“The garden encompasses an entire acre. The stream winds through the entire thing, and the terrain is rolling, so I used that to my advantage when I was designing the layout,” he explained. “I wanted everything to be natural but controlled.”
“Do you have a garden at home like this one?”
“Not exactly. I didn’t section it off from the rain forest. I just took what we had growing naturally and organized it a little.”
Harry snorted derisively. “He isn’t telling the exact truth, Miss Isabeau. You’ve never seen anything like it. His garden is much more beautiful than this. Orchids are everywhere. They hang from the trees like chains of flowers winding up and down the trunks. Even the trees and vines are kept shaped . . .”
Alberto patted Harry’s arm. “I’ve made an enthusiast out of him.”
“I had no choice,” Harry admitted.
“He’s my legs,” Alberto said. “Once I was confined to the chair, I thought my gardening days would be over, but Harry found a way for me to keep going.”
Harry shrugged. “I’m not going to tell him I enjoy it. He’s been wanting me to admit that forever, but I have to have something to hold over him for my raises.”
Isabeau laughed at his dry tone. “Okay, I’m going to take a look around and see what you’ve done. I’ll bet I can identify most of the plants.”
“I’ll be interested in discussing medicinal plants with you for my garden,” Alberto said. “But you go now, and we’ll talk when you’ve had a chance to see everything.”
It was obvious he was proud of the garden and wanted to share it with someone he hoped would appreciate it. Isabeau set out, moving down a well- worn path that took her to the southernmost end of the garden first. It was the most open and she wanted Jeremiah to feel comfortable with her walking around.
She took her time, taking Alberto at his word. She enjoyed the night sounds. She could hear the pounding music in the distance, but the insects and the flutter of wings were more prominent—and musical—to her. She found the garden soothing, and the farther she walked away from the others, the more safe she felt. Her cat settled and her skin quit itching. There was no longer the scent of intrigue and depravity. Freshly dug dirt, the fragrance of flowers and trees took the place of cloying perfume and malicious intent. Maybe Alberto had sensed her need of peace and sent her out to allow her space. He was a perceptive man in spite of his age.
She began to mentally name the various plants and their uses. Scarlet passionflower blooms attracted and were pollinated by the hermit hummingbird. The flowering bromeliad’s nectar fed a variety of bats. An array of orchids grew both on the ground and up the trunks of trees, providing food for all kinds of birds and insects, including the orchid bee.
Isabeau stopped to admire an epiphytic blueberry, the bright orange flower and bulbs a favorite of hummingbirds. Although they were usually found high in the canopy, Alberto had brought them within reach of the ground, which in turn brought the various species of hummingbirds closer to inspection.
Many varieties of ferns grew taller than her, forming a beautiful, lacy jungle. All kinds of philodendrons in various shades of green, with different types of leaves, both split and variegated, towered above her as well. The winding path took her up a small slope where the brush was far thicker. Here, small animals made their homes. She could hear the rustling and even scent them in the burrows.
The next bank of plants was her favorite, all medicinal. Alberto Cortez even had the Gurania bignoniaceae, a plant that had extensive medicinal uses. The leaves and flowers could be crushed and the material applied to infected cuts or sores that refused to heal, something that often happened in the humidity of the rain forest. The leaves and roots could be brewed into a tea and taken as a potion to remove worms and parasites. The flowers could be crushed and made into a poultice and applied to infected sores. She knew of a half dozen more uses for the plant for various ills, although depending on where it was grown, the roots could be toxic.
She frowned when she saw the large variety of strychnos , used in making strong curare for blowguns. There were hundreds of plants, both toxic and medicinal, all mixed together. There was even the plant she knew Adan’s tribe used for countering the frog’s poison used in their darts when they accidentally managed to get the poison on their skin.
The garden had everything from small brush to exotic flowers. She even found a little bed of daisies that pleased her. It seemed a little incongruous beside the more brilliant bird of paradise, but the simple beauty of the daisies was not lost on her.
She found herself following the little bed of common flowers. Around it, the brush grew thick with variegated leaves and fronds. Some of the leaves were so large that when it rained, they formed little umbrellas and the water ran down in tiny streams to the beds below, eroding the dirt. She crouched closer to examine the beds to see if the plants below were getting damaged. Some of the stalks were brown and withered as if they weren’t getting water—or had a fungus.
Something—an animal—had been rooting around the flowerbed, digging for roots. There was evidence of birds as well, as though something had attracted them to this area. She crawled through the dying flowers to the middle of the bed and caught a whiff of decay. Her cat recoiled from the smell. Compost? She’d never smelled anything quite like it. It almost smelled like death.
Her heart jumped and she looked around to make certain she was alone. The stench was overpowering and she could clearly see that animals had disturbed the area. She moved closer, her eyes examining the withered flowers. Around them, the dirt was freshly dug. Something small and white and shiny peeking out of the dirt caught her attention. Isabeau glanced nervously through the trees to see if Harry and Alberto could see her, but the foliage was too thick.
Inching closer, she crouched low. The smell of decay grew stronger and her cat rebelled, urging her to flee. She brushed aside the dirt around that small white object and nearly leapt back. When she turned over the dirt, hundreds of small insects wiggled and protested. Very delicately, she pushed at the object to reveal more. She was looking at a partially decayed finger. There was a human body in the garden.
Trying to breathe shallowly so she didn’t take in the smell, she stood up and stepped back carefully, her heart pounding. Philip Sobre had his own burial ground. The garden was an entire acre. He could bury any number of people here. She swallowed hard and tried to think what to do. She didn’t want any evidence of her discovery. With her hand, she carefully brushed over her footprints and made her way back to the main path, trying to cover up anything she might have disturbed.
Did Alberto know? Surely he hadn’t deliberately sent her out looking, hoping she’d make the discovery. Was it possible he had his own agenda? That he wasn’t the sweet old gentleman he appeared to be? But what could be accomplished by her discovering a dead body in Philip Sobre’s private garden? This place was horrible and she wanted out of it as fast as she could go.
She made herself walk, not run, heading back toward the old man. Glancing over her shoulder for one last look at the burial ground, she hit something hard. Two hands caught her arms in a firm grip, steadying her, and the scent of an aroused male assailed her nostrils. She recognized him instantly. Ottila Zorba, one of the rogue leopards, and he was looking at her with a leopard’s focused gaze—as prey. He stared down at her without smiling and slowly, almost reluctantly, released her.
Isabeau forced a small smile. “Hello. I didn’t see you there. I should have been looking where I was going.” She took a step as though she would go around him, but he glided in that fluid, silent way of leopards, cutting off her escape. He was a good- looking man, very muscular, with a raw-boned face and a firm, attractive mouth.
Isabeau felt a familiar itch running under her skin. Her cat stretched sensuously and all at once her body felt sensitive and achy, coiling tight in need. She had the sudden urge to rub herself all over his very masculine body.
Don’t you dare! she threatened her cat. I thought you didn’t like him.
It was hot in the garden, too hot. Her skin felt too tight. Her nipples peaked and rubbed against her bra. She felt sweat bead and then trickle down the valley between her breasts. She raised a hand to sweep back the heavy fall of hair spilling around her face. She was so sensitive that just the touch almost burned her skin, like the lick of a tongue. She swallowed and caught him staring at her throat with hunger in his eyes. The action of bringing up her hand to her hair was seductive. Had she done it on purpose? It brought attention to her breasts and beaded nipples.
Her cat moved, an alluring enticement, meant to tempt any male in her vicinity to help her mate prove to her she was choosing the right partner. Isabeau knew exactly what the hussy was doing too. She hissed, trying to show her displeasure to the male.