Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

“I was with her when she found that dress.” Diana’s voice was soft, entering my memories at a distance. “She was worried about taking the attention off you and was about to choose a simple black sheath, but then she said, “No, I want to celebrate my boy. Red is alive. Red is proud. Red says his ma is in the damn room and over the moon.”

My chest knotted up. “I’m glad.” It came out rough.

My mother had never been a ­plain-­black-­dress kind of woman.

Diana and I sat there for another fifteen minutes in easy company. At one point, I indicated a particular photo. “That hasn’t changed. Your rose garden. Always the best on the block.”

“I have to admit to being a little gleeful about constantly outshining Veda and Brett’s landscaping company. They don’t seem to understand that roses won’t thrive without constant care. I don’t know why they even bothered with the ones near their front door, when the rest of their property is ­low-­maintenance native planting.”

A pause before she scrunched up her face. “I do feel bad for them right now though, with their dog and everything. But they can be so unpleasant that I don’t even dare go over with a cake and sympathy as I would for anyone else in the Cul-­de-­Sac.”

The dog was a subject on which I would never have anything to say, so I brought things back to a far nicer subject. “I remember my mum on her knees beside you in the garden one time. I was shocked.”

Startled laughter. “Yes, Nina, she was terrible at that kind of thing. But I suppose she knew I needed a friend that day and so she got sucked in. Oh, do you remember the day she danced in the rain and Paul and Margaret came out to join her? They loved her spirit, those two.”

It was only as I was about to leave that my eye fell on the package from Sarah, and I found myself remembering why Diana had needed help with the rose garden. Sarah had destroyed a lot of the roses when she left, ripping them out as if she were ripping out the roots of her relationship with Diana.

At least with Sarah, Diana still had a chance to rebuild the bond. I’d never again have that chance. But maybe I could help Diana.

Taking out my notebook after I was on the street, I made a note:

Try to contact Sarah.

It was possible she’d talk to me where she wouldn’t to her sister. As I’d discovered with my therapist, sometimes emotional crap was easier to confront with someone who was all but a stranger. I’d lay on the famous Aarav Rai charm and try to get a dialogue going, do a good deed for once.

“Hiya.” The smiling comment came from one of the landscaping people Diana had just cheerfully maligned.

This one was wearing brown shorts and a brown zip-­up fleece emblazoned with the logo of the landscaping company. A straw hat protected her from the winter sun, and she had gardening gloves in hand, her feet clad in sturdy boots and socks. With ­sun-­streaked brown hair and tanned skin, she was straight out of central casting for “sporty nature girl.”

“Hi,” I replied. “Here to mow the lawns?”

“Yep. And do a bit of general tidy-­up.” She pointed to her colleague, a bearded male who already had the mower out.

Fluro-­yellow ear protectors hung from around his neck.

“I don’t suppose you know if the Fitzpatricks’ dog is on the property?” she asked. “Usually, they take him to the kennel the mornings we’re here, but I haven’t heard from them today.”

“The dog passed away, I’m afraid.” I tried not to think about my dirty feet and midnight walk, that box of rat poison on top of the fridge.

A small exhale she didn’t cover quite quickly enough. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He was vicious, wasn’t he?”

Too well trained at dealing with wealthy people to lower her guard, the landscaper gave me a noncommittal glance. “I better get to work. Have a nice day.”

“Wait. Do you know if they had any poisonous mushrooms on their property?”

Lines furrowed her forehead. “None of which I’m aware, but this close to the Waitaks, there’s no knowing what might appear.”

As she walked away to join her colleague, I thought of all the people who moved through the Cul-­de-­Sac on any given day. Not just the residents, but people like the landscapers and Adrian. He wasn’t the only personal trainer who came in here, either. Then there were the cleaners and maids and ­pool-­maintenance people. A cleaning company van was even now parked near my father’s place. Mary’s crew, I realized. They had to be inside, doing their work.

A few of the residents also had live-­in staff, like Anastasia with her nanny, and Isaac with the caregiver who looked after his father.

I’d forgotten old Phil in my earlier census of the neighborhood. Likely because no one ever saw ­him—­last I’d heard, he was bedridden after a major stroke. His caregiver lived ­full-­time with Isaac and ­Mellie … though come to think of it, I hadn’t seen the lanky male nurse recently, either.

I shrugged off the irrelevant thought and ran my eye over the area again.

31

Paul and Margaret aside, Cul-­de-­Sac rich were the kind of people who didn’t like to be flashy, but who probably had millions more tucked away than the rich who more often appeared in the gossip columns and online ­social-­media pages. Of the people who lived here, I was probably the most recognizable to outsiders now that Paul had stopped touring.

Which was why I wasn’t the least surprised when a television van pulled up in front of my father’s house just as I reached it. Instead of swearing, I smiled. This had taken longer than I’d ­thought—­I’d expected a media frenzy the day after the discovery of my mother’s car. Could be they’d been thrown by my relocation to the Cul-­de-­Sac.

I couldn’t remember if I’d ever mentioned