The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [46]
She pulled a penknife from her pocket and glanced back at Simon, saying, “This stuff is pretty pungent, if you’re not used to it.”
“I can take a hint.” Simon stepped back good-naturedly. “Good luck with your garden. It’s going to be beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She straightened up, both hands on her hips, as if studying him. “Come back and see it when it’s done.”
“Will I get a private tour?”
“Maybe. If you play your cards right.” There was just a hint of tease in her voice.
“Then I just may have to do that.” Simon paused at the gate, reluctant to leave but knowing that he was overstaying his welcome. She had work to do, and he had work of a different sort to tend to. It was best that he get on with it.
“I’ll see you around, then.” She touched the brim of her baseball cap, flashed that smile again, then turned her attention to the business at hand.
“Count on it,” Simon said under his breath, stealing one more backward glance at the woman before heading into the building and the business at hand.
Simon stepped into the cool of the library and wandered the main floor. Stacks of books reached almost to the ceiling, and he scanned the fiction shelves. All the familiar books were there and some he’d read long ago and all but forgotten. Life had held little time for fiction lately, he noted with some regret. These days, his reading consisted more of nonfiction in general and research material in particular. He picked up a copy of Steinbeck’s The Red Pony, recalling the images the book had inspired when first he’d read it, so many years before.
“Did you want to take that out?” a heavyset woman with short dark hair stopped to ask.
“Ah, no, actually, I was looking for Jude McDermott.”
“Oh, she’s not here. Is there something I could help you with?”
“Actually, I was hoping to speak with her. I was under the impression she was working today.” Peeved, Simon looked around the large room, as if he’d recognize the object of his search.
“Ms. McDermott was here this morning, but she left for a meeting around eleven.”
“Will she be in tomorrow?”
“I think tomorrow she goes to Baltimore for a conference. She’ll be back on Friday, though. Would you care to leave a message for her at the desk?”
“No, I think I’ll just catch up with her at home. Thanks.” Simon returned the book to the shelf and paused to look out the window onto the garden. The pretty young landscaper was nowhere in sight.
Simon left by the front door in time to see the lithe figure disappear into the cab of a dark green pickup truck with GARDEN GATES painted on the door. Mentally tucking away the name of the company for possible future reference, Simon watched her drive away, kicking himself for not having asked her name.
On Saturday morning, Simon followed the same road back to Henderson and parked his car in the same spot across from the McDermott house. The green station wagon was in the same place it had been in earlier in the week.
He walked across the street and started up the path.
“You here to see Jude again?” the old woman next door called from her front steps.
“I haven’t caught up with her yet.” Simon called back as if to an old friend.
“Well, you won’t find her here now, either.” The woman took the steps gingerly. “She’s down at the cancer garden.”
“The garden by the library?”
“Right. The one they made for that artist who died last year. You know the one I mean. Did all those pictures of naked ladies on the beach. You know who I mean,” the woman insisted. “But you want to hurry, if you’re going to make the dedication. It starts at one.”
“Aren’t you going?” Simon asked, his spirits picking up at the possibility of seeing the pretty dark-haired gardener again.
“Nah. My arthritis is acting up. I’m goin’ back inside. This weather is bad for my hip.” The woman turned and shuffled back to the house with a wave. “I’ll see ya later.”
“See ya!” Simon called