Black Rose - NRoberts - G2 Black Rose

“I don’t know if it was here, I mean this particular spot. It didn’t seem like it, but I can’t be sure. I’ve walked by here countless times. I planted that pachysandra, those sweet olives, and I never felt anything strange before.”

“To risk another theory, you were never this close to finding out who she was before.”

“I guess not. We’ll have to dig.” She pushed to her feet. “We’ll have to dig and see if she’s here.”

THEY SET UPlights and dug beyond midnight. The men, and Roz, with Stella and Hayley taking turns between shovels and remaining inside to mind the sleeping children.

They found nothing but the bones of a beloved dog.

“COULD BE METAPHORICAL.”

Roz looked up at Harper as they walked the woods toward home the next day. She knew very well why he was with her, his arm slung casually around her shoulder, because Mitch had told him she’d fainted.

She’d barely had five minutes to herself since it happened. That was going to change, she thought, but she’d give him and the rest of her honorary family a day before she shooed them back.

“What could be metaphorical?”

“That, you know, vision thing you had. Standing over her grave, shoveling dirt on her.” He winced. “I don’t mean to wig you out.”

“You’re not. Who used to have nightmares after watching that Saturday morning show? What was it, Land of the Lost ?”

“Jeez. The Sleestak.” He shuddered, and only part of the movement was mocking. “I still get nightmares. But anyway, what I’m saying is you never stood over her grave, never buried her. She died a long time ago. But if we do the metaphor thing, we could say how you’re trying to open her grave—but by missing something, not finding something, whatever, you’re burying her.”

“So, it’s all in my mind.”

“Maybe she’s planting it there. I don’t know, Mama.”

She considered a moment. “Mitch has a theory. We were discussing it before I keeled over.”

She told him, sliding her arm around his waist as she did. Together, they stopped at the edge of the woods, studying the house.

“Doesn’t seem so far-fetched, all things considered,” Harper said. “It always seemed like she was one of us.”

“Seems to me it only opens up another box of questions, and doesn’t really get us any closer to finding out who she was. But I know one thing. I want those diaries more than ever. If Jane doesn’t come through, I’m going to take on Clarise.”

“Want me to play ref?”

“I might just. If Amelia is part of the family, she deserves her due. That said, I don’t feel the same about Clarise. She’s always wanted more than her due, in my opinion. I don’t know what it makes me to feel more sympathy for a dead woman, who may or may not be some blood kin, than I do for a live one who unquestionably is blood kin.”

“She smacked me once.”

Instantly Roz stiffened. “She did what?”

“Gave me a good swat one day, when she was visiting, and she caught me climbing on the kitchen counter going after the cookie jar. I was about six, I think. Gave me a swat, pulled me off and told me I was a greedy, disrespectful little brat.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? She had no right to touch you. I’d’ve skinned her for it.”

“Then skinned me,” he pointed out. “As you’d told me never to climb on the counter, and not to take any cookies without asking first. So I took my lumps and slunk off.”

“Anybody was going to give you lumps it was going to be me. Nobody lays hands on my children, and in my court there is no statute of limitations on the crime. That bitch.”

“There now.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t you feel better?”

“I believe I’ll make her very sorry before I’m done.” She walked with him toward the house. “You knew better than to put your hand in that cookie jar, Harper Jonathan Ashby.”

“Yes’m.”

She gave him a light elbow jab. “And don’t you smirk at me.”

“I wasn’t, I was just thinking there are probably cookies in it now.”

“I imagine so.”

“Cookies and milk sound pretty good.”

“I guess they do. Let’s go harass David until we get some. But we have to do it now. I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

ROZ KNEW THEstyles and colors that not only flattered her, but suited her. She’d chosen the vintage Dior for its clean, flowing lines, and its pretty spun-gold color. The straight bodice, thin straps and rear drape left her back and shoulders bare.

But that back and those arms and shoulders were toned. She saw to it. So she saw no reason not to show them off. She wore her grandmother’s diamonds—the drop earrings and tiered necklace that had come to her.

And knowing she’d regret it, slipped on the high, thin-heeled sandals that showcased the toenails she’d painted the same delicate gold as the dress.

She turned, to check the rear view in the mirror, and called out an absent “come in” at the knock on her door.

“Roz, I just wanted to . . .” Stella stopped dead. “Holy Mother Mary. You look spectacular.”

With a nod in the mirror, Roz turned again. “I really do. Sometimes you just want to knock them on their asses, know what I mean? I got an urge to do that tonight.”

“Just—just stay there.” She rushed out again, and Roz heard her calling for Hayley.

Amused, she picked up her purse—what had possessed her to pay so much for such a silly little thing—and began to slip what she considered necessary for the evening out inside it.

“You’ve got to get a load of this,” Stella was saying, then pulled Hayley into the room.

Hayley blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got to do a spin. Give us a little twirl.”

Willing to oblige, Roz turned a circle, and Hayley crossed her arms over her chest and bowed her head.

“We are not worthy. Are those real diamonds? I know it’s tacky to ask, but I can’t help it. They’re so . . . sparkly.”

“They were my grandmother’s, and particularly special to me. Which reminds me. I have something I thought you might like to wear for your wedding, Stella. It would cover the bases of something old, borrowed, and blue.”

She’d already taken the box out of her safe, and now handed it to Stella.

“Oh, God.”

“John gave them to me for my twenty-first birthday.” She smiled down at the sapphire earrings. “I thought they might suit the dress you’d picked out, but if they don’t I won’t be offended.”

“There’s nothing they wouldn’t suit.” Gently Stella lifted one of the heart-shaped sapphire drops from the box. “They’re exquisite, and more, I’m so . . .”

She broke off, waving a hand in front of her face as she sat on the side of the bed. “Sorry. I’m just so . . . that you’d lend them to me.”

“If I had a sister, I’d like to think she’d enjoy wearing something of mine on her wedding day.”

“I’m so touched, so honored. So . . . I’m going to have to sit here and cry for a couple minutes.”

“That’s all right, you go ahead.”

“You know, the something old in that tradition’s a symbol of the bride’s link to her family.” Hayley sniffed.

Roz patted her cheek. “Trust you to know. Y’all can sit here and have a nice cry together.”

“What? Where are you going?” Hayley demanded.

“Downstairs. Mitch should be here shortly.”

“But you can’t.” Biting her lip, and obviously torn between sitting with Stella or preventing a catastrophe, she waved her arms like a woman trying to stop a train. “You have to wait till he gets here, then you have to glide down the steps. That staircase is made for a woman to glide down. You’ve gotta make an entrance.”