Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil by Barbara Monajem Read Free Book Online

scared."
    "Gotta move ahead sometime." For a man with a rep for violence--not that he had ever been caught--Constantine's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You can't--"
    "Be ruled by fear," she agreed. "I know."
    C HAPTER T HREE
    Men and their dumb bondage jokes, thought Ophelia. Not that Vi's much help. Oh God, what am I going to do?
    Definitely not whine that nobody understands me, she told herself, although she had a feeling that Constantine, brutal though he might be, understood all too well, especially after the death of his estranged wife and the media kerfuffle that followed. But face it: a pair of vigilantes and a sister with absent sexual mores didn't make the grade as life-choice advisers. Sleep with him, they all said. Why not?
    Apart from the fact that I met him only a few hours ago? Because I can feel my past poised to destroy me.
    Dumb and dramatic, but that didn't make it any less true. Ophelia drove away from the center of town, with its tourists and clubs, to one of the older, oak-lined residential sections of Bayou Gavotte. Even setting her appalling past aside, it was obnoxious to distract a guy with sex unless you intended to deliver. A rush of longing shot through her. Lord, did she ever want to deliver. But there had to be another way to distract him, to buy some time.
    She puttered down Olive Street to her client Andrea Dukas's house, took a left at the cross street, and pulled around to the back gate to park beside their new minivan. The rear doors of the vehicle gaped wide, revealing a stroller, a folded baby cot, and several suitcases stowed any which way. On the ground behind the car stood five potted azaleas. Andrea had likely found a so-called bargain at the hardware store again.
    "Miss Ophelia!" Two little girls tumbled across the lawn, ponytails flying, pink backpacks bumping on their shoulders. "We're running away!"
    Ophelia settled her hostas and the flats of annuals in the shelter of the fence. "Sure you want to do that? Your sister and brother will miss you."
    "They're running away, too. So is Mom."
    The eldest Dukas girl tottered toward Ophelia carrying her year-old brother. She gasped a hello, dumped little Simon in his car seat, and hollered at the twins to get in the van.
    Had Andrea and her husband split up? Impossible. "Where are you going?"
    One of the twins began, "To G--"
    "Shut up!" her older sister shrieked. "Mom said not to tell anyone ." She sniffled woefully. "I'm sorry, Miss Ophelia. I didn't mean to be rude."
    "That's okay." Now Andrea was staggering toward them with a cooler, while a tall, dark-haired woman who looked somewhat familiar juggled cups, sandwiches, three Tupperware containers, and an overflowing tote. Ophelia frowned at the tear tracks on Andrea's cheeks and the other woman's grim face. She said, "Sorry if it's a bad time. I came to drop the plants for tomorrow."
    Andrea's face puckered. "Didn't you get my message? You'll have to take the plants back, because everything's gone wrong and I can't afford you anymore." She struggled to hold back tears. "I bought some azaleas and tried to return them, but they w-wouldn't take them and now you can't even plant them for me, so they'll die!" She slung the cooler into the van, sobbing, and slammed the doors.
    First time ever, thought Ophelia: a good excuse to not plant stressed plants that had been overfed and would probably die anyway, and she couldn't use it. "Of course I'll plant them. At least then they'll have a chance of survival. I'll plant the ones I brought, too, and you can pay me whenever. No rush."
    Tears gushed out as Andrea got into the driver's seat. "We'll never be able to pay you. We'll have to sell the house and live in a trailer ." She blanched. "I'm sorry!"
    "For cripes sake, Andrea, like I care about that." What the hell was going on?
    Andrea yelled at her kids about seat belts while her friend distributed cups and sandwiches and lifted the tote through the window. Two dog-eared photographs fell