Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)(38)

“You look great, too.” Chrissie’s arms were gentle around Vivian, as if her granddaughter was afraid to crush her. Vivian didn’t remember being that fragile. She was, though. She’d changed, become feeble. Frail. What terrible words.

“I can’t find my gardening gloves.” Vivian was irritated. Her biggest worry about moving into this place was thievery. Hired help was not to be trusted; even Martha, who’d worked for her for years, had turned into a thief. Obviously, someone had walked off with her gardening gloves. They were her favorites and well used. Why anyone would take them was beyond her.

“Mother, what do you need gardening gloves for?” Susannah asked.

As much as she loved her daughter, Vivian swore Susannah could annoy her faster than anyone on earth. Ever since she’d arrived this morning, Susannah had tested Vivian’s patience. “So I can trim my roses,” she said slowly and deliberately.

Susannah’s response was just as slow and deliberate. “Mother, the roses are at the house.”

“I know that.” And she did. She remembered exactly where her roses were.

Susannah cast a look at Chrissie. “But you’re here.”

“My roses need trimming and I’m determined to do it.” Vivian wasn’t letting anyone near her roses, especially Rachel Henderson. Her neighbor was no more trustworthy than anyone else.

Another glance passed between Susannah and Chrissie, but it was too hard for Vivian to read the look they’d exchanged.

“I could take Grandma back to the house,” Chrissie suggested, “so she can work in her garden.”

“Would you like that, Mother?”

This was the most ridiculous question Susannah had asked her yet. “Yes, of course I would.”

“Okay, Grandma, then let’s get you a sweater.”

“What about my gloves?” Apparently both Susannah and Chrissie were willing to ignore the fact that someone in this abominable place had stolen her favorite gardening gloves.

“They’re at the house, Mom, on the back porch. The pruning shears are in the garage.”

“I know where those shears are.” She hated to sound so impatient, but at times Susannah treated her as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. Yes, she had a few problems with her memory now and then, but that didn’t mean she was incapacitated.

“I’ll get my jewels.”

Susannah and Chrissie exchanged glances again.

“You don’t expect me to leave this room when anyone could walk in and take my jewelry, do you?”

“Mom…” Susannah seemed about to argue with her but then she didn’t.

That was good, because Vivian had no intention of leaving her pearls behind, not when someone could easily steal them. She retrieved her brown purse, where she kept her favorite necklace, and looped the straps tightly over her arm. She put on a sweater—she was often cold these days—and reached for her red “everyday” purse.

“When I’m finished with the roses, I’ll take you both to lunch. My treat.” If she stayed here much longer she’d starve to death. In all her life, Vivian had never tasted blander food. These people obviously didn’t know the purpose of a salt shaker or a spice rack.

She locked her room, tested the knob three times, and then they headed for the front door. Susannah stopped to talk to Rose, who ran the desk. Fortunately the staff wore name tags. She wished everyone did. It would help her remember the residents’ names. Several had introduced themselves, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall the name of a single one. Yes, everyone here ought to wear a name tag.

The instant they stepped into the house, Vivian felt distressed. Furniture had been moved and there were dishes stacked on the kitchen counter. Then when she walked outside, she was in for another shock. “Someone’s been in my garden,” she blurted. The roses were trimmed and there wasn’t a single weed in sight. Everything was tied up and clipped back. There was almost nothing left for her to do. Someone had been in her garden, and it could only have been Rachel, her neighbor.

“Mother,” Susannah said, placing an arm around her shoulders. “The garden is lovely.”

“Yes, it is,” Vivian muttered. She’d come to recognize her daughter’s tone and she didn’t like it one bit. Just the way she said mother told Vivian Susannah thought something was wrong with her.

After ten minutes or so, Susannah disappeared inside the house, probably to make more calls on that little phone of hers. Vivian shook her head hopelessly—Susannah seemed to be making a big mess of things. Frankly, she’d taught her daughter to be a better housekeeper than this. But wanting to maintain the peace, Vivian said nothing.

She wasn’t sure how long she and Chrissie worked outside, puttering about, moving a few annuals—when had she put those begonias in? She really couldn’t remember. Vivian noticed Rachel Henderson peering through the window a couple of times, but she tried to ignore her. The minute that busybody stuck her nose out the door, Vivian intended to tell Rachel to keep out of her garden, otherwise she was contacting the police.

“I’m hungry,” Vivian announced after a while. It was the first real hunger she’d experienced since her daughter had moved her to that godforsaken facility. It was a good feeling. She’d lost interest in food, although heaven knew the best television these days was on the Food Channel.