Swift Justice by Laura DiSilverio Read Free Book Online

only after I got some gardening done. Stripping off my navy slacks and pin-striped blouse when I got home, I estimated I had two hours to work before it got dark. Weeds were poking their presumptuous heads up in one of my rock borders, and I needed to mulch some shrubs before we got the first hard frost, which could be any day now that we were on the cusp of September. Wearing faded orange running shorts and an old Hard Rock Café T-shirt, I descended the steps from my deck to the yard.The scent of pine met me, and I breathed it in, feeling the tension drain from me.
    I dragged a forty-pound bag of mulch from the small shed at the back of the property and started tamping it into place beneath my barberry bushes and lavender, taking care to avoid the barberry’s inch-long spines. The musty cedar smell made me sneeze, but I liked it. The pull in the muscles of my back and shoulders felt good, and I went through three bags of mulch before straightening. With a hand at my waist, I arched back.
    “Must’ve been a hard day,” said a familiar voice from behind me.
    I turned to see Father Dan, still in black shirt, clerical collar, and gray slacks, observing me from the hillock that separates my property from the church’s. The last of the sun’s fingers played over his rugged features and struck sparks from his blond hair. It glinted on a beer can as he raised it to drink.
    “How’d you know?” I smiled, glad to see him, and bent to yank a dandelion from a river rock border.
    “You always end up in the yard after you’ve had a particularly tough day. You missed one,” he added, using the can to point at a weed. “Why don’t you just let nature take its course?”
    “That would be admitting defeat,” I said, only half joking. “Xeriscape is a compromise between the gardener and nature in Colorado,” I told him. I gestured at the area behind my house. “I get to impose a pattern, some colors, on my yard, and the weather can’t ruin all my efforts by refusing to rain, because most of the plants need very little water and a lot of the texture comes from rocks and stuff.”
    “So you win?” Father Dan asked with a grin. He crumpled the beer can in one large hand.
    “Absolutely.”
    “That attitude’ll only make nature try harder.”
    “She can bring it on.” I stooped to pull some more weeds from the border, stuffing them into a plastic bag. I cut a look up at him from under the bangs flopping in my eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there looking priestly, lend a hand.”
    “Can’t. Vestry meeting in fifteen minutes. I’ll bring you a beer, though.”
    “Slacker.”
    He returned with a Sam Adams, and I decided to call it quits for the night. We settled cross-legged on the grass and drank our beers in companionable silence as the sun sank behind the mountain and shadows crept into the garden, coaxing the bunnies to come out and forage. I inhaled the hoppy smell of the beer and savored its cold bite as it slid down my throat. Um. The combination of the beer, peaceful silence, and hard work had lulled me half to sleep when Dan squeezed my shoulder and pushed himself to his feet.
    “Meeting time.” He extended a hand, and I put mine in it, conscious of its warmth and strength as he pulled me up.
    “Knock ’em dead.”
    “Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind on occasion, especially when we’re talking about the budget.”
    Showing him a shocked face, I waved as he strode back toward the church; then I headed for the deck and my hot tub. If any of Dan’s vestry members wandered this way they’d get a jolt, because I wasn’t going to bother with a swimsuit.

4

     
    (Thursday)
     
    No one, not even the bear, observed my skinny-dipping, and I set out for Denver the next morning feeling rested and rejuvenated. I was ninety-nine percent sure I’d seen the last of Gigi Goldman; I’d call her later to see if we could work out some sort of payment plan where I bought her out a little bit at a