Page 23 of Unbroken
Rulkowski recoiled in shock. “What? No! Of course not.”
“Are you certain?” Mortimer pressed. “Think carefully, Mr. Rulkowski.”
Berry wrung his hands anxiously. “It couldn’t be anyone from another horticultural society, could it?”
“That must be it,” Rulkowski agreed, a bit too quickly for a man who’d just been protesting no one could possibly want to harm him. “We—the WHS, that is—placed first at the Midwinter Flower Show in every category we entered.”
“Mrs. Siewert mentioned something of the sort,” Mortimer said, looking at the massive orchids. “Your group certainly has stumbled on the secret behind plant growth.”
“A new fertilizer we developed,” Rulkowski said, a touch of ice in his voice. “A proprietary formula.”
Magic had to be involved; Ves couldn’t imagine anything else that would have such an effect on so many species of plants, including epiphytes. The WHS had cheated with sorcery to secure their win.
“But surely no one would kill over such a ridiculous thing,” Tubbs said.
Rulkowski’s expression grew colder, and he drew himself up. “I assure you, sir, that horticulture is a very serious endeavor. Though we at the WHS undertake it for love, there is monetary gain to be made from cash prizes, sponsorships, and other such things. Perhaps some more venial contestant is angry we walked away with several thousand dollars in prize money. Or perhaps they crave horticultural glory and believe we stand in their way.”
It sounded absurd…but Ves had read enough newspapers to learn humans killed each other for the most trivial of reasons.
“Mr. Rulkowski, you must know sorcery is involved,” Mortimer said impatiently. “Your life is in grave danger. If you have any specific names, or any enemies you haven’t mentioned, I suggest you tell us now.”
“He’s told you everything he knows,” Berry snapped, his back up in the defense of his employer. “If you want to find the culprit, look at the other gardeners who lost to the WHS in the flower show.”
Ves opened his mouth to object, but Rulkowski cut him off. “I’m very sorry, but I’m feeling rather faint from my experience. Tom will show you the way out.”
There was nothing more to be done. Berry showed them to the door, shutting it behind them firmly. Once they reached the sidewalk, Tubbs exclaimed, “What ingratitude, and after saving the man’s life!”
“Yes.” Ves turned to look back at the mansion, surrounded by its prodigious flowers. “He knows more than he’s saying, I think.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Mortimer dusted some pollen off his sleeve. “I’d go so far as to say he knows exactly what’s happening, but for good or ill decided not to share with three strangers, even ones trying to help him.”
“But why?” Tubbs asked.
“Secrets.” Mortimer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Presumably he believes he can handle the situation himself, without sharing those secrets with us. Considering he didn’t even realize the WHS is being targeted until we told him, I doubt he’ll succeed. Mark my words, we’ll be reading his obituary in the paper any day now.”
“Right.” Tubbs scowled back at the closed door. “So what do we do next?”
An unpleasant idea occurred to Ves. “I’d suggest you talk your brother into burying Penelope with a mortsafe. It will be harder for her to claw her way out of her grave that way.”
Tubbs’s face flushed red with anger. “How dare you. You claim Siewert came back to life as some kind of-of blood-drinking vampire, and expect me to believe it? Then you cast aspersions on my sister-in-law?—”
“Not aspersions, Mr. Tubbs,” Mortimer said wearily.
“—and expect me to tell my poor brother, who is prostrated with grief, that she needs a mortsafe! As if we still lived in the age of resurrection men—what would he think?”
He stalked away in high dudgeon, leaving them behind on the sidewalk. Mortimer exchanged a look with Ves. “Well,” he said, “I certainly hope that doesn’t come back to haunt him.”
A stop at town hall pointed Sebastian in the direction of the historical society, which occupied one of the oldest houses still standing within the city limits. Upon entering, he was greeted by a stout man with a friendly smile.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked. Sweat leaked down from his hairline, despite the electric fan on his desk.
Sebastian was fairly sweaty himself, having walked all over town in the heat. “I hope so. My name is Sebastian Rath. I’ve come up from Widdershins in search of genealogical information.”
The man’s smile faltered when he mentioned Widdershins. “Oh. I see.” Recalling his manners, he added, “Edward Cox. How may I help you?”
“I recently learned some of my family is from here. Gregorio Hollowell—after he died, he was accused of being a vampire.”
Cox stared at him in consternation. “I should have expected…never mind. Go on.”
