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

guests, apparently surprised they were listening, though it was impossible to ignore the loud exchange. For some reason, he now appeared to Louise not a stuffy academic, but an almost rakish figure. Barbara Seymour had risen slowly from her chair, the candlelight flickering under her chin but leaving her face in darkness.
    The professor put out a large, graceful hand. “No, Miss Seymour, don’t trouble yourself. This can be taken care of in another way, in another place.” His gaze passed over each one of them as he said, “And now I bid you all a very good night. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I hope someone besides me wants to climb Bear Mountain. I hear it has a challenging pitch on the north side.” Without waiting for replies, he rapidly departed the veranda.
    “That’s one way to ruin a good time,” complained Bebe Hollowell, giving the Gasparras a disgusted look. With a damper thrown on the party mood, the crowd began breaking up. Louise noted that the red nasturtiums in the mauve bouquets were wilting. Their perfect round petals now drooped onto the floorboards like Ball’s melting watches.
    Bill yawned. “It’s time for an old fogy like me to go to my bachelor’s bed anyway. As one who just flew in from Europe, I’m bushed.”
    Louise gave her husband a nostalgic glance, missing himalready. “You’re right, darling. Tomorrow we have a million things to do.” To Janie she said, “Come on, roommate, let’s go to bed.”
    Nora remained seated. “I think I’ll stay here and have a quiet smoke.”
    Chris gave her an inquiring look. “Are you sure, Mom?”
    “Don’t worry—I’ll be along very soon,” she answered.
    It had been an interesting evening of questions without answers, strains between people that were not obvious at first, and warnings of possible trouble to come. Louise hoped that she could at least get a good night’s sleep, to quiet her overactive mind and rest her tired body.
    She threw a last glance at Nora, a lonely figure sitting at the table, smoking. She sat erect, obviously wide-awake—the flame in the hurricane lamp diminishing faster than she was. Suddenly Louise was quite sure the woman was waiting for the return of Jeffrey Freeling. With the way they were dancing, it would be no surprise if the assignation had been planned right there on that sexually charged dance floor. Yet there was more than one woman who would have given Jeffrey her heart tonight—based on his magnificent dancing alone.

Chapter 7

    L OUISE WOKE UP WITH A START . S HE RE alized she should be sleeping, but instead she was crumpled into a fetal position, as if defending herself against the demons of the night. Her shoulders felt as if they were encased in steel. Seeking comfort, she reached out to touch Bill, but her hand came upon a soft thigh, and not her husband’s flat, hard hip. And then she remembered where she was: in a country hotel, on a country weekend, sleeping in a high, antique bed next to her daughter.
    She rolled over and looked at herwatch, straightening her body. Its illuminated dial read two A.M. She knew there was more than one reason she was wide-awake after less than two hours of sleep: too much riding in a car, no warm, familiar husband beside her, and a gathering worry in her mind about what was going on at Litchfield Falls Inn. The thought of getting up when the night had hardly begun was dispiriting, rather like being the only person left on the entire planet. Without the soothing presence of another living human—without Bill.
    Yet she desperately needed to stretch her muscles. Moving carefully to the edge of the high bed so as not to wake Janie, she slid down until her feet touched the wide floorboards. A few seconds’ search and her feet had located her slippers. She put on her robe and quietly unlocked the door. But the darkness in the hallway unsettled her. It was as black as a tomb. Her eyes wide with trepidation, she considered crawling back into the safety of the