CHAPTER 4
The grounds were beautiful. My morning walk with
Teddy felt like a stroll through the Scottish Highlands. The air was wet with
mist and clung to everything. Flowers dotted the beach grasses heavy with dew.
After dressing for breakfast, I found two women in
hotel uniforms setting out the buffet. I took a plate. Its warm smooth surface
reminded me of buffets long past– hotcakes, omelets with sausage.
Hunger seized me in earnest. The coffee cake and
fruit looked like a feast for Caesar. I filled my plate full and visited the
drink table for coffee and juice. No short cuts this morning. I wanted the full
Ritz treatment. I was in this busy state of gorging on kiwis and pineapple at
my table when I caught a glimpse of Regina Anatolia, hands full with food as
well, approaching.
I quickly wiped my fingers with a napkin. They were
clean enough now to shake hands even though they remained a bit sticky.
Luckily, she seemed a shade distracted and didn’t extend her hand.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. Sit down.” I gestured to the empty
chair beside me and lay the napkin back in my lap.
“I noticed you looking our way last night at
dinner, and I wanted to....”
“There’s no need to apologize. I know how stress
can wind up people and get them tense and irritable–”
“No,” she interrupted. “Spencer and I don’t get
along at all. He’s oppressive in his managing style.”
Perhaps there was more to this relationship than met
the eye. Regina seemed to be holding up the persona of a disgruntled employee,
but perhaps the conflict went a little deeper.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I often rail back at
him.”
“I’m sure we all have to deal with people like that
at one time or another.”
“Maybe, but I’ve worked with him for three years. It
hasn’t gotten any better. I don’t want to affect your opinion of the
conference, but…I’m quitting after it’s over.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Regina.”
She looked near the brink of tears and I somehow felt
obligated to do something.
“You’ve done a wonderful job making all the
arrangements here. What will you do? What’s your background?”
She brightened a little. “I’ve got this project,
science mainly, and I have an MA in horticulture. I also enjoy writing about
gardens.”
“That sounds like me.” I smiled warmly, hoping to
be an encouragement.
She smiled back and then looked away in thought.
I took a forkful of coffee cake and a sip of
coffee.
She seemed to come to a decision and turned to me. “I
did write some excellent articles. I submitted them to several magazines.
However, I made the mistake of mailing them from the Society’s office.”
“That sounds like a logical thing to do. The
magazines would assume you had credibility working for a garden club society.”
“That’s what I thought, but when one of my articles
did get published, the credit was given to Spencer Hausman. Evidently he
intercepted my work, changed my name to his, and sent it off.”
Shocking. I was stunned to think anyone
would have the nerve, but somehow hearing this about Spencer didn’t surprise
me.
“Did you confront him?”
“Oh, believe me I did, but you see, I’m not all
that innocent. Spencer found out something about me and threatened to expose it
if I even mentioned what he’d done.”
“I see. So now, you’re running away by quitting.
Don’t you realize he’ll always have a hold on you until you face up to him and
settle the situation that’s the problem?”
“I just can’t. Not yet anyway.”
We sat in silence finishing our breakfast.
When Paul Youngblood entered the Club, I smiled.
“Do you know Paul, Regina?”
She seemed alarmed. “Why?”
“Well, I…” Now why had she taken such a fright at a
simple question? “I thought maybe he might be worth getting to know. I’d like
an introduction, if you would.”
Paul came toward us holding a plate of fruit-topped
waffles in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.
“Regina, how are you this morning?” His
glance scanned her face.
She looked away, and then made a robotic
introduction. “Jillian, this is Paul Youngblood, the famous landscape
architect. Paul, Jillian Bradley, of the ‘Ask Jillian’ column.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Bradley.”
“How do you do Mr. Youngblood? I’ve heard wonderful
things about your work.”
He lowered his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Won’t you join us?” I looked around for an extra chair.
Regina stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m late as it is. I
really must go.”
Before I could even say goodbye, she rushed off.
Paul took the unoccupied seat. He drank his orange
juice in one long swallow. Then he tilted his head, and contemplated me once
again. “I believe we’ve met before. Ah. The elevator, wasn’t it?”
“That’s correct.”
He began cutting up his waffles into quarters and
cramming the large hunks into his mouth.
I couldn’t help but prod him for information. “You
seemed distracted. I hope everything’s all right.”
With my statement, he dropped his fork on his plate
with a clank. A short sigh escaped him.
“Hah, all right? I don’t know if anything will ever be all right.”
“Well, perhaps if you elaborated, an ol’ gal like
me might be able to offer some advice. I’m a good listener.”
He looked around.
A married couple turned back to their eggs and
toast.
He eyed me with a grin. “I just had the wind
knocked out of me about a month ago is all.”
He seemed to be weighing whether I was worth the
risk.
I certainly hoped so because I’d been dying for
this since I first saw him in the lobby.
