“A secret admirer, according to the tag.” Janice Heinlein grinned. “He came in while I was out, made the order with Pete. Even if I knew who it was, which I don’t, I’m not allowed to say more than that. Customer right to privacy and all that, you know.” She winked.
Mira sighed. It had to be from Shane Patel. He’d come by twice more over the past week bearing gifts, which she’d reluctantly accepted, though she’d reiterated both times that she wasn’t selling the Crown. He hadn’t seemed fazed by her rebuttals—in fact, he’d looked as though he was simply happy to bring her presents. The first had been a basket of assorted baked goods from Georgette’s Books and Bakery, along with two pounds of fresh ground coffee beans from the Grindery, a café on Main. There was simply no way to turn that down—Saul, the café owner, would be insulted. And no one could resist cookies from Georgette’s.
The second gift had been just as nonrefundable: a deli tray from Everville Grocery. Apparently, Mr. Patel was bent on feeding her and ingratiating himself with the local businesses. Since the platter had come from Arty’s, she couldn’t say no.
Mira had no doubt that the real estate developer was buttering her up for negotiations. She imagined he’d come by to show her his plans for whatever he was going to build, tell her how it would benefit the community, do some song and dance while avoiding any actual discussion of sales or price tags. The initial offer for the building had been reasonable, she supposed, for what most people thought was an abandoned building. But it wasn’t nearly enough in Mira’s estimation. Of course, she wouldn’t sell the place for anything, unless Shane could magically bring her grandfather back from the dead. Maybe not even then. Grandpa had loved the Crown with all his heart.
She turned the potted orchid in her hand, admiring the deep fuchsia blooming from the center of the blossom and lightening to a blush at the tips of the petals. How had the man known she loved orchids?
“How are the tomatoes doing?” Janice asked, rocking up onto her toes eagerly.
Mira smirked. Janice was usually too busy to make deliveries herself. She’d come to see the garden. “Come.”
The florist grinned and clapped her hands. She quickly followed Mira up to the balcony fire exit. Mira unwound the chains from around the push bar and unlocked the padlock. People had tried breaking through that door before. She’d also had to put a bike lock on the fire escape ladder to keep trespassers from climbing to the roof where her precious garden was. It wasn’t technically legal or safe, but no one was using the theater except her.
With the orchid in a backpack, they climbed the ladder. Mira stayed beneath Janice in case the older woman made a misstep. Mira was used to heights—the Crown was her home, her playground, and she could walk this place in the dark. The florist went up slowly, and eventually, they clambered over the edge of the roof and onto Mira’s gravel-topped oasis.
She never got tired of the view up here. With careful attention to where and how things were planted, the garden thrived with little interference, and in mid-May, the place was like Eden. Thick, healthy vines and climbing plants twined around the freestanding trellises, providing cool shade for the more delicate plants. Marigolds and citronella protected many of the produce plants from bugs. A few sparkly rainbow-colored pinwheels and flapping pennants warned birds away. A wind chime she’d made as a child for Grandpa out of shells, beads and tiny jingle bells clattered and tinkled in the breeze from one decorative arch.
Janice headed straight for the bean and tomato boxes. She fingered the leaves and gently turned the tiny yellow blossoms. “Looking good. The extra shade’s a good idea up here, too.” She nodded at the faded patio umbrellas arranged around the boxes of produce that couldn’t handle full sun. She stuck her fingers in the soil. “Good drainage. Nice and moist. I think you’ll get a bumper crop.”
“I hope so.” Mira picked some stray weeds out of a planter full of squash and filled a watering can from one of the many rain barrels placed around the roof.
“Your grandfather would be proud of what you’ve done with his garden.”
Mira smiled sadly. Grandpa had had a crush on the florist and had often wistfully joked about marrying Janice so Mira could have a grandmother. And he’d been a hell of a flirt. When Mira had gotten a little older, she’d wondered if the two had ever had some kind of relationship. But as far as she could tell, they’d only ever been friends.
They placed the new orchid in the small plastic greenhouse with her other tropical plants and chatted about the various health issues some of her specimens were having. Mira had worked this garden alongside her grandpa since her early teens. Jack Bateman had loved growing things. When they’d lived together, his bungalow hadn’t had much in the way of a front or backyard, which was why the rooftop garden had been his pride. Keeping it alive was just as important to Mira as keeping the Crown in her possession.
After half an hour of puttering, Janice and Mira climbed back down the ladder and headed into the theater. “Be honest, Janice. Was it Shane Patel who bought me that orchid?” Unwanted warmth wormed through her with the mere mention of his name.
“I really couldn’t say.” The older woman’s shrug and secretive smile suggested otherwise.
Mira rolled her eyes as she relocked the balcony door. “Well, at least he didn’t bring it himself. He’s been bugging me all week. I don’t have time for him. I have a lot of work to do.”
“Oh?”
“Life of a freelance writer,” she said, with no resentment. She enjoyed her work—it was just a lot of juggling projects.
“I didn’t mean ‘Oh’ about your work. I meant ‘Oh’ as in, I didn’t realize Mr. Patel was courting you.”
Mira’s cheeks burned. “He’s not courting,” she corrected prudishly. “He’s looking for a way to buy the Crown from me. Honestly, I’ve no idea why he won’t take a hint. I’ve been pretty clear.”
Janice scratched her nose. “Maybe you should talk to him, see what his plans are.”
Mira shook her head. Handsome, charming men like Shane could not be trusted. He wanted her property. That was it. She couldn’t trust a single compliment, kind word or platitude from him.
“If there’s nothing he can say to convince you,” Janice went on reasonably, “then it wouldn’t hurt to listen, would it?”
“I have more important things to do than sit through a sales pitch.”
“Well, if you won’t talk to him directly, come to the open house he’s having down at B. H. Everett. I heard from Cheyenne he’s giving a presentation about his project and what it’ll mean for the town.”
That gave Mira pause. Mayor Cheyenne Welks had pushed important infrastructure projects through and secured funding to do the much-needed upgrades to the water mains and sewer lines. She’d been a real boon for the town, a progressive liberal thinker who’d swayed some of the conservative cronies on town council to invest in the future.
That Shane Patel had the new mayor’s ear was significant. Cheyenne’s agenda had been one of growth and change, and her vision had done much to improve life in Everville. If she thought the Sagmar project was a good thing, Mira would have a battle on her hands.
What would Grandpa do? He’d always said keeping Everville alive was all about growing and changing.
But not the Crown, Mira insisted. Some things had to stay the same—everyone needed an anchor in a storm. The theater had once been the cultural heart of the town, and it would be again—as soon as she could figure out how to reopen.
Maybe the first step was to make her intentions public.
* * *
SHANE WENT THROUGH his mental