Poison Flowers (6 page)

“Yes, thank you. I’m looking for Dorcas Wood.” Marya approached the desk.

The woman raised up to look at her with cautious slowness. She lifted eyes of a clear cornflower blue. They were familiar eyes. Marya realized that she was the woman from the beach, the one who had rescued her that first night in town. These eyes were serene but wary as they studied her, recognized her.

Marya studied her right back and realized again what a striking woman she was. And how muscular. She dominated the lobby completely. There was a type of energy emanating from her, a kind of low hum that Marya sensed more than heard.

Unnerved by the energy as well as the calm gaze, Marya tried to focus on the woman’s appearance and found it very hard to do. She noticed that the short cap of hair was snow white, with just a wisp of darker color around the temples. Her skin bore healthy color, the ruddy tan of much time spent outdoors, and this contrast was further enhanced by those piercing blue eyes.

The woman was dressed in a master’s uniform, black trousers and tunic, speckled with various patches of achievement and rank. Marya knew then that she was looking at Dorcas Wood.

“Miss Wood,” she stammered, her throat inexplicably dry. “My name is Marya Brock. I’d like to study with you.”

Master Wood’s gaze wavered a bit but remained cautious. “Have you studied before?”

“Yes, four years under Master Hayes in Seattle, Washington.”

Master Wood nodded. Oddly enough, she seemed to be studying Marya’s shoes.

“Rank?”

“First black.”

She turned to the desk and opened a drawer. “Which means
Kebong
?
Il jang
?
E jang
?
Sam jong
?
Sim jong
?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Marya sighed, glad the forms and stylized dances of this school were the same as her old school. “All of those and currently
O jong
. Also the fighting forms,
sabong chucks
.”

She nodded, her mouth twitching in what Marya took to mean approval, and pulled a form from the drawer. “Anything else?”

“I’m trained in
hapkido
.”

Master Wood turned her full attention on Marya, her eyes cutting through her like a knife. “Ah, the grappling art.”

She paused a long beat. “Tell me. How does it make you feel to know that you can disable a person in seconds with this skill?”

Marya chafed under the question, remembering all the hard work it took to learn the subtleties of movement
hapkido
required. Yes, it was a very dangerous art, but she owed the master no apologies. “I feel grateful I can protect myself should the need arise,” she said finally.

Master Wood was watching her again and silence stretched taut between them. Marya waited her out. Eventually, the master handed her the form. “Everything you need to know about fees and rules is here. Please fill out the bottom part and bring it with you when you come to class.”

Marya took the form.

“Now, tell me why you are really here,” she said abruptly.

Marya quaked inside, then realized the master must have seen the notebook clutched in her hand. “I…I’m to interview you.”

“Interview me?” Her smile was brittle, her voice sarcastic.

“Yes, for the newspaper,
The Schuyler Times
. About your life…”

‘‘My life…” She shook her head from side to side with eyes closed, then looked at Marya. “What do you know about my life?”

“Nothing. That’s why…” She shrugged, feeling suddenly helpless.

“So you thought you’d trot on down here and open up old Dorry like a can of peaches. Then invite the whole county in to have a look inside, see what makes Dorry tick. Is that right?” Master Wood waited for an answer, her glare belligerent.

Anger swelled inside Marya. “Now, look here. I was just given the assignment…”

“No, miss, you look here.” Fury darkened the master’s gaze and abrupt fear surrounded Marya’s own anger. “I’m sorely tired of you reporters sniffing around after me like dogs after a bitch in heat. People who know me know I like to be left alone. It’s just you new, pasty-faced, snot-nosed little reporters who are stupid enough to take the bait—to come down here and pull my chain. Now, don’t you feel stupid? I’m sure old Ed Bush is down there just laughing his fool head off at you.”

Her sarcastic tone bludgeoned Marya, knocking off pieces of confidence as surely as any real weapon. Marya’s face flushed and equal parts of anger and hurt raged within her. Then that Irish temper took over and once again words spewed from her before she could think about them.

