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“Mom said my grandmother was never the same after my grandfather was killed. Grandma died shortly after him, and Mom was raised by her parents,” said Matt.

Miss Pearce nodded. “I knew that I had to heed Alex’s wishes that no one ever learn the truth of his time at Rosewood House, but I couldn’t leave things be. I needed to find some way to help his daughter.

“I hired a private investigator to find out what I could about Annabel and your mother. When I learned that Annabel had died, I backed away, but I always felt a degree of guilt. Chance had left me a wealthy woman—wealthy enough to buy the land that the nursery sits on and to not have to worry too much. When I thought of Annabel’s parents, the Mays, taking care of a young child… Well, I thought I might help, but I didn’t know how to without making them question Alex’s fidelity. I thought that would be too painful.

“Then something happened. I saw a photograph in a newspaper of a smiling young girl named Pamela Macalister dressed in a costume. I learned that your mother had appeared on the stage at a local theater, Matthew. Suddenly, I knew how I could help. Rather than trying to give the Mays money, I would help Pamela another way.”

Miss Pearce seemed to smile at the memory of what she had done as she continued. “I arranged for a local acting school to tell Pamela she had been put forward for a scholarship for acting classes. Then, when she graduated from high school, Pamela went to Hollywood, taking bit parts in plays around Los Angeles in hopes of being discovered. At that point, I did not have many connections to movie people, so there was little I could do to put her in the way of a studio talent scout. However, there was a photographer who was mad about roses and bought from me when I was still trading privately. I suggested he look at a young lady named Pamela Macalister, whom I pretended to have seen in a play. He took some photographs of her that ended up in a magazine, and that was what led to Pamela being discovered.”

“Those photos helped her land her MGM contract,” said Matt, handing Alex Macalister’s letter back to Miss Pearce. “That was your doing?”

“Hardly. She got that on her own merit. I merely stacked the deck a little bit in her favor,” said Miss Pearce.

“But those photographs gave her a start. She always talked about them.”

Miss Pearce offered him a little smile. “For many years, I stepped back and did nothing else. Your mother married your father. I know now that they bought a house in Pasadena, and Pamela gave up acting and settled into being a housewife. Then, many years later, I spotted her on the street in front of the Broadway department store. She had a little boy with her.”

“Matt,” said Theresa.

“You were still young, but I never forgot you,” said Miss Pearce. “Then one day I was visiting with friends when someone mentioned that their neighbor was trying to get back into the movies after leaving the business behind in the thirties and was leaving her son with them for hours. I asked a few questions and found out that would-be actress was Pamela. I reached out and offered you a job at the nursery.”

“Then you didn’t meet Mom through a country club?” asked Matt.

“Heavens, no,” said Miss Pearce with a laugh. “I have had my fill of clubs and societies for a lifetime.”

“Why did you never tell me any of this?” asked Matt.

Miss Pearce looked down at her hands. “Alex asked me to forget him. I knew that forgetting him was impossible, but I didn’t know what you knew of your grandparents’ marriage or what stories you might cherish. After all the time that had passed, however, I didn’t think giving you a job would harm anyone if you didn’t know who I had been to Alex.”

“Then why tell me now?” asked Matt.

“Because she is running out of time.”

Both Miss Pearce and Matt turned to look at Theresa.

“What do you mean Miss Pearce is running out of time?” asked Matt.

Miss Pearce’s brow creased, but then she began to slowly shake her head. “I suppose I should have known better than to trust a journalist not to be curious if left alone in a room with a collection of pill bottles.”

“When I first met you, you said that you couldn’t lift anything, but you hadn’t injured your shoulder, had you?” Theresa asked.

“No,” said Miss Pearce. “I’d recently had surgery.”

“Surgery? For what?” asked Matt, worry infusing his words.

Theresa caught Miss Pearce’s eye, and the older woman gave her a nod.

“She has cancer. Breast cancer would be my guess, based on the log of doctor’s appointments and the location of the surgery,” said Theresa.

“My doctor removed a great deal of… tissue in May,” Miss Pearce confirmed. “Unfortunately the wound became infected, and I needed another round of antibiotics.”

“The day you told me not to come,” she said.

“I was feeling very out of sorts for several days, and I suspected I wouldn’t be up to walking through the past.”

“You have cancer?” whispered Matt, who was looking rather pale now.

“Yes, Matthew,” said Miss Pearce, her expression softening.