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“Do you have more treatment to come?” he asked.

“I will have radiation, but after that I do not know,” said Miss Pearce. “You can understand, therefore, why I have begun to make sure all my affairs are in order. When I saw Miss Johnson’s erroneous obituary of Guy in the Herald Times that mentioned only one Mrs. Whitley—Elizabeth Barnes—I realized that wouldn’t just entail drawing up my will. I wished to ensure that the most important person in my life knew its most important story.”

“That is why you hired me to write your biography,” said Theresa.

“I thought there was a delicious irony in the idea of you writing first Guy’s obituary and then my biography. The difference in scale alone would have been quite the blow to his ego,” said Miss Pearce.

“You said you wrote it for the most important person in your life,” said Matt. “Who is that?”

Both women looked at him and then exchanged an amused expression.

“Why, it’s you, you ridiculous man,” said Miss Pearce. “Once Miss Johnson was finished, I intended to have the manuscript placed with my will. It would have gone a long way to explaining things, but I suppose now you know enough that it would be silly not to tell you that I intend to leave everything to you, Matthew.”

He looked dumbfounded. “To me?”

“The house and its contents, the nursery and all its stock, and the various investments and other assets I have acquired over the years. After I left Guy, I no longer wanted to trust anyone with my financial future. I have, it turns out, quite the head for business,” said Miss Pearce.

“But why do you want to leave all of that to me?” asked Matt.

“I never had children of my own, and my cousin Margot’s grandchildren have few wants. I doubt they would see a house and business in Altadena as anything but a burden given that they live in England. You have loved Rosewood Nursery as I have since you were a teenager, Matthew, and at this point you are gardening more at Rosewood House than I am.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Matt.

Miss Pearce waved a hand, dismissing his concerns. “There is nothing to say.”

However, when Matt slid over on the porch swing to hug Miss Pearce, Theresa could see the woman’s expression soften again. Miss Pearce put her arms around him and held him close.

“You have been as dear to me as any grandson could have been,” murmured Miss Pearce.

“Thank you,” said Matt.

They sat like that for a moment, with Theresa looking on, until Matt pulled back with a grin. “Does that mean I can finally stop calling you Miss Pearce?”

Miss Pearce threw her head back and gave an unladylike laugh that rang with pure joy.

chapter sixty-five THERESA

Theresa spent the rest of the day at Rosewood House, reporting from around the neighborhood as firefighters began to win the battle to contain and put out the blaze in the mountains. She caught glimpses of Matt and Miss Pearce as they continued to work, but this time when she passed by she could hear snatches of stories. Miss Pearce was beginning to tell Matt the story of her life in Pasadena.

Good, she thought. That was just as it should be.

When Theresa called in to the newsroom around six o’clock in the evening, she was surprised to be put through to Phil directly.

“Johnson, we’re getting reports the fire’s contained and nearly out,” said her editor.

She felt her shoulders drop with relief. Rosewood House would be spared.

“You’ve done good work. Go home. I’ll see you back in the newsroom Wednesday,” he said.

Theresa hung up and gathered up her notepad and handbag from the sitting room side table where she’d pulled up a chair to work.

She found Miss Pearce sitting on the porch swing again, looking exhausted.

“Are you all right, Miss Pearce?” she asked, worried at the woman’s pale face.

“I’m not about to drop dead right now, Miss Johnson, if that is what you mean,” chided Miss Pearce, resting her head against the slatted back of the swing. “Matthew has pointed out that it is preposterous to expect you to continue calling me Miss Pearce after all that we’ve been through. You may call me Adele.”

“And you may call me Theresa,” she said with a smile at the older woman’s begrudging admission that formality might no longer be required.