skin crawl.

  “Oh, shit,” she murmured. Both plants were definitely psychedelics. He was going to send the results to Cappy Don. Until then, identifying the third plant in Greenhouse Five was high priority. Also, don’t trust Brendan. She bit her lip. She’d be curious to know how Oliver had come to that last conclusion.

  “Bad news?”

  Kay gasped and turned around. Brendan grinned like he thought she’d find being startled utterly charming. “I almost pissed myself. Please refrain from sneaking up on people. It’s rude.” Hopefully, the imagery would be enough to turn him off the habit.