Page 221 of Fury

“Yeah, a gift.”

“Lady friend?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ll set you up. She like to garden?”

“Her garden is very neat and colorful, so yeah, she enjoys it.”

He pointed at flowering plants, orchids, a flower box of oregano, mint, thyme, and chives. “That’s good for a porch or big kitchen window. If she likes to cook, that’s a good choice.”

“Right.”

The garden tools and fertilizer sacks, and bags of soil were all lined up in long rows.

And that’s when I saw them, stacked in wobbly piles. Hand painted flower pots. Another pile of dishes for the pots, trimmed in stripes and zig zags and polka dots. These were the pots and matching dishes Lenore had all over her house and front porch.

My eyes lingered over them, urging them to tell me what they knew.

Steve came up next to me. “You like those, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. They’ve got a certain charm.”

“My wife makes those. There are these over here too—” I followed his hand, gesturing to the left. A shelf of glazed earthenware dessert dishes and coffee mugs. Exactly like the coffee mugs Lenore used at her house.

“I like those. I think I’ll get a set of two of the blue glazed ones.”

“They’re real nice. That blue doesn’t come out that way very often. It’s pretty unique. My wife is good at what she does. I’ll pack them up for you.”

“Thanks.”

I followed Steve to the register by the front door. As he wrapped and packed each mug in butcher paper, I checked out his set up. A dollar bill was framed and hanging on the wall behind him. Next to it was a picture of a much younger Steve with darker long hair, his one hand on a shovel planted in the ground by a young tree, his other arm around a blonde who was holding a baby in her arms. The two of them smiling huge standing in front of their house which seemed fresher. Bright beginnings, big hopes. The all-American dream come true. There were other pictures of Steve and his wife at all different ages—riding horses, bundled up on a snow plow, drinking beers with friends at a bonfire, swimming at a reservoir in the summer.

He rang up the sale, and I handed him bills, picking up his business card from the neat pile at the side of the counter along with cards from other local businesses.

Steve gave me my change. “Hope she likes them.”

“I know she will.” I slid my chained wallet back in my jeans.

He led me outside and handed me a small bouquet of big dark pink flowers. “Take these for your lady friend. Dahlias are always a favorite.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Please. I appreciate your help with those wheelbarrows. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Thanks. You too.”

There was nothing more to see. Unless, of course, Lenore had bodies buried out back in Steve’s vegetable field or under his greenhouses. I’d have to come back at night and do my digging.

It wouldn’t be wise to ask Steve if he knew Lenore. He might think I was after her for no good. He’d taken in my colors when I’d first approached him, that eye-widening thing happened for just a sec, but it happened. I expected it to happen, and I always liked it.

Twenty minutes later I arrived at Lenore’s house. I left the bag with the mugs by her front door.

Years ago, she’d pulled a gun and a knife to protect me and had killed people who were threatening my life. The other night she pulled a gun on me. What the hell was she protecting now? What the hell was in Pine Needle?

I took out my pen and wrote,“Look what I found - F”on the garden center business card, and I tucked it into the dahlias, sliding the ends of the flowers into the bag with the mugs.

I’d set my fuse and looked forward to a spectacular explosion.

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