Chapter Sown
SOWN
Harper
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LIKE PEANUTS.”
“Cookie.”
“How did you get so picky?”
“Nom nom. Good enough for me.”
“Clearly, they are not.” I toss the peanuts on the ground, rolling my eyes as I slip a hand into the front pocket of my overalls to withdraw a piece of jerky for Morpheus as he judges me from the peak of his bird feeder.
“I know you’re going to eat those peanuts as soon as my back is turned, you feathery little con artist.”
I lay the jerky on the platform, along with a few more peanuts, which I scatter across the feeder and the lawn.
My hope is it will keep him occupied while the final round of judging takes place for the annual gardening competition.
Normally, Morpheus stays away from groups of people he doesn’t know or trust. But I still wouldn’t put it past him to show up with a song and dance about murder while Mayor Patel makes her final decision on this year’s winner.
I leave the bird to his treats and head out the back gate, my phone buzzing in my hand with a message from Nolan as I make my way toward the main garden.
Break a leg today! Preferably someone else’s.
How about Sarah Winkle’s?
Sure. Maybe Daryl’s too. Gotta make sure you have enough legs.
A faint smile crosses my lips, but it’s quickly erased by a pang of nerves as I see Arthur descending from the low steps that lead to the entrance of the manor house.
In the last two days since the dance, Nolan has been knee-deep in the official windup of the search, while Arthur and I have worked our asses off on the garden.
I’ve known for a while that it might be the last time we enter this competition together, and I wanted to make it extra special for him.
But now, seeing him dressed to the nines, it feels that much more real.
He’s wearing one of his immaculate three-piece suits, tweed this time, and a pair of polished shoes that I’m willing to bet are Stefano Riccis.
“You’re looking very dapper today,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice as I meet him at the top of the garden near the house. “You’re going for the aristocratic gardener look today, I see. ‘I might handle manure, but I do it in style.’”
“Indeed,” he says, adjusting his tie. “It’s the tenth annual competition.
I need to celebrate appropriately.” At first I think he might comment on my overalls and dirty work boots, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he hands me a small bag held closed with a little black bow.
“I know today isn’t the kind of day one celebrates,” he says, his gaze lowering to the gift in my hand.
“But I wanted you to have something for yourself.”
I swallow, my eyes stinging. He remembered.
August twenty-fifth. Today is the anniversary of the day I escaped Harvey Mead’s house. The day that Adam died.
I unravel the bow from the bag and pull the contents free.
It’s a pair of bespoke gardening gloves, in rich purple leather, bright green piping tracing the stitches along the fingers and the edge of the hand.
There are monogrammed fasteners at the wrist, my initials engraved in the gold.
And resting in one of the gloves is a small card in Arthur’s handwriting:
One day of your life need not define you. Your future is what you grow from its ash.
“Thank you, Arthur,” I say, holding my gift to my heart. “That means a lot.”
“Well . . . ” He stabs his cane into the lawn and shuffles his feet. Clears his throat. “You’re welcome. Don’t lose them.”
A smile lifts the corners of my lips. “I won’t.”
“Did Lukas send you a message?”
“For what?”
Arthur’s resting bitch face turns a little more bitchy. “For today, Harper.”
“Umm, no. He didn’t. Was he supposed to?”
“Yes. You’re family.” Arthur grumbles something unintelligible and turns toward the garden, beckoning me to follow. “Send him a text for me, would you?”
A tiny burst of devious glee floods my veins as I stuff my gift into the front pocket of my overalls. I pull out my phone and start a new message to Lukas.
Get ready, dickhead. The judgy bus is about to run you over.
“What would you like it to say?” I ask as I trail after Arthur. My phone buzzes in my hand, but I don’t look down, letting Lukas sweat it out for a minute.
“Tell him the septic alarm has started going off again. I need him to fix it.”
My grin is electric as I open up my chat with Lukas.
What the fuck . . . ? What for?!
Oh my god. The reminder literally just came up on my phone. Oh shit, I’m sorry, Harper!
You’re a shit pseudo brother. Literally. You’re on septic alarm duty.
Fuuuuuck. Deserved. But fuck.
I hate you. But I still love you. And I’m so happy you’re here.
My smile that was once devious turns a little brighter.
