Read Online Nipped in the Bud by Susan Sleeman - Free Book Online Page B

stood behind your advice.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t understand your question, Solitary.”
    “Well, say you gave a caller advice about using native plants—”
    “Oh, I hope they listen. Native plants do so much better in the climate and soil conditions they were meant to grow in. Even though they might become aggressive and you’d have to dig them up and pry them apart later, often that’s the only work they require.”
    “Right, well, say the caller agreed with your advice and went out to dig up native plants at the Grand Ronde Reservation. Would you provide legal representation if the person was then apprehended for theft and trespassing?”
     
    At eight o’clock Tuesday morning, I approached the park entrance, pondering Adam’s words from last night. Not the sweet little bit where he admitted I wasn’t bad to look at, but the nasty, ugly parting words he uttered as we climbed into our respective cars—to be prepared in case I was arrested today at my appointment with Mitch.
    Be prepared! What did that mean? It wasn’t as if after the birds and the bees talk, my mother ticked off a lengthy go-to-jail list. The only thing I knew about jail preparation was what I learned playing Monopoly. At least there, you could get out for free.
    Jail.
    I couldn’t fathom it. A scary place filled with guards toting guns much like the uniformed cops swarming the park. Any one of them could haul me in and make sure I stayed behind bars. Would that stocky, balding officer carrying a plastic bag to the trunk of his car make the arrest? Or would the conspicuously absent Mitch do the honors himself? I voted for Mitch and his eagerness to prove my guilt.
    Not that he was the only one whose face displayed disdain. The growing group of onlookers milling outside the yellow tape gave me harsh glares that screamed their belief in my guilt. I resisted the urge to put my head down while I rushed toward the earthy smell of my shop that always brought comfort. On the toughest of days, when I was unable to bolster a positive attitude on my own, I just had to step across that threshold, and my problems melted away.
    Today was different. The gaping faces at the park made me feel like an outsider in my own town. Their guilty verdict was likely only the beginning of what I would face from the other residents. Would I get over this? Stay out of jail? Get the death penalty?
    Stop it, Paige. Pity is not allowed here. I gave myself a mental slap. If I couldn’t come to grips for myself, I had to put on a good front for Hazel.
    I found her stuffing seed packets into a rack beside the front counter. Her braids flopped as she bent over a box of reserve stock. She was dressed in the shop uniform of polo shirt and khakis, but I couldn’t help remembering the day she came in for an interview wearing worn, but clean jeans and a well patched blouse. This wasn’t the look I wanted my shop staff to have, but I knew about her past, and my compassion for the underdog urged me to give her a chance.
    Her father had been in and out of jail for various crimes when she was young, and the family subsisted on welfare and handouts. Even when her father finally cleaned up his act, no one would hire him and they lived in squalor.
    Hazel had been teased as a child, and as an adult the stigma lingered. She married a man who abused her, and people couldn’t understand why she stayed with him. It wasn’t until he got drunk and drove his truck into a lake that she’d gotten a break. That was when she met her current husband, who’d moved to town when the pickle factory opened. He didn’t care about her past, but others weren’t so willing to open their arms to her.
    I didn’t want to be guilty of the same treatment. I interviewed her and found a woman knowledgeable about gardening and plants in general. I hired her on the spot and from that day on, she’d proven herself a capable and loyal worker.
    I often had other business to take care of, and Hazel worked hard