she could - and did - appreciate the amount of work that had gone into creating and maintaining such an oasis of color amid the summer-toasted fields. She also could appreciate the depth of emotion that Carl Biehn lavished on his creation. He wasn't soppy or twee about it but the garden was a living being to him; it showed subtly in his voice, his expressions, his actions. People who cared that much about something outside themselves were rare in Vicki's world and it reinforced her first favorable impression.
An old-fashioned hand pump stood on a cement platform, close by the back door. Carl led the way across the lawn toward it, finishing his enthusiastic monologue about the new heritage roses just as he reached for the handle.
"The cup appears to be missing again, Ms. Nelson. I hope you don't mind."
Vicki grinned. "I may just stick my entire head under if that's all right with you."
"Be my guest."
For all its apparent age, the pump worked smoothly, pulling up clear, cold water with only the slightest taste of iron. Vicki couldn't remember the last time she'd tasted anything as good and the sudden shock of it hitting the back of her head erased much of the morning's stickiness. If the pump had been a little higher off the ground, she'd have stuck her entire body under it.
Flicking her wet hair back off her face, she straightened and indicated the pump. "May I?" When Carl admitted that he wouldn't mind, they changed places. There was more pressure against the handle than Vicki had anticipated and she found herself having to lean into the mechanism. Gardening had obviously kept her elderly benefactor in good condition.
"It really is incredible," she murmured. "I've never seen anything like it."
"You should have seen it last week. Then it was really something." He stood, wiping his hands dry on his pants and gazing proudly out over the vast expanse of color. "Still, I have to admit, it doesn't look bad. Everything out there from A to Zee, from asters to zinnias."
Vicki stepped back as a bumblebee, leg pouches bulging with pollen, flew a slightly wobbly course just past the end of her nose. From this angle, she could look out over the flowers, to the vegetables, to the fields beyond. The contrast was incredible. "It looks like shredded wheat out there. How do you keep the garden watered? It must be almost a full-time job."
"Not at all." He rested one foot up on the cement platform and leaned a forearm across his thigh. "I use an underground irrigation system, developed by the Israelis. I merely turn on the tap and the system does all the work. Just to be on the safe side, however, I've run a water line out into the garden with a hundred feet of hose, in case a specific plant needs a little attention."
She waved a hand between the brown and the green. "I just can't get over the difference."
"Well, sometimes even the Lord needs a little help, his wonders to perform. Have you been saved, Ms. Nelson?"
The question came so unexpectedly, in such a rational tone, that it took Vicki a moment to realize what had been said and a moment beyond that to come up with what she hoped would be a definitive reply. "I'm an Anglican." She wasn't, really, but her mother was, sort of.
"Ah." He nodded, stepping back off the platform. "Church of England." For just a second, caught between the sun and the concrete, the damp sole of his shoe left a print - concentric half circles of tread last seen pressed into pine gum in the crotch of a tree.
Her expression carefully neutral over a sudden surge of adrenaline, Vicki put her own foot up on the platform and bent to tie her shoe. In the heat of the sun, the print dried quickly but it was a definite match.
Unfortunately, so was the print she left behind.
A quick look told her they were wearing the same brand of running shoe. A brand that seemed to cover the feet of half the civilized world.
Shit. Shit. Shit! Good news and bad news. Or bad news and good news, she wasn't quite sure. Evidence no longer pointed directly to the feet of Carl Biehn but her suspect list, based on the sneaker print at least, had just grown by millions. There'd be small differences of course - size, cracks in the rubber, wear patterns - but the possibilities of an easy match