Pushing Up Daisies

With the raffle items and silent auction, SHS would cover its costs, pay me, and maybe even deliver the bonus that Richard dangled but didn't promise when we made our handshake deal. I gently reminded him of it.

'I guess I shouldn't have told you the good news,' he joked. 'We're not there yet. We'll see what happens the night of the party.' I knew he still had hopes of prying checks out of some guests at the event.

I gave him a quick status report on the garden, and saw his eyes start to glaze over. Good, you raise the money, and I'll handle the garden. I preferred that arrangement to one where the client was constantly second-guessing my decisions. He listened politely, but his mind was elsewhere, and I wasn't surprised when he rode off, presumably to share his good news with Margery.

Now I was in a good mood, too. Not only did I have a realistic shot at the bonus, but if the restoration came off as planned, Lucy's idea of a Garden Channel feature might not be that crazy. I still had connections. I'd documented and photographed all of the major improvements. Why not? There were plenty of stupider things on television. That was the fantasy I was indulging when I heard another tap on the glass. I thought Richard had forgotten to tell me something, but it wasn't him.

Felix Ontivares toed the concrete planter away from the door and closed it behind him. Instead of his usual work clothes he wore jeans and a gray V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt. He smelled delicious—a little sweat, a little Armani. He walked toward me slowly, finally backing me up against the edge of one of the empty potting tables. Without uttering a word, he bent down and gently slipped his tongue into my mouth. Whatever I was holding fell out of my hands, and I wrapped my arms around him, sliding my hands up and down the muscles I'd been eyeing for weeks.

His mouth still on mine, he reached behind me and lifted me onto the table. Then he peeled off his sweater to make a pillow.

'Someone might come,' I said, breathless.

His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, 'Espero que asi sea. I certainly hope so.'

Felix's hands were on my waist, rolling up my thin T-shirt and stopping only to unhook my bra.

'Wait a minute. I can't do this.'

'Afraid I'll accuse you of sexual harassment?'

'I'm sorry. I can't start sleeping with—'

'The help?' He laughed. 'What if you don't pay me? Am I still the help? Or is it something else?'

'Of course not.'

He searched my face to make sure I was serious. Then he rolled down my T-shirt. 'Esta bien, maestra.' He gave me a fake salute and left me in the suddenly chilly green house.

CHAPTER 20

By the time I pulled into my garage, the first snowflakes were falling, but I was reasonably warm, thanks to the sweater Felix had left in the green house.

I'd nearly broken one of those unwritten rules. Thou shalt not go food shopping when you're hungry; thou shalt not commit DUI (dialing under the influence); and the biggie, thou shalt not make the beast with two backs with someone who works for you.

I had mixed feelings. True, I'd risen above my animal instincts, but feeling virtuous never seems to last that long, and it's generally a lot less fun than feeling guilty. It'd been a long time since the earth had moved for me. On the other hand, the image of me, half-dressed, flailing about, and kicking over the nasturtium seedlings was not one I would have been particularly proud of. I only hoped Felix didn't think my re sis tance was because he was Mexican. There was something in the way he called me boss in Spanish that suggested he did. I consoled myself with an obscenely large bowl of mint chocolate chip yogurt.

I tried to put Felix out of my mind and enjoy the last of my firewood—and hopefully the last snowfall—of the season. Before settling in, I scanned my bookshelf for something I remembered picking up at a tag sale. I routinely bought old garden books despite the fact I hadn't read half the ones I already owned. There it was— Culpeper's Complete Herbal.

Culpeper's is a six-hundred-page tome first published in 1653. My copy was an inexpensive paperback reprinted in the 1970s during the last big wave of interest in alternative medicine. After the author warns the reader about bootleg copies, in the seventeenth century, no less, he starts with Amara dulcis, which 'is excellently good to remove witchcraft both in men and beasts.' Always useful.

From amara to yarrow, Nicholas Culpeper explains where to find and how to grow the herbs, trees, and plants he claims could treat common illnesses. Most of the plants were new to me—ladies bed-straw, for example, which was 'good to bathe the feet of travellers and lacquies.' Mustn't forget the lackeys. And duck's meat, which could be applied to 'the breasts before they be grown too much.' Cheaper than breast-reduction surgery, I suppose.

I leafed through to the entry for one of the Peacocks' less-common herbs, pennyroyal, which was described as being 'so well known unto all . . . that it needs no description.' Wonderful. This was going to be a productive read. Then, under Culpeper's heading of virtues, I saw a number of applications for pennyroyal related to fainting and swooning in women and the more intriguing 'provokes women's courses.'

I flipped back to his description of feverfew.

'Venus commands this herb and has commended it to succur her sisters (women) and to be a general strengthener of their wombs, and remedy such infirmities as a careless midwife hath there caused.'

The next two snowy spring days I spent at home, buried in Culpeper's. When I didn't hear from Felix, I shrugged off the disappointment, telling myself it served me right for being so stupid. Then his flowers were delivered, and I softened. A family emergency requires me to leave town for a few days. Take care of yourself, and my sweater, until I return. Felix. Like a teenager, I'd slept in the damn sweater the first night, then balled it and threw it into a corner of my closet when he didn't call. It was still there.

In Felix's absence, I worked hard to keep my mind on business. Remarkably, there wasn't much that was new in the world of botanica medica. Another book extolling the virtues of newly fashionable echinacea, ginseng, goldenseal, and black cohosh was published over a hundred years ago. Roots, bark, berries, vines, and flowers of certain plants had been cultivated for their medicinal properties for centuries. Aristophanes refers to them as early as 421 B.C.

Unable to work in anyone's garden, and not wanting to obsess about Felix, I was off on another tangent. One that would probably lead to nothing more nefarious than the Peacock sisters' fondness for potpourri, but what the hell. I needed a reality check. And food. The cupboard was just about bare. Can't put condiments on condiments.

I pulled the Jeep in to the far end of the Paradise parking lot, honking to displace a group of ducks sunning themselves on a mound of dirty snow. They plopped back into the lake.

'Hey, stranger,' Babe yelled. 'Where've you been hiding?'

'Not hiding, just house bound. Doing research mostly. Neil was great, by the way. I don't think I ever told you. I should factor the cost of a massage into every job I get from now on.' I stretched like a cat on the counter stool.

'Massage is a beautiful thing. Keeps people out of watchtowers,' Babe said.

'You heard about Anna?' I asked.

'Old news. Some kid, right?'

'Maybe.'

'You've reached celebrity status in our little burg. Lotta kids around here with nothing to do and all the time in the world to do it. I haven't seen you, or Felix, for a while. I thought maybe you two eloped.'

Was the woman clairvoyant? 'No.' I laughed nervously. 'I think he's out of town. And I've been swamped. We're getting to the homestretch on the Peacock job, and I still have the Caroline Sturgises of the world to deal with. Those monthly guys pay the bills . . . that is, when they pay the bills.'