“Hmm, you look like a good listener all right.” He
shifted in his chair, got comfortable and sipped his coffee. “So you really want
to hear it? The whole sad mess?”
“I’m especially good with messes.”
He chuckled. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Go
ahead and eat.”
He grabbed his own fork again and started
swallowing more waffle quarters. “Come on, eat while I tell you. I don’t want
people thinking our chat is anything important.”
I dutifully obeyed. Sipping on the warm coffee was
a sweet price to pay for the kind of information I was expecting.
“I had a girl…a fiancée. She was a go-getter. Her
business took her to New York. She took the wrong plane…at the wrong
time…9-11.”
“Oh, my word!”
“They never actually identified her remains. Too
charred.”
“Paul, that’s terrible.”
He nodded. “I’d been dating her for three years.
Really shook me up.”
“I imagine it would.”
“Don’t know if a man can ever get over that sort of
thing, you know? Regina, I’d actually known before–an old school friend. We had
dated in college, but the little minx got sick of me, found a guy ‘going
somewhere’. One of those deals. Eventually I got sick of her, or at least
trying to chase her, and found my girl, the one who died.”
Paul sat back in his chair contemplating. He sat in
silence for a few moments before he turned to me again.
“I need to get back to my room. Please excuse me.”
With that, he abruptly left.
***
I arrived in the conference room a little early.
Good. Time
for some coffee.
I filled a cup from the silver urn and took a seat
toward the front of the audience. Hugh Porter had unpacked his edible borders
and an assortment of herbs, leaf lettuce, and marigolds lined the floor around the
podium. I used the first few minutes to observe his selections. Then I made notes
of each variety, their health, and combinations to please the eye.
“Evelyn! Darling.” The voice cut through my
concentration. It feigned all the attachment of a dear friend and yet the voice
chilled my blood. Thankfully, the greeting wasn’t for me. I did fear for the
poor soul under attack.
The
Barracuda.
‘Evelyn’
answered, sounding a little startled, “Celeste, how are you? You…look fabulous
as always.”
“Oh, thank you. New tailor.”
Evelyn turned to the man standing quietly behind
her. In an authoritative voice commanded him as if not doing her bidding would
doom them to social obscurity forever, “Thomas, say hello to Celeste.”
Thomas, acting as though he was looking for any
rock to crawl under, managed a feeble, “hello.”
Evelyn elbowed him and nudged him still closer.
I began to wonder about the relationship between
these two. How could a woman serve her man up in such a fashion for nothing
more than a good word from this tigress? Evelyn persisted with a cruel giggle.
“Is that all you can say dear, just hello?”
Managing a terse smile, he said, “Hello, Celeste.”
Celeste gave him a sour nod, as if even this small
token was unworthy to bestow on those unaccustomed to her radiance. Then she
leaned in to reward the faithful Evelyn with a comment.
From the look on Evelyn’s face, it was a slice of
juicy information. Celeste ignored poor Thomas as if he didn’t exist.
“The specimens you’ve provided are just perfection.
Between that sweet husband of yours and that weasel Spencer Hausman, it
looks like your warehouse nursery business is doing well.”
“Now, Celeste, you know Spencer’s not a weasel,
really. He’s just intense, but isn’t that the way of a true artist? He’s really
a very hard worker. I don’t know what Thomas would do without him.” The pitch of
her voice rose several levels.
“Evelyn darling, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I
just think Thomas should be careful of someone who has never been married and
who has that hungry look in his eye.”
“Oh, Celeste, you really are one with an
imagination, but it’s all right. I keep a good eye on things as you know.”
“Oh, yes. I know you do. If you watch your business
with as much prowess as you watch Society matters, I’m sure you’re fine. I see
Hugh Porter coming in. I’d better find a seat. I’ll talk to you later,
darling.”
“Yes, we’ll talk after the session. Come, Thomas,” Evelyn
commanded, “sit.”
So much like
a dog…poor man.
Finally, Nicole, Ann and Dominique entered the
room. I was saved. I shot my hand up enthusiastically to get their attention.
“Over here, ladies, I’ve got us some seats.”
They all made their greetings and got to their places
just in time for the lecture.
When it was over, Hugh invited everyone to taste
the plants. In a strange goat-like way, I found myself enjoying the flowers and
greens tossed together on my sample plate.
I caught up with him as soon as the crowd of
questioners cleared. “Hugh, that was thoroughly entertaining. I did so enjoy
it.”
“Thank you. You’re Jillian Bradley, aren’t you?” He
beamed. “It’s always a pleasure sharing my knowledge, especially with those who
spend their lives appreciating foliage the way you do.”
“Actually, Hugh, I’ve been dying to see this
presentation all week. I’m certain it will be one of the major highlights of
the meeting.”
He chuckled. “Well, I love plants, and good food.
So much the better if I can put them together. People become… intrigued.”
The laugh lines around his twinkling eyes crinkled.
“Have you read my new book?”
“You Can Eat the Flowers?” I shook my head.
