She would go along with them for now, wearing the ugly diamond, pretending to be who they wanted her to be.
But she would make them pay.
37
Tuesday, July 6; 3:00 p.m.
When Sam and Lincoln arrived at Enchanted Petals, there was a sign on the gate sayingClosed Today. It seemed strange to Sam that a garden center would be closed on a July day. Possibly even stranger was what Lincoln said to Sam when he apologized for it.
“I feel shitty, lying to you,” he said. “I know this place very well. I just felt really weird because of the whole 1740 fantasy place Yellow Pages ad—I don’t want you to think it’s connected at all. I have no idea how my relatives wound up with their phone number.”
“Relatives?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Like I said, our family owns the property.”
He got out of the car and opened the gate. Sam watched him, feeling odd about the coincidence. They drove into the driveway, through a meadow, up to a white Victorian house with ornate gingerbread trim. The side door bore the signEnchanted Petals—Sam could see that it was the flower shop. Behind the house were a red barn, the greenhouse, and vast flower beds.
“Where’s the trail?” Sam asked. “That you told me you hiked on?”
“It’s on that rise,” he said, pointing to a hill at the edge of a pine forest beyond the barn.
“But you didn’t have to actually hike it, to know that this place was here,” Sam said. “I mean, you made it sound as if you spotted it fromfar away and made a haphazard discovery. That’s different from saying you’re related to the owners.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m really sorry for leaving that part out.”
“Why did you, then?” Sam asked.
Lincoln exhaled. “Honestly, when you called the number and told me it rang at Enchanted Petals, I was blown away,” he said. “Part of me wanted to talk you out of coming, because I feel so embarrassed—confused, actually—about my family winding up with that 1740 fantasies phone number. But I’m glad we came, so you can see how innocent this place is. It’s really beautiful—do you want a tour?”
“Sure,” she said, hiding how rattled she still felt.
“Let’s start inside,” he said. “There’s an amazing library of nature books, especially about horticulture. My dad owned property in Grasse, France, where they grow flowers to make perfume. He’d like to do that here, but the growing season is different. Rhode Island is colder than Provence.”
Sam thought about Crispin Adams, how she knew him only as a collector who bought paintings from Kate’s gallery.
“Guess your dad has a lot of interests,” Sam said. “Art, flowers, perfume ...”
“They intersect, if you think about it. My dad likes beauty,” Lincoln said.
He turned the front doorknob, but it was locked, so he walked a few steps and tried the shop door without success.
“Usually someone’s here, even when the shop is closed. I don’t know what’s going on. Let me make a call, I’ll get us in,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “Let’s just look at the grounds.” Her instincts told her that she’d been right to want to check this place out—that it still had a connection to 1740—but she didn’t like the fact that Lincoln had lied about his family owning it.
Lincoln ignored what she said and dialed a number on his phone.
Sam walked away from him, toward a walled rose garden. She heard him making a call, asking someone why the garden center wasclosed, then asking if there was a hidden key. He must not have gotten the answer he wanted because she heard him swear and then make another call.
The lawn was manicured, the hedges were trimmed, and the rose garden was well tended. The roses were in full bloom, some shades of pink and red, but mostly white and pale-cream flowers—like the ones that had been left on Dr. Tyler’s grave.
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Lincoln said, walking over to her.
“What?”
“I kept the big secret, that I’m related to the owners, and then I tell you all about it, and I couldn’t even get us into the building,” he said.
“That’s really okay,” she said, feeling nervous about being there at all.
