“I think it looks like an iris,” CeeCee said finally.
“Iris,” Ali repeated with a laugh. “How could I forget to mention Iris? That’s my mother’s name.”
“It is?” I said, forgetting the crochet piece for the moment and giving her all my attention.
“I guess when I introduced her the other night I just said she was my mother.” Ali rolled her eyes. “What was I thinking?”
As I looked at her, an idea began to roll around in my mind. In all my thinking about a baby being involved in the secret, I’d forgotten one thing: The baby wouldn’t be a baby anymore. The baby would be a twenty-something adult. And there was a twenty-something adult before me with a mother whose name matched the flowers in the filet panel. Could it be that part of the puzzle had been right in front of me all the time? I was almost afraid to ask, but finally I swallowed and spoke.
“How old are you?” I said. She looked at me oddly, and I realized my question must have seemed out of place. I quickly said something about her being about my son’s age and wondered if they’d gone to school together. “He’s twenty-three and went to Wilbur Avenue Elementary.”
“Me, too, on both counts,” she said. She thought about it for a minute and asked if his name was Samuel. When I said yes, she made a comment about having a crush on him in second grade.
So she was the same age the baby would be, and her mother’s name was the same as the flowers in the crochet piece. My next question would tip the scale.
“When’s your birthday?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Pink, what’s with all the questions?” Adele interrupted. “We’re here to crochet.” I wanted to tell Adele to put a sock in it. But it was too late; Ali was already gathering up her things.
“Oh no, I’m late for my dentist’s appointment.” She was gone in a flash.
Sheila shook her head. “Doesn’t she see the pattern? She gets here late and has to leave early because she’s late somewhere else.”
“Ladies, Ali will have to work out her own time issues. Meanwhile, we’re wasting ours,” CeeCee said. “Adele, show them your bookmark.” Adele displayed the one she’d just finished. Even though she’d ruined my questioning, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Her work was beautiful. The bookmark was white filet with a checkerboard pattern. She explained how she’d sprayed it with starch and attached it to a piece of cardboard to block it. CeeCee took out a handful of bookmarks she’d made and showed them off. She went on talking about what a hit they’d be at the next library sale. I wasn’t listening. All I could think of was that I had to talk to Ali’s mother.
CHAPTER 25
IRIS STEWART RAN THE CACTUS AND SUCCULENT nursery out of her house. It was on one of the big plots of land north of the 101 Freeway. I’d passed it often, though I had never stopped there before. A sign across the front fence beckoned customers: Exotic Cacti and Succulents Nursery. Check us out.
I parked on the street and walked up the driveway. The whole front yard was devoted to cacti and succulents of different sizes and shapes. Most were in pots or some other transportable container, but quite a few were in the ground as part of the landscape. It was a far cry from the lush lawn of the next-door neighbor.
The house was an old one-story white stucco from the time when Tarzana was out in the sticks. Bougainvillea made a roof over the patio across the front. As I reached the house, the front door opened and a man walked out.
“Hi,” he said in a friendly tone. He introduced himself as Paul Stewart and explained he was just the advance man. His wife would be out shortly. Although I’d never met him before and had nothing to compare with, his appearance made me think he’d been sick—very sick. His hair was lackluster and his complexion too pale, but mostly it was the way his shirt collar seemed too big for his neck.
As he went back inside, I noticed there was some effort in his walk. Iris almost passed him in the doorway. I had barely noticed her when Ali introduced me to her at the bookstore. Not that saying, “This is my mother,” exactly qualified as an introduction.
She was a tall, pretty woman, with shiny brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a green plaid flannel shirt on top and had some gardening gloves stuffed in her pocket.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked in a pleasant voice. When she got closer a flash of recognition crossed her face. “You’re Molly from the bookstore. Ali just loves being in the crochet group.” She laughed. “Though knowing my daughter, she is probably not too punctual.”
We made a little small talk, and I told her how much we all liked Ali. “She’s so much fun, and she’s stretched our ideas about crochet.” I pointed toward the crocheted cactus sitting on the patio table.
“She’s a good kid,” Iris said. “Things have been a little rough around here, and she moved back home to help me.”
I took a deep breath and prepared to proceed. I had no authority to demand information. My best bet was to try friendly conversation.
“I’m thinking of landscaping part of my yard with succulents. I saw something I like at the home of an acquaintance of mine. She said she got her plants here. I don’t know if you remember her—Mary Beth Wells?” I watched Iris’s face to gauge her reaction to the name. There was a flicker that was quickly replaced by confusion.
“She must have gotten them somewhere else. I don’t recall the name,” Iris said too quickly to be believable.
I persisted. “I’m sure this is where she said she got them. Maybe you don’t remember her. She was tall with golden blond hair.”
But Iris dismissed the comment and gestured toward the front yard. “Why don’t you look around at what I have and maybe you’ll see what you’re looking for.” She followed me as I began to walk through the rows of plants.
A car pulled into the driveway and two teenage girls got out. They waved and headed inside.
“Are those Ali’s sisters?” I asked.
When she said they were, I commented that they were quite a bit younger than Ali.
“And your point is?” Iris replied with the beginning of an edge in her voice.
“No point, just an observation.” I stopped at a pot filled with low-growing fleshy rosettes that had a reddish color. “I think this is it. Mary Beth had one in a pot in her house on Catalina.” Glad that I was wearing sunglasses, I again watched Iris for her reaction. She showed none.
“I hear it’s very nice there.” Iris picked up the pot. “Did you want to get sempervivum?”
Another car drove into the driveway. This time Ali got out. As soon as she saw me, she came to join us. “You came to the right place. My mother’s plants are the best.”
But her willingness to talk left a lot to be desired. So far I’d gotten nothing but the name of the plant I was holding. Sure, it was obvious Iris knew Mary Beth, but as long as she denied it what could I do?
“I forgot to ask you earlier,” I said to Ali, trying another tactic. “We have a thing at the bookstore for people’s birthdays. We send out discount coupons. If you tell me yours, I can add it to my file.”
“That’s so nice,” Ali said. She sounded so genuine I felt bad about deceiving her and decided right then to actually start a birthday-discount program. “My birthday is December 19,” she said. “I’m just barely a Sagittarius.”
Ali’s birthdate was in sync with the diary entry. I decided to push the envelope and ask one more question. “Were you born here in Tarzana?”
“Actually, I was born on Catalina.”
Iris appeared more uncomfortable but said nothing. Ali spoke for her. “Ali is just my nickname. It’s short for Catalina. Get it—Cat-
“I’m sure you’re in a hurry,” Iris said, taking the pot and heading for the patio. “Let me just write this up.” She looked for me to follow her, but Ali intervened.
“While you write it up, I want to show Molly the afghan I’m making.”
Before Iris could stop her, Ali had taken me inside. It was dark after the bright sun of the front yard. Paul was sitting in a recliner watching television. Ali led me to a small bedroom that looked out on the backyard. While I was trying to think of something brilliant to ask her, Ali brought out her work. It was beautiful. She’d made multiple
