Free The Perennial Killer: A Gardening Mystery by Ann Ripley Page B

the sole of your boot, then move one limb at a time, and keep three limbs anchored.”
    “A bit like a crab.” Louise laughed. “I still don’t think I’d like to try it.”
    “Oh,” said Ann, with a casual flip of her hand, “in the space of half an hour I could have you working that cliff like a pro.”
    When they reached the patio with its high, latticed walls, Louise knew this was going to be a special house. Sitting on the Mexican-tiled patio floor were a couple of low-slung chairs, and a group of rough terra-cotta pots. One held a brilliant combination of red and orange zinniasand deep purple red orache. In others, Ann and Luke, who apparently both loved flowers, had planted tall, white, lilylike
Datura
, combined with rosy fountain grass and mauve-pink
Diascia
, with its small, intricate blooms cascading over the edges of the containers. A single pure white lotus blossom, just coming into bloom, floated in water in another large vessel.
    After seeing Ann’s pots, Louise was a little surprised to find the interior of the house was almost stark in its plainness. But it soon captured her. Plain was beautiful here, with a spare amount of comfortable furniture and open-weave natural linen draperies, set against rough-plastered walls painted a light terra-cotta. The floor was flagstone.
    Ann, down from her climbing high, was back to her usual sober self. But still she couldn’t disguise her pleasure at hearing Louise’s praise of her house. “I got the idea from that house they found intact in Pompeii. I liked its earthy feel.” She smiled. “And when I pot plants and spill dirt on the floor, I just tell Luke it’s a little volcano ash.”
    Glistening with sweat from her climb, she said, “Time for me to wash up, though since we’re roughing it, I won’t change.” She traded a sober look with Louise. “Just weed research, right?” she said.
    Louise nodded. “That’s right. Weeds.”

    Louise tightened her hands on the steering wheel, took a deep breath, and confronted her fear: the back road to Porter Ranch. She could feel the sweat forming in her armpits, as she drove up at an angle she was convinced was as steep as the beginning of a roller-coaster ride. Strangely, Trail Ridge Road, which crossed Rocky Mountain National Park, was one of the highest roads on the continent, and yet it hadn’t scared her; it was these narrow primitive mountain routes that set her teeth chattering. But just asthe second roller-coaster ride wasn’t quite as scary as the first, she found today she could handle it. It helped, too, being the driver rather than a helpless passenger.
    “This is the old Indian trail into the ranch,” Ann explained comfortingly, as if that made it safer. Though she didn’t take her eyes from the road for long, Louise could see in fleeting glances that they were passing a valley full of black cattle gently munching grass. Then came an Impressionist vista of mauve fields that caused her to jerk her foot off the accelerator and slow almost to a stop. “How utterly beautiful,” she said.
    “And treacherous,” added her companion. “That’s all weeds, acres of them. Musk thistle—it’s a scourge out here in the West.” On the spot, Louise realized these picturesque but troublesome intruders had to be part of a program.
    Though it seemed like suicide to Louise, Ann wanted her to slow down when they reached the next hairpin turn. Louise reluctantly complied. “Uh, is this smart? I mean, couldn’t someone come barreling up here?”
    “We’re all right—we’ll hear them coming. I wanted to show you that white smokestack on the horizon. That’s Stony Flats. You must have heard about it.” Ann shook her blond head in disgust. “Here we have pristine foothills, rich grazing land, and wonderful farmland. Right in the center there is that—
abomination
.”
    “I’ve heard about it, of course,” Louise said, picking up speed and pretending to concentrate on her driving. She wanted to