A stand of trees seemed to act as a property line on the other side of the house, and I continued through what looked to be a cutting garden. Dahlias, roses, and peonies opened their lush petals to the sun while other flowers — some of which I couldn’t name — bobbed in the breeze.
The air was fragrant, laced not only with not only rose but jasmine and honeysuckle and other floral notes I couldn’t place, plus something earthy that I thought might be eucalyptus. Here I could almost believe that I’d imagined the sensation of being watched, could almost convince myself that the property’s isolation had made me paranoid.
Past the cutting garden was another garden, and this one looked to be for food. Perfectly positioned beyond the terrace, the ground was punctuated with small green plants just beginning to rise from the rich soil.
I paused on my way through the kitchen garden to press the toe of my sandal into the soil. It sank easily and I bent to pick up a clump of earth with my hands. It was damp, like the dirt in the flower beds around the gazebo, but not wet enough to be called mud.
Hmmm…
I rose to my feet, then stumbled backwards when I noticed a figure dressed in black emerging from between two huge lilacs bordering the cutting garden.
Adrenaline flooded my body in the moment before the figure took another step forward and I realized it was Dane.
“Oh my gravy…” I gasped. “Will youpleasestop doing that?”
“Doing what?” Dane’s eyes were hooded, his expression flat.
“Sneaking up on me!” I narrowed my eyes. “Wait a minute… How long have you been standing there?”
Had he been the one watching me in the orchard?
“Who says I was standing there?”
I folded my arms over my chest, feeling suddenly naked in my shorts and low-cut, coffee-stained shirt. “Were you?”
“I live here.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Jesus, he was annoying.
He stalked toward me, like an animal advancing on its prey.
Taking a step back was instinctive.
He stopped a few inches away, close enough that I caught a panty-melting whiff of his cologne or body wash, something musky and masculine mixed with the subtle tang of man-sweat. “You know what I realized?”
“What?” Why was my voice hoarse?
“We have no idea where you were before we found you in the gazebo.”
I frowned. “I was here, looking for you so I could get the key to the house.”
“Right.” His eyes were like slabs of flat gray granite. “You were on the property. Where Harold was killed.”
I leaned back in shock. “You don’t thinkIkilled him?”
He stared me down. “I’m just asking questions.”
“I can ask questions too,” I said. “Where wereyou— you and Beck and Noah — before you found me in the gazebo?”
“We were here, on the property, like you.”
Now we were staring each other down, and for one crazy moment, I wanted to step toward him, rise on my toes to kiss him, see what would happen.
“Why would I kill Harold Pembroke?” I asked, trying to clear my head of the intrusive thought, the dangerous desire coursing through my veins. I’d already kissed two of my roommates. Adding another notch on the belt of my employer-employee relationships seemed like a bad idea. Especially with someone like Dane. “I didn’t even know him.”
“You want to sell this place right?”
“‘Want’ isn’t the word I’d use,” I said. “I don’t really have a choice.”