“No, but I plan on buying a copy before I leave.”
Hugh winked. “I’ll sign it for you. Find me later.”
“I will. You’ll be getting a great review from me.”
“Thanks, Jillian. It was a pleasure. You’ll have to
excuse me. It looks like a few more people have questions.”
Ann sighed. “I’m ready for a break. Let’s go into
that cozy library with the fireplace and order something to drink.”
***
The room was dark and cozy, illuminated by an inviting
fireplace and candelabra lamps that lined the walls. We ordered tea and talked
awhile about the edible borders. Dominique appeared distracted, staring into
her cup as if it contained a warm ocean.
“Dominique, are you with us?” I kidded.
“Sorry.” She smiled. “I was just thinking about
poor Thomas. Did you notice? His wife acted more like his mother. It made me
terribly uncomfortable listening to them.”
“Are they always like that?” Ann looked curious
too. “Maybe it was an arranged marriage.”
We all chuckled. Of course, Ann, the analytical,
needed to understand their motivations, their background.
Dominique arched a brow. This was the look–the one
that always proceeded one of her little rant sessions. Usually the rant
consisted of a drawn out morality tale cloaked in something remotely obscure or
profound.
“Now you guys know that I’ve been on safari many
times. On my first trip, I was shocked to see a herd of elephants wandering
around in a dense thicket. Why in the world would they be there? Wouldn’t they
prefer open spaces?
“Well, turns out, they had some good reasons for
being there. They could find refuge from predators. They could also eat the
fruit from the trees.
“However, they had a reoccurring problem. Their
very presence there spoiled the new saplings. The fruit that the thicket once
produced would quickly vanish, trampled to powder under their massive feet.
Soon, the trees themselves withered and died. Perhaps Thomas finds himself in a
similar situation.” Dominique shrugged and sipped her tea.
“Yes.” It was my turn to translate. “Thomas has to
be withering inside to tolerate being treated so badly. Shameful…but…we are
obliged to talk about pleasant things over tea. So, what are you ladies up to
for the rest of the day?”
My change of subject took the wind out of the
moment.
Ann stood quickly and announced, “I’m going to do
some shopping in a few of those boutiques I saw on Main Street. Anyone want to
come?”
Nicole smiled shyly. “I’m going to Paul
Youngblood’s lecture.”
Dominique nodded. “I’m with you, Nicole. He’s so
good looking.”
“And it doesn’t matter what he’s lecturing on,
right?” I teased.
“Of course not.”
“What about you, Jillian?” Ann signed the bill.
“I’m curious about Walter’s father, I admit. I
think I’m going to pay him a visit. After that I might do a little shopping
myself.”
Nicole motioned to Dominique. “We should go. His
lecture starts in about five minutes.”
“Coming.” Dominique grabbed her purse, not at all
interested in missing one ‘handsome’ second.
***
“Going up?” Evelyn waited near the elevator door again
flanked by Thomas. Apparently, the elevators were the ‘happening’ place to fish
for interesting news.
“Yes, fifth floor, please.” I tried not to smile at
the irony.
“Us, too,” she replied, not getting the joke.
“I see by your name-tag that you’re attending the
garden club conference.” This was an attempt to make friends with Thomas, the
un-awful one.
Before Thomas could answer, Evelyn stepped slightly
in front of him.
He stepped back and looked at the floor.
“Indeed we are. I’m Evelyn Westover and this is my
husband, Thomas. We are sponsors of the conference.”
“Oh really? How nice. I’m Jillian Bradley.”
“My dear, what a pleasure to meet you. I read your
column. I love your humor, so plebian, if you know what I mean. I’m sure it works
well for the masses. Quite ingenious, really.”
Was that meant as a compliment or an insult? Had
she overheard our conversation?
The elevator stopped and let us off.
“See you later,” Evelyn cooed, a little too smug.
She headed for her room.
Thomas followed a few steps behind.
If you like to read about lovely places and fabulous cuisine, enjoy the Jillian Bradley mystery series.
Book 1 MURDER IN HALF MOON BAY
for your e-reader is free!
All books are G-rated and contain no profanity.
See you in my books!
~Nancy Jill
Mystery
novelist Nancy Jill Thames has published Christian fiction since 2010.
The author of seven books in the Jillian Bradley series, she is an award
winning blogger and listed numerous times on the Author Watch Bestseller’s
List. In addition, she won first place in her church's 4th of July celebration for her chocolate cream pie.
When she isn’t plotting her next
book, she spends time with her six
grandchildren, tags along with her husband on business trips, and
plays classical piano for her personal enjoyment. She is an active
member
of the Leander Writers' Guild, American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW),
CenTex Chapter-ACFW, and supports the Central Texas SPCA with a portion
of her book sales. She resides with her husband in Leander, Texas.
Congratulations, Sarah of Juneau, Alaska! She choose "The Long Trip Home" as her prize. 
