The Hidden Legacy

the temperature of the water, found it cool, and took a couple of swigs. What the hell, I decided, and held the hose right over my head.
The shock of the cold water had me gasping, but it felt fantastic. I tipped my head back, closed my eyes as the water rushed over my face. Next, I aimed the hose down my neck and back, shuddering in relief. Keeping my eyes closed, I tugged my shirt away from my cleavage and let the water run right down my front. The icy water washed away all the sawdust that had clung to my bra and chest. It was a childish pleasure, but fun, nonetheless.
In a much better mood, I swiped the water away from eyes, wrung out my ponytail, and decided to water my mother’s butterfly gardens while I was at it. A few Painted Lady butterflies fluttered around as I held the hose at the base of some purple coneflowers. A flirty yellow Swallowtail danced around me and settled on my shoulder.
“Hello, there,” I said to the butterfly. As if my words were an invitation, several more landed on me.
I moved slowly in deference to my passengers, taking my time and watering all the plants. After a little while, I was only slightly dripping, so I finished up with the garden and went to go turn the water off. I twisted the faucet, turned and managed about three steps and froze, when I realized I wasn’t alone after all.
Henry Walker stood in the shade of the back patio, silently watching me. About a million thoughts raced through my head. Why was he still here? Why was he watching me...Oh crap, the thin white tank I’d worn was practically transparent...thank goddess I had a bra on...And finally...I hoped he hadn’t thought that my cooling off with the hose, was some sort of teasing exhibition.
“I thought I was alone,” I said, and the butterflies took off in a colorful, fluttering swirl between the two of us.
We stood staring at each other for a heartbeat, then two.
“You had butterflies all over you,” he said very quietly.
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder towards the flowers I’d watered. “Well, that is a butterfly garden.” I tried hard to make my voice sound casual.
“Never saw anything like that before.” His eyes were steady, but the cautious tone put me on guard.
“Why are you still here?”
“I left my sunglasses. Came back to get them.” He held them up. “I was surprised when you came out here to cool off.”
“As I said, I thought I was alone.”
“Gotta say, you’re the last person I would have expected to have hosed off in the back yard.”
I refused to be embarrassed, but I still wanted him to go away. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get cleaned up before my son comes home.”
He stepped back and slipped his shades back on. “Sure, I’ll see you at the office.”
I nodded to him, and he left. I stayed where I was, waiting until I heard his car drive away. I blew out a breath as a Viceroy butterfly landed on my nose.
“That was a close one,” I said to the Viceroy, who flapped its wings in answer and flew away. Relieved that he’d taken my winged friends as simply a by-product of a butterfly garden, I picked up my shoes and iPod, and headed up the back steps.
I made the top landing and the wind chimes by the door began to clang and ring. The sound they made was slightly mocking, and I knew the element of air was laughing at my predicament.

CHAPTER FIVE
When I arrived at the agency on Monday morning, it was precisely nine o’clock. I’d given myself a pep talk on the way to work, and I was determined to be as polite and professional as possible.
In an effort to present myself as a lady, I wore a patterned swing dress in navy and coral. In deference to the July heat, it hit at the knees and was sleeveless. To jazz it up a bit, I’d worn my grandmother’s enameled butterfly locket and some coral colored sandals.
I heard throbbing music as I unlocked the front door, but assumed it was from a passing car. When I opened the door however, the volume of the music punched out and I took a step back. “What the hell?” I muttered. The racket was coming from inside our agency, and it only took a second to identify the culprit.
Henry Walker appeared to be reorganizing his new office. The room had originally been used for storage, and Edmund had a desk and filing cabinets brought in for his friend last week. But at the moment there was—goddess preserve us—country music blaring loud enough to almost drown out the phone that was ringing on my desk.
While the singer on the radio wailed about cruising through little farm towns with his windows down, I shut the door behind me and rushed to grab the phone. “Fox Investigations, hold please,” I said over the music, and punched the hold button without waiting for a reply. I dumped my purse on my desk and marched over to his office.
A beat up old boom box balancing on top a maple filing cabinet was the source of the obnoxious music. Instead of wasting time trying to turn it down, I grabbed the cord and yanked the plug straight out of the wall.
The silence was instant and exquisite.
“Good morning.” Henry grinned at me and, to my amazement, kept singing as if the music was still playing.
His voice wasn’t bad, but the grin really pissed me off. “It’s business hours, Mr. Walker. The music—if that’s what you can call it—needs to be turned off.” I heard my own words and winced internally. I sounded like some prissy librarian. That realization only aggravated me more.
“Darlin’, you don’t like country music?”
“Don’t call me darlin’.” I dropped the plug and it bounced off the hardwood floor. “Business hours are from 9:00 am until