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Theo’s purr starts low.
Pepper’s shoulders loosen.
I look at both of them. “If the old dream is telling us release, I don’t want the first thing we do to be quieting one of the signals that still helps me recognize myself and both of you.”
“Then we follow the old maps and learn more before we decide,” Pepper says.
Hope blooms anyway, cruel and bright, while every clock in the house feels as if it has started counting down for me.
Chapter 33
Pepper Vines
The bottom of the Vines box sags the moment Theo lifts it.
“Quick, the table.”
He crosses Ms. Silver’s storage shed in two strides while I shove aside a stack of flower-show programs. Scarlet catches the leaning pile before thirty years of Garden Guild history slides onto the floor.
Theo lowers the box onto the cleared space. The cardboard settles with a wet groan.
“Please do not collapse,” I tell it. “You may contain several generations of records.”
Ms. Silver braces her broom against one shoulder. Lemon-yellow rain boots show beneath her floral house dress. “Lorna Vines believed labels encouraged laziness.”
“That seems to be a town trait.”
“She also tucked papers inside other papers. Said thieves look for titles, and fools never read minutes.”
Scarlet sets the rescued programs beside the box. “Did she expect thieves?”
“Lorna expected men to be disappointing. That covers a broad range of behavior, including thieving.”
I like Ms. Silver immediately.
Rainwater taps from the shed roof into a metal bucket outside. The storm has passed, but its remains cling to everything. Pine needles plaster the yard. Brown water fills the roadside ditches. A fallen branch blocks half the lane leading to Ms. Silver’s house, and a sheriff’s cruiser waits near her mailbox.
Roman’s black SUV sits farther down the road beneath the trees. Wes has had two patrols watching the property since the motorcycle appeared on the cemetery camera. Roman claims he isn’t a third patrol, though he has a badge and a gun.
Theo checks the box again before letting go. “Bottom’s soft.”
“I brought document sleeves.” I set Darwin on the table and open his lid.
Gloves, archival sleeves, pencils, wax paper, sample bags, clean cloths, and three emergency snack bars sit inside separate compartments.
Scarlet peers into him. “You packed an archival response cooler.”
“Darwin is a versatile guy.”
“I brought another box too,” she says.
Ms. Silver points her broom at our boots. “You wiped those before coming in?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Theo says.
She gives his work boots a doubtful look but allows us to continue.
The shed smells like mothballs and the mineral cold left behind by hard rain. Shelves line three walls. Plastic tubs sit beneath folding tables. Garden tools hang beside faded competition ribbons, and vines crawl across one crooked shutter as though trying to reclaim the building.
