Flowerbed of State Read Free Page A

read—the killer sticks around the scene of the crime to make sure he did the job right.
    My insides clenched. I held my breath and prayed Gordon had been right in thinking I’d been reading too many murder mysteries lately. Though I didn’t want to, I turned my head and peered over my shoulder to see if anyone was sneaking up behind me.
    Despite the deep shadows cast by the elm trees and the stormy fog, I spotted a blurry black blob jogging toward me, splashing through the puddles. The killer!
    I shouldn’t have ignored that sloshing sound I’d been hearing. But to be fair, with my thoughts jangling about in my head like loose change, I was having trouble figuring anything out, much less paying attention to odd noises. But everything suddenly turned crystal clear.
    The sloshing I’d heard had been from his boots.
    I could feel it in my bones. He was coming back to make sure I stayed planted in the mud.
    Why would anyone want to kill me? I’m a gardener. An assistant gardener, at that! Never mind, he’d already hit me once. With his silver briefcase, I think. I tightened my grip on my bottle of homegrown pepper spray, which suddenly felt inadequate. It was in a travel hairspray bottle that didn’t have much of a range.
    I should have bought a better bottle. I should have called for help right away. I dug around in my backpack for my cell phone. I found my garden shears, a small spade, the novel I’d been reading. Where was my phone? I should have stayed put. I should have kept my head down in the mud until I understood exactly what was happening. And now it was too late . . .
    SLOSH . SLOSH .
    He was directly behind me. His presence loomed like a heavy hand pressing down on me. I turned just as he grabbed my arm.
    What transpired next happened so fast perhaps I should skip over it. It’s not really that interesting. And, well, I didn’t exactly live up to Miss Marple’s standards.
    I screamed like a girl. Who wouldn’t? Adrenaline surged through me. Throwing my arms out, I leapt to my feet and pressed the plunger on my pepper spray bottle. Who could blame me? I kept squirting the man with my fiery concoction until he grabbed my wrist and twisted it with such force my hand went numb and the bottle dropped to the ground.
    He was dressed from head to toe in villainous black. Black military boots, black combat pants, black flak jacket, even his hair was the color of the midnight sky. Not only that, a large assault rifle was slung over his shoulder and a menacing pistol jutted out from a black leather leg holster.
    I tried to twist away from him to break his crushing hold on my wrist. I’d learned in a self-defense course I’d taken in college that the purpose of pepper spray is to blind your assailant long enough to escape him. I’d even perfected my quick dodge technique during the class’s mock attacks. I should have been able to sprint several blocks away by now. But I couldn’t go anywhere because this guntoting bully stubbornly refused to play by the rules and let go of me.
    Why wouldn’t he let go? In a blind panic, I let loose a Xena Warrior Princess battle yell and landed a bruising kick to his shin.
    “Ow!” he shouted, but his grip held firm. I kicked him again.
    With a disgusted grunt, he twirled me around until my backside was pressed against his muscular legs and chest. He cinched his arm around my waist, pinning me so close to him I had no hope of using any kind of leverage against his brute strength.
    “Let go,” I wheezed.
    “Not until you stop attacking me.” He swore under his breath while I twisted and turned and wore myself out. “This is what I get for playing the Good Samaritan, a hellcat with claws. If you don’t stop scratching me, I swear I will—”
    “Wait a minute.” He thought I was attacking him ? I’m the good guy here. What would make him think I would willingly attack anyone? “Wait a minute.”
    As soon as I stopped kicking and punching and, yes, scratching him, he