Free The Garden Tour Affair: A Gardening Mystery by Ann Ripley Page A

look. “Now I suppose you want me to dance with you after your round with Astaire.”
    “No, not if you don’t want to, dear.”
    “Good. Then I think I’ll just rest my tootsies for tomorrow’s hike up Bear Mountain with Janie and Chris and Jeffrey.”
    “Hike, my foot, Bill. You promised me you would come on the garden tour …”
    “Oh, yeah. Well, there goes the hike.”
    “Honey, I’m sorry. I thought I told you that the crew will be small—they could use your help.” Suddenly she clutched his sleeve and pointed. “See what I mean—the man’s a natural.”
    The professor was dancing with Jim Cooley’s wife. Grace, diminutive and almost childlike in his arms, had assumed the position: head on Freeling’s shoulder, eyes closed, body sliding in unison with his when they dipped. “Women don’t even have to bother with conversation. It’s all movement and music and rhythm.”
    “Looks kind of lovey-dovey to me.”
    “It’s not that: It’s something about the guy—he’s not nearly as gruff as he sounded at the table.”
    “Face it, Louise,” said her husband, “you just think he’s cute.”
    The music ended, and everyone adjourned to their separate tables. Louise heard Grace softly thanking her partner for the dance.
    The Gasparras had been sitting quietly during the dancing phase of the evening, listening to the music and the conversation. But now they stood uncomfortably at theedge of the room as if they were about to leave. As Professor Freeling was leaving the dance floor, Rod Gasparra stepped in front of him, looking as if he might grab Freeling’s lapels. Verbally, he did. “I’ve heard tonight, Dr. Freeling, that you were one of the ones.”
    “One of the ones,” Freeling repeated archly. “And what on earth do you mean by that?”
    Gasparra shook a finger at him. “You’re one of the ones that worked on the Iris of the Sacred Blood!”
    “Hmh,” said Freeling, repositioning his wire-frame glasses on his nose and giving Rod Gasparra a close look. “So that makes me ‘one of the ones’ Just what beef do you have with me? My work is in the laboratory, doing research on a plant with a simple genus,
Arabidopsis thaliana
, though my doctoral students and I developed the Sacred Blood iris. We derived its name from the fact that the color of its flowers resembles arterial blood. Tell me exactly why this impinges upon you.”
    “I am a grower. And I did years of work on a red iris. Work that was stolen.”
    “I see what’s at stake: your purported ‘ownership’ of the Sacred Blood iris. Oh, come on, Gasparra, you’re not really going to accuse me—”
    “But you must have been in on it!”
    Freeling was much taller than Gasparra; this, together with his beard, gave him a greater masculine presence. Looming over the other man, he said, “I came here for a weekend’s relaxation, and certainly not to get into an imbroglio with a stranger.” He arched an eyebrow ominously and jabbed a finger into Gasparra’s chest. “You well know, sir, that there is such a thing as forensic
botany
. PCR and RFLP analyses not only help catch rapists and killers, they can also be used to prove that we did not use your plant in our experimental work. Therefore, if I were you, I would take those charges to the proper authorities, and stop exhibiting this penchant for street fighting. After all, this isa country hotel. You might have brought a few manners with you.”
    “You insulting….” spat out Gasparra, and pulled back a muscular arm with fisted hand ready to strike. Only his wife Dorothy’s strong hands on his shoulder stopped him from following through. Gradually, she eased him off to a corner of the veranda, where she quietly calmed him down. Louise was glad trouble had been avoided. She knew that growers were strong from hours of painstaking hand labor in their gardens—and she would hate to see Gasparra’s temper put to the test.
    Freeling turned around and surveyed the rest of the