“Harper,” Arthur barks. When I look up from my device, he’s standing on one of the decorative granite boulders that frames the garden, surveying the landscape with what looks like a small telescope. “They’re at the Winkles’ house.”
“Get down from there, what the hell?” I say, hopping up next to him and taking hold of his elbow. “Is that a spyglass?”
“Yes. It’s practical and stylish.”
“Hand it over.”
I pull the spyglass from Arthur’s hand and bring it to my eye, scanning the town below us.
I spot the Winkles’ property a few blocks away where the road sweeps in a curve toward downtown.
There’s a small crowd standing at the edge of their garden.
I can make out the towering physique of Sheriff Yates and Maxine next to him, her long red hair trailing down her back like a lick of flame.
Mayor Patel trails through the garden, examining some of the blooms that Sarah Winkle points out as a few of the other town council members flank her.
“We’d better get to the gate,” I say, passing the antiquated device back to Arthur and tugging on his elbow. “Come on, let’s get down from here.”
He gives the landscape a final pass. “When did you get so bossy, Poppy?”
I jolt as though struck. “I . . . ” My voice trails away on the wind.
But Arthur doesn’t notice, he just keeps his eye on the town.
It’s not the first time he’s confused me for Poppy, of course.
I know it won’t be the last. But the lapse still strikes my heart with the power of an arrow.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be late to greet the mayor.
” I step down from the stone, offering Arthur my hand, forcing a smile as though the air wasn’t just punched from my lungs. “Shall we?”
“Yes, yes,” he grumbles, and collapses the spyglass to slide it into the inside pocket of his jacket. A momentary flash of confusion passes across his weathered features before he takes my hand. “We need to crush that miserable swamp banshee.”
“‘Swamp banshee’? That’s a new one. I like it.” I loop Arthur’s arm through mine, and we make our way to the spotless driveway and the open gate in the stone wall. “Where did you come up with it?”
Arthur gives me a derisive snort. “It’s called imagination, Harper.”
We wait in front of the Lancaster estate in silence for the judges to arrive.
The manor always feels untouched by the rest of the town, observing Cape Carnage in secret.
We just get whispers of the town we overlook.
The distant sound of a dog barking with the precision of a percussive beat.
The hiss of air brakes from the heavy trucks that bring machinery to the Ballantyne River for construction of the new hotel.
And eventually, the sound of three vehicles approaching, then rolling to a stop next to the gate.
A torrent of nerves swirls in my stomach as Arthur adjusts his tie and practices his best, most unthreatening smile while the judging team exits the vehicles.
The first to join us are Mayor Patel and two other members of the town council, then the president and treasurer of the gardening club.
Finally, Sheriff Yates and Maxine draw to a halt behind the mayor.
“Welcome, Mayor Patel,” Arthur says, shuffling closer with a hand extended. “Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure.” She shakes his offered hand. “And please, call me Jaya. We’ve known each other long enough that we should be on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”
Arthur gives a happy grumble, straightening his jacket before he welcomes the rest of the judging committee and then returns to the mayor to offer her an arm.
I try not to grin too widely at his little burst of charm.
“Please allow me to escort you through the Lancaster estate garden, Jaya. I believe you’ll agree, this is our most impressive season yet. ”
I trail after them, allowing the council and gardening club representatives to pass ahead of me before I fall in line with Maxine and Sheriff Yates.
“It’s great to see you again,” I say to Max, receiving a genuine smile in reply, though I detect a hint of nerves beneath it.
“Likewise. I’ve wanted to reach out and see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime, but the hotel project has really been a handful.” She darts a sheepish smile in my direction, a blush rising on her cheeks. “I feel like all I’ve been doing is working.”
“I agree,” Yates says, laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You should take a break. Maybe spend some time with Harper here.”
“Yeah, I should have more free time now that the competition will be over,” I say, gesturing toward the elaborate garden that stretches before us. “Next week would be good if you have time for coffee at the Bean.”
The tension in Max’s smile seems to ease a little. “That’d be great.”
“And we still need to find a date for that barbecue, Harper,” Yates says. “Maybe next weekend? Looks like we’ll have a few nasty days with tomorrow’s big storm rolling in, but Saturday’s supposed to be pretty good for weather. We should make the best of it while we can.”
I’d hoped the sheriff had forgotten about that, especially now that we’re making our own plans, but clearly not. “Yeah. I’m free.”