Lovegame(57)

All the flowers, all the bushes, even the sculpted hedges that made up this whole side of the yard, are gone. And in their place are…

I’m not sure. I can’t tell what plant it is from here, so I step closer, hoping to get a better look at what’s been done. And then immediately wish I hadn’t. Because my father’s beautifully formal English gardens, all the roses, all the marigolds and peonies and lilies, have been replaced by row after row of belladonna plants. Some are in the berry stage, others are already flowering with the distinctive purple-and-yellow blossom, but they are all definitely belladonna.

My blood runs cold and for a moment I can do nothing but stare in dismay. So much is gone, ruined, that it’s a little hard to comprehend. Especially considering all this work was done today. Then again, with a crew this big, of course it only took a little more than half a day to wreak havoc on what once was here. And while it’s true that I hated the gardens and only kept them up in honor of my father’s memory, that doesn’t mean I’d ever want to see them demolished like this. And belladonna, of all things, put in their place?

The destruction is inconceivable.

A man with a clipboard and an outstretched hand approaches me from the left. His eyes are wide and he looks a little flustered, like he can’t believe I’m standing right in front of him. Since I feel exactly the same way right now, I start talking before he’s stupid enough to ask for an autograph. “Who are you?” I all but screech. “And who gave you the right to do this to my property? I should call the police.”

I fumble in my pocket for my phone as I think about doing just that. This is vandalism of private property. Not to mention trespassing. He should be arrested. They should all be arrested.

Except my phone isn’t in my pocket. It’s still in my purse in the office, where I left it this morning after deciding I didn’t want to talk to anyone. And because I didn’t want to spend the day looking at it—or trying not to look at it—as I waited for a text or call from Ian that would never come.

Damn it. This is just one more reason to be pissed at him.

“I don’t understand, Ms. Romero.” I didn’t think it was possible, but his eyes go even wider as the huge grin he’s wearing slides right off his face. “This is what you wanted. I followed your directions explicitly.”

“My directions?” I demand, stepping back from him a little as it occurs to me that this guy might not just be a vandal. He might actually be delusional. “This is my father’s prized garden. Why would I tell you to destroy it? And how? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“No, of course not. But we’ve talked on the phone several times and you were adamant that the whole thing needed to go. That you wanted to replace the past with the future—”

“That is not my future,” I almost shriek, pointing toward the copious rows of belladonna plants. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what possessed you to do this or how you even got in here, but I assure you, we have never spoken on the phone. The only people I let near my father’s garden are Miguel and his crew. And you are definitely not Miguel.”

“I’m not, no.” It’s his turn to fumble in his pocket and he has more success than I did, finally coming up with a business card that he holds out to me. “My name is Jensen Barksdale. I run Luxe Gardens. I assure you, we really have spoken on the phone several times in the last couple weeks about what you wanted done with these gardens. Your voice is very recognizable.”

I look from him to his card and back again. “You could give me a million of these cards, but that doesn’t prove anything. Do you have a contract signed by me detailing the work you claim I wanted done? Work that has destroyed my father’s prize gardens?”

Now he’s the one taking a step back…and the one looking a little frightened, as if I’m the crazy person in this equation. “I don’t have a contract, no. But we spoke just this morning, Ms. Romero. I called over to let you know I was on my way and you gave me a code to use for the front gate—23715. You told me to get started as you were busy all morning but that you’d be back this afternoon. We talked about how you didn’t expect the whole garden to be finished today, just the east side, which we’ve completed.”

I’m so horrified that it takes a minute for his words to sink in, but once they do…once they do I start to really freak out. Start to question what I know to be true. Because he has the right gate code.

He’s using the visitor’s code, the one I change monthly for visiting repair people, etc. It’s brand new, since I changed the old one two days ago after the photo shoot. I haven’t given it to anyone yet—except for maybe Jensen Barksdale, if I decide to believe him.

Still, what he’s saying is impossible. I remember every second of what I was doing today clearly and I never spoke to this man. I sure as hell didn’t give him a code to my house and ask him to come in and destroy the gardens. Just the idea is absurd.

So maybe he hacked the equipment somehow and got the code that way? I need to call my security company, see if they can figure out if someone’s been messing around in my system. Considering we never spoke, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

Except, as I stand here trying to figure things out, he pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his recent call screen, then holds it out to me with a frown. “This is your number, right?”