“My phone?”
“Did Bradley not explain? We don’t use cellular phones on this property.”
“What do you mean?”
“No phones. They’re slot machines. And they spew radiation. It’s a non-starter, I’m afraid.”
I look at my phone, certain she must be talking about something else. “You don’t use cellphones?”
“This generation,” she says with a sigh. “Give it to me. You can have it back when you move out.” Before I can think it through, she takes my phone between her thumb and index finger. “Trust me, it’ll change your life. You won’t regret it.”
“Wait,” I say limply, but I feel strangely powerless before this woman. There goes my chance to research Caroline Churchwell. I’ll have to find another way.
I linger awkwardly in the living room. I don’t want to leave until I’ve asked her about the key in my door.
She comes back a minute later.
“Good, you’re still here. I have a task for you. I need you to dig some plant food in with the roses out front.”
“Plant food?”
“Correct. Just dig it into the soil around the edge of the plant. It’s not rocket science.” Grace clearly sees the confused look on my face, because she rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it’s easy. There’s a container on the bench in the old barn.”
She walks past me to the door. “Grace?”
“Is it really that complicated?”
“No, it’s not about the roses. I was wondering, did you close my door last night?”
Her tone is immediately harsh and defensive. “I came to deliver the key. I found your door wide open for anyone to come inside. You really are a city girl, aren’t you?” She waits a beat for my response, then steps outside. “You’re welcome, of course.”
“Thanks,” I say, under my breath, as she walks away. I haven’t asked the obvious question, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
Who exactly would want to come inside my cottage at night?
CHAPTER EIGHT
I soon find the plant food in the barn in a plastic tub. The label has been peeled off, but it’s the only item on the bench. I find a trowel and am soon kneeling beside the rose bushes, digging it into the soil.
Without my phone, I have no idea how deep to dig or how much to use, but I figure I can’t go too far wrong.
It takes me an hour to dig the food into all the rose bushes in front of the house. My arms are covered in scratches, but I’m feeling quietly satisfied with my work. I’m on the final plant when I hear a voice behind me.
“What the hell are you doing to my roses?”
It’s Bradley. I turn around, grinning. “I’m feeding them.”
“Feeding them?” He finds the empty white tub on the ground. “With this?”
I’m thrown by his tone. “Grace told me to dig it into the roses.”
“With this?” He repeats, then tosses the tub onto the ground. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“Shit.” He swears some more, then mutters audibly. “What have you done?”
I’m starting to feel annoyed by his reaction. “What I was asked to do. By your wife.”
