Page 97 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
I slam into a small figure, knocking them back into the side of the house.
“What the f—” I recognize the man. It’s J. W. Ranch, Father’s head gardener. I’m amazed he’s still alive—he must be about ninety years old.
“Mr. Di Santo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your way. I?—”
“Nonsense, Ranch. That was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I reach out to guide him back onto the path. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“No, no, sir. I’m fine.”
His skin is weathered and his limbs all bone and hardly any flesh, but his manner is still spritely, and I bet his mind is as sharp as a spear.
“Ranch, I’ve been meaning to ask ...”
He looks up at me eagerly. “Yes, sir?”
“There’s a plant at the front of the house. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Mama always wanted yellow flowers, but these have dark red stalks. I’ve been wondering what it is.”
A shadow falls across his face. “I know exactly which plant you mean.” He starts walking toward the front, and I follow.
He stops by the terracotta pot where the eerie-looking berries sprout out of the blood-red stalks.
“They look like eyes,” I say.
“Yes, they call this ‘doll’s eyes.’” I notice he doesn’t bend down to lovingly stroke the fruits like I’ve seen him do with most other plants and flowers.
“I can see why. Who put it here?”
“Truthfully, sir ...” He shrugs apologetically. “I don’t know. It appeared here one morning about six months ago. The late Mr. Di Santo knew nothing of it, but I’m afraid he was too preoccupied with business to give it much thought.”
“Let’s get rid of it,” I say, knowing Mama would be turning in her grave at its sheer creepiness.
“I did try, sir.” Ranch looks at the floor, and it draws my brows together. “Mr. Savero Di Santo told me not to bother with such small matters. He wanted me to dig out a new pond, you see. Over there.”
I follow where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, there’s a new pond in the middle of one of the lawns.
“I’m sure Mr. Di Santo will want it removed when he has children though.” Ranch says this casually, as if my chest didn’t just harden like drying concrete.
“Why?”
“This is one of the most dangerous plants in North America, sir. It’s said that the berries taste real sweet, but they’re deadly.”
I force back a shudder and repeat my instruction.
“Get rid of it, Ranch. And make it a priority.”
He nods and backs away. “Yes, sir.”
Instead of heading straight back to my apartment, I drive around the coast and head north. There’s someone I want to see before I leave this place behind.
I pull up to an entrance and peer into the camera. Within seconds the gates swing open, and I drive past the security guards, eventually parking up outside a redbrick house.
The front door opens, and a thick-built man with graying hair and errant eyebrows opens his arms.
“Cristiano, my boy. I thought you were never coming.”
I grin as I approach and let him clasp my face, planting three kisses on my cheeks.
“Zio,” I say, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”