“What is your problem, anyway? Is your life so precious that you have to keep it under lock and key? I don’t deserve this kind of crap from you. I’m just trying to do my job. Some of us don’t have fancy businesses of our own and actually have to do what others tell them to, you know.”

She took a deep breath and raged on. “Besides, if I were a hard-core investigative reporter, you’d be shaking in your shoes right about now ’cause I wouldn’t give up. I’d be like a hyena tracking a gazelle going after your butt, until I learned everything there was to learn about you with or without your help. How would you like that? Huh? Are there any skeletons in your closet, Miss Wood?”

Marya angrily flipped open the lid of her notebook and poised her pen above the page. “You want to talk now? No? You’d rather I did the work for you? I’ve been wanting to do a little investigative journalism anyway.”

They glared at one another as Marya tried to get her breathing under control. As Marya watched Master Wood, her eyes and face feeling hard as flint, she saw Master Wood’s gaze change. It softened in a subtle way; maybe there was sadness there. But if it was sadness, there was a steel edge to it, as her gaze remained locked with Marya’s. Abruptly, without changing her demeanor in the slightest, she turned and strode through the side door, leaving Marya standing alone in the lobby.

Mama found the Silvestres’ cat right off. I should have known.

She was standing on the porch when I drove up, her white dress blinding bright in the high beams of my headlights. The dead cat, mauled and partially skinned, dangled from one hand.

I closed the car door quietly and approached her. I tilted my head down, hoping she could sense how sorry I was. Only I knew it was not for the cat, of course, but because she’d found it.

“Well,” she began, eying me harshly in the twilight dimness. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

I scrubbed my palms along the front of my T-shirt, in my imagination again feeling the cat’s warm blood there on my stomach.

“It pestered me, Mama. Every night when the windows were open it would come crawl in bed with me, bringing its fleas and God-all knows what else. The other night I just couldn’t do it anymore.” I hung my head again.

“And it’s just too damn hot to shut the window, is that it?” she asked, swinging the cat slowly to and fro.

I was hopeful for a brief moment but realized she was just setting me up. No way was I going to get away with this one.

“No, Mama, I shoulda shut it.”

Silence fell between us for a long beat. I glanced up to see a deeply thoughtful look on her face.

“What’re you thinking, Mama?” I asked, keeping my voice low and soft.

She was suddenly all business. “Don’t you worry none about that, child.” She held the cat toward me.

“You need to do something about this, though, and don’t put it back in the root cellar. Don’t you know it’ll start stinkin’ to high heaven, you leave it there? Use some sense, now, pay attention.”

“Yes, Mama,” I replied, taking the cat from her. I waited for the slap that never came and a small smile nibbled its way across my lips. I carried the cat away, off toward the woods.

Dorry had had just about enough. The constant calls and messages were too much. Izzie never said much in the messages she left in her voice mail box, just a simple “Call me, please. It’s important.” That somehow made it worse. If it had been something easy or even a heartfelt “I miss you, Dorry,” it would have been okay. This, this had to be something else.

Dorry rose and closed the door to her office, effectively shutting out the slams and chi calls of her belts and students. She was calling from her office because she knew there was a chance she would be interrupted and she wanted that fail-safe so the call would be a short one.

As she waited for Izzie to pick up, Dorry hated the fact that her heart was racing and that her mind had immediately gone back to what they’d once had. Once.

And then Isabel was on the line.

“It’s me,” Dorry said quietly.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so glad you finally returned my call,” Isabel said, her words clipped and fast, subtly accented by a French pace.

“You called enough. What did you need?” Dorry asked belligerently. She didn’t want to let Izzie know how much hearing her voice still affected her.

“I can’t talk now. The mah jong girls are here. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming in next week and we need to meet.”

Dorry sighed. “About what, Izzie? You know coming here is not a good idea. And we definitely shouldn’t be seen together.”

“I know,” she said in a hurried whisper. Dorry could hear women laughing in the background. “But this is important. There’s been a threat.”

