Read Online Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie by Marianne Stillings - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marianne Stillings
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there. When a fly wanders in—”
“Never mind. I know what happens next. Tell me about the flowers.”
“Sure. In the past hundred years,” she explained, “flowers and trees have been collected from all over the world. The waterfall is made up of island rock—”
“And here I took it for granite.”
She stopped and stared at him, fighting a grin, if the dimples in her cheeks were any sign.
“There are children in my class,” she said, “who have an infinitely more sophisticated sense of humor than you, Detective.”
He shrugged and smiled down into her eyes. “Damn kids these days. I’ll bet they don’t even know any good elephant jokes. Why, when I was a kid—”
“And when was that, last week sometime?”
“Don’t let these boyish good looks fool you.”
Pursing her lips, she gave him the once-over. “Not a problem.” She turned to the rocks in question and said, “The waterfall is three stories high and takes up the entire west side of the atrium. It was designed to look like a cataract Thomas sketched years ago while on safari.”
“It’s like a jungle in here,” Max said, lifting his gaze to a coconut palm that nearly touched the skylights. “Very ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ kind of thing.”
She slid him a glance. “Sorry. No Tarzan, no Jane, no Cheetah.”
He shrugged. “And cheetah’s nevah prospah?”
“Just because you’re funny doesn’t mean I will ever like you,” she said evenly. “Thomas had some pretty disparaging things to say about you, Detective.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” He stopped and tried to catch her gaze, but she avoided him. “So why’d he invite me to join the treasure hunt?”
“Believe me,” she said, “I’ve been wondering that myself. After the things he said concerning your mother and how—”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
She looked shocked. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I only meant, well, he adored her. She died just before I came here, but Thomas has kept her portrait hanging above the fireplace in his room all these years. She was very beautiful, Max. You … you look like her. ”
Max tightened his jaw. There was no way in hell he would be drawn in to a conversation about his mother, Thomas Heyworth’s one and only wife. He’d been against the marriage and had told his mother so. He’d even gone so far as to boycott the ceremony, but she married the son of a bitch anyway, and within months was dead. He had never even had a chance to say good-bye. In the sixteen years since, his hatred of Heyworth had only increased.
Turning away from Max, Evie continued on up the path. “The at rium’s my favorite place at May hem Manor,” she said lightly, obviously changing the subject. “When I first arrived, I felt very unsettled, especially at night. I’d bring the quilt from my bed, and sneak down and sleep in here on the deep grass by the waterfall. The rhythm of the falling water seemed to soothe me. I didn’t feel so lonely then.”
“How old were you when you came here, Evie?” He knew the answer, knew her whole history, but he wanted to keep her talking. He liked her voice, the slight huskiness of it. It was the kind of voice a man liked to hear whispering his name in the dark. His name, and other things.
“Eleven,” she said, and walked away from him to face the waterfall.
Light from the dying sun bounced and glimmered off the ribbons of water slithering and splashing down the rough edges of the rocks. He could see why she had slept here when she’d been afraid. The sound of the water was calming, musical, maybe even healing. He imagined her as a little girl, alone and frightened, and he wished suddenly he’d known her then. He would have stood by her, protected her, been her stalwart defender. There was something about Evie that brought out the knight gallant in him, and even knowing how destructive those feelings were, he hesitated shoving them away.
Just then the glass doors at the far end of the
“Never mind. I know what happens next. Tell me about the flowers.”
“Sure. In the past hundred years,” she explained, “flowers and trees have been collected from all over the world. The waterfall is made up of island rock—”
“And here I took it for granite.”
She stopped and stared at him, fighting a grin, if the dimples in her cheeks were any sign.
“There are children in my class,” she said, “who have an infinitely more sophisticated sense of humor than you, Detective.”
He shrugged and smiled down into her eyes. “Damn kids these days. I’ll bet they don’t even know any good elephant jokes. Why, when I was a kid—”
“And when was that, last week sometime?”
“Don’t let these boyish good looks fool you.”
Pursing her lips, she gave him the once-over. “Not a problem.” She turned to the rocks in question and said, “The waterfall is three stories high and takes up the entire west side of the atrium. It was designed to look like a cataract Thomas sketched years ago while on safari.”
“It’s like a jungle in here,” Max said, lifting his gaze to a coconut palm that nearly touched the skylights. “Very ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ kind of thing.”
She slid him a glance. “Sorry. No Tarzan, no Jane, no Cheetah.”
He shrugged. “And cheetah’s nevah prospah?”
“Just because you’re funny doesn’t mean I will ever like you,” she said evenly. “Thomas had some pretty disparaging things to say about you, Detective.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” He stopped and tried to catch her gaze, but she avoided him. “So why’d he invite me to join the treasure hunt?”
“Believe me,” she said, “I’ve been wondering that myself. After the things he said concerning your mother and how—”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
She looked shocked. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I only meant, well, he adored her. She died just before I came here, but Thomas has kept her portrait hanging above the fireplace in his room all these years. She was very beautiful, Max. You … you look like her. ”
Max tightened his jaw. There was no way in hell he would be drawn in to a conversation about his mother, Thomas Heyworth’s one and only wife. He’d been against the marriage and had told his mother so. He’d even gone so far as to boycott the ceremony, but she married the son of a bitch anyway, and within months was dead. He had never even had a chance to say good-bye. In the sixteen years since, his hatred of Heyworth had only increased.
Turning away from Max, Evie continued on up the path. “The at rium’s my favorite place at May hem Manor,” she said lightly, obviously changing the subject. “When I first arrived, I felt very unsettled, especially at night. I’d bring the quilt from my bed, and sneak down and sleep in here on the deep grass by the waterfall. The rhythm of the falling water seemed to soothe me. I didn’t feel so lonely then.”
“How old were you when you came here, Evie?” He knew the answer, knew her whole history, but he wanted to keep her talking. He liked her voice, the slight huskiness of it. It was the kind of voice a man liked to hear whispering his name in the dark. His name, and other things.
“Eleven,” she said, and walked away from him to face the waterfall.
Light from the dying sun bounced and glimmered off the ribbons of water slithering and splashing down the rough edges of the rocks. He could see why she had slept here when she’d been afraid. The sound of the water was calming, musical, maybe even healing. He imagined her as a little girl, alone and frightened, and he wished suddenly he’d known her then. He would have stood by her, protected her, been her stalwart defender. There was something about Evie that brought out the knight gallant in him, and even knowing how destructive those feelings were, he hesitated shoving them away.
Just then the glass doors at the far end of the
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