Nikki Rivers - Finding Mr. Perfect

Henry grunted and Kate looked a little baffled. “Such a lot of work, dear. Is it really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so. One of my jobs is to supply the company with information they can use to create press releases. We expect there to be plenty of media interest in our Great American Family.”

“That’s us, isn’t it?” Tuffy asked anxiously. “We get the year’s supply of cereal, right?”

“Yes, of course. But, even better, in a month, Mr. Pollard, CEO of Granny’s Grains, will be arriving with an advertising crew for a photo shoot. The entire family will be featured on a whole series of cereal boxes to coincide with our Bringing America Back to the Breakfast Table campaign.”

“Sounds like advertising to me,” muttered Danny.

“Mr. Walker,” she said reasonably but firmly, “the results of my work will be used in an advertising campaign but that doesn’t take away from the fact that the process used to select your family as Granny’s Grains Great American Family was a scientific one. Now,” she said, turning back to Kate, “these interviews will be informal so there is nothing to worry about. It’s important that you just go about your regular daily lives so that I can get the flavor for how you live.”

“Ma, you should take the professor out to the greenhouse for feeding hour,” Danny suggested.

Well, thought Hannah with satisfaction, her tone had obviously worked. Danny had decided to be helpful. Still, he did have that twinkle in his eye—

“Are you interested in tropical plants, Hannah?” Kate asked.

“I’m interested in anything you do, Kate. I’d love to watch you feed your plants. In fact, the greenhouse should probably go on the list of possible sites I’m compiling to give the photographer when he gets here.”

“You mean he might want to take a picture of my babies?”

“Oh, absolutely. The company has gotten whisperings of interest from a few women’s magazines. The fact that you’re a gardener will, I’m sure, add to their interest.”

“You mean a picture of me and my babies in Gardening Today?”

“Possibly, Kate. If we get the press we want with this, you might even make the afternoon talk shows.”

“You could take your babies with you, Ma,” Danny put in. “Let ’em perform on the air.”

Hannah frowned. “Perform?”

Kate laughed and flapped her hand. “Oh, Danny is just being silly, Hannah. My babies can’t perform. Although it can be very entertaining to watch them eat.”

Hannah opened her mouth to ask another question, but decided it was just Kate Walker’s rather singular way of speaking. Watching her plants eat, of course, merely meant watching liquid fertilizer sink into the soil.

“Come along, my dear. I’ll introduce you to all my little darlings. You can even help me feed them!”

Hannah forgot all about the mocking devil sitting at the table watching her. She felt positively glowy inside. She barely remembered her own mother. She’d certainly never gardened with her. It seemed like such a mother/daughter thing to be doing. So sweet. So wholesome. So—well, so Great American Family.

She’d better take notes. It wouldn’t do to forget what she was really there for.

“I’ll just run and get my notebook and tape recorder out of the car.”

“Don’t be silly, dear, they don’t chew loud enough to record,” Kate said sweetly before she sailed out the back door.

Chew? “What did she mean chew?” Hannah asked Danny.

“You’re the intrepid researcher, professor. Shouldn’t you find out for yourself?”

Hannah opened her mouth to take the bait then thought better of it. Ignoring him, she left the kitchen and headed out to the station wagon for her things. When she came back through the kitchen with her notebook and recorder, Danny was, thankfully, gone.

Out in the backyard Hannah could hear Kate humming in the greenhouse as she made her way down the little brick walk lined with shrub roses that were just starting to bud. The song of birds and the scent of lilacs filled the air. This, thought Hannah with satisfaction, was just as it was supposed to be. Perfectly normal. Even better, it was perfectly perfect.

The greenhouse had a peaked roof and one of those doors that were cut in half like in the pictures you see of old country cottages. The upper half was open. Kate, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, was inside talking sweetly to her plants, holding one up in a hand that was covered by a cotton gardening glove sprinkled with tiny pink roses. In her other hand, she held a jar of—Hannah squinted and leaned in over the bottom half of the door for a better look. It couldn’t be—

But it was. Kate, looking like something on a Mother’s Day greeting card, was holding a glass jar of dead flies.

“There you are, dear,” she trilled when she saw Hannah. “Come in and meet my babies.”

Hannah sincerely hoped she wasn’t talking about the flies. She pushed open the half door and went inside.

Long wooden tables on either side of the room were filled with the strangest-looking plants Hannah had ever seen. She reached out to touch the fringed leaf of one and Kate said, “Oh, no, dear. Mustn’t touch. It makes them think you’re giving them something to eat and they could never digest anything as big as your finger.”

Hannah quickly pulled her finger back. “Excuse me?”

“Why, that’s a Dionaea, dear. My favorite one, in fact. I call her Dee Dee Dionaea. She’s highly carnivorous, you know.”

Hannah gulped. “Carnivorous?”

“Why, yes. All my little babies are meat eaters. You probably know Dionaea as Venus flytrap. Those colorful ones over there are Byblis and those,” she pointed with pride at a squat plant that looked like a specimen from outer space, “those are Australian Pitcher Plants. They drown their prey before digesting them.”

Hannah looked from the weird flora to the jar of dead bugs in Kate Walker’s dainty, rosebud-covered hand. For a second she thought she was going to lose her popovers. “And you feed them—”

“Flies, my dear. The neighbors have one of those bug zappers so I just go over there every few days and sweep them up from the patio.” Kate looked around as if to make sure no one was listening, then she leaned closer to Hannah and lowered her voice. “They have a dog over there—one of those silly standard poodles—so there’s always a lot of flies available. If you know what I mean.”

Hannah knew exactly what she meant. Suddenly the greenhouse seemed awfully warm, the scent of damp rich earth nearly overpowering.

“Of course, they also eat live insects,” Kate was saying. “In fact, they prefer them. Perhaps you’d like to take one up to your room while you’re here, dear? Just to make sure you’re not bothered by flies.”

The idea of trying to sleep with Dee Dee on the bedside table slowly munching moths or whatever other creatures flew by night was enough to bring on nightmares.

“Um—no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Hannah started backing toward the door. “Um, I think perhaps I’ll take a walk around town and sort of get my bearings.”

Kate looked concerned. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m—uh—fine.” Hannah pressed a hand to her stomach. “Just ate too much at lunch, I expect.”

“Oh, then perhaps a walk—”

Hannah didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Outside again the air was cooler. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and her popovers settled back down.

Terrific, she thought as she crossed the back porch and went into the house. Just terrific. Meat-eating plants. Not exactly normal. Okay, so maybe it was her fault for expecting nothing more exotic than an orchid or two. Obviously, there should have been a follow-up question on the entry forms. Do you garden—followed by just what the heck grows in your garden? Or even better yet, does your plant’s lunch have wings?