Dorry sat straighter in her chair. “Toward me? Is it…him?”

“Yes…I’m not sure. I’ll call you when I get into South Carolina.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll talk to you then.”

“Dorry?”

“Yes?”

“Please be careful. I do still love you, you know.”

Dorry closed her eyes and her voice was a whisper when she replied. “I know.”

The line went dead, and Dorry suffered a conflict of emotions. A part of her wanted to be elated by Isabel’s last words, yet she knew that way led to madness. Their love simply could not be. Would never be again.

She severed the phone connection on her end and placed her phone on the desk.

A threat. That’s all she needed. Things had gotten bad after Little Bit died, but that had been years ago. Her stalker had finally faded away when she pressed charges. Now, it appeared that all of it was coming back to bite her on the ass in one way or another. Add to that the nosy reporter who’d been sniffing around and Dorry had way more than she wanted to deal with.

Her thoughts drifted to the reporter. She had been brave that afternoon on the beach. Dorry had seen her square off, go into horse stance, as she had been trained, ready for battle. That was impressive. Seeing her close up afterward had given Dorry pause. She seemed so young, but her eyes had been wise and that hug…well, Dorry had yet to forget that hug.

What about her threats today? Would she really dredge up all that old dirt? Dorry shuddered. Wouldn’t that just be peachy? There was nothing she could do about it now; things were in motion that she had no control over. Wearily, she rose and moved toward the door. Things would unfold as they would.

She paused after opening the door as a new thought occurred to her. She would see Isabel next week. She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

Denton had taken the day off to have his yearly physical, and Marya was proofing the classifieds for him. The simple, straightforward advertisement caught her eye immediately. “Cottage for rent,” it read and then listed the number of a local realty firm. She reached for the telephone.

“Coastal Realty,” said a piping female voice on the second ring.

“I’m interested in the advertisement in the
Schuyler Times
. About the cottage for rent,” Marya said.

“Oh, that’s probably Henry Giles’s listing. I’ll get him for you if you don’t mind holding.”

She told the receptionist that she didn’t mind and was treated to an immediate flood of lilting, low-decibel music. She hummed along with Barry Manilow for half a song before he was switched off abruptly.

“Henry Giles,” stated a young, but self-assured male voice. “How can I help you?”

Marya told him her name and asked about the cottage.

“Oh yes, that’s a nice place. Kind of small, though. Do you have children?”

“No, I plan to live alone,” she answered.

“Then it will be perfect, I’m sure. I just thought, in all fairness, I’d let you know that up front.”

“Oh, I appreciate that. So tell me more about the cottage.’’

“Let’s see.”

She heard the distant rustle of paper.

“It’s one bedroom, living room, a large kitchen and a fully furnished bath. It’s got this big wraparound porch and its location is prime, right on the water of Begaman Cove.”

“And the price?” She tried to hide her mounting excitement. After all, you can’t tell much about a place until you see it and hear how much it’ll cost.

“Low, if you ask me. Just four hundred fifty a month for the entire cottage and use of all the land adjacent to it,” he said with a sigh.

“When can I see it?”

Again the rustle of paper.

“How’s three thirty today sound? I’m free then.”

She agreed with enthusiasm and wrote down detailed directions, thrilled by the possibility of a new home at last. True, she wouldn’t own it, but she was strangely at ease with that idea. If truth be told, she thought she enjoyed her footloose status. Everything she did had an experimental flavor and she was beginning to enjoy the feeling of starting her life anew with different parameters than before.

***

The cottage looked to be more than adequate. Situated about five hundred feet from the serene water of Begaman Cove and framed by a copse of scrub pines and cedar brush, the small wood bungalow glimmered, the glass of many large windows reflecting the early afternoon sunlight. Weathered wooden shingles covered the slanted roof, and the outer walls were constructed of large planks nailed together in an intricate pattern of descending angles. The extensive deck, just as modern as the rest of the structure, had been stained a dark mahogany, which added to the overall nouveau-rustic appearance. Marya decided it was very attractive.