Black Rose

starched doilies or runners.
    The walls were painted a candy pink, and the tweed beige wall-to-wall was buried under several floral area rugs.
    The air smelled like the inside of a cedar chest that had been bathed in lavender water.
    Everything gleamed. He imagined if an errant mote of dust dared invade such grandeur, the quiet puppy would chase it down and banish it instantly.
    “Please, sit down. I’ll inform Miss Harper that you’re here.”
    “Thank you, Miss...”
    “Paulson. Jane Paulson.”
    “Paulson?” He flipped through the family tree in his mental files. “A relative, then, on Miss Harper’s father’s side.”
    The faintest hint of color bloomed in her cheeks. “Yes. I’m Miss Harper’s great-niece. Excuse me.”
    Poor baby, he thought when she slipped away. He maneuvered through the furniture and condemned himself to one of the side chairs.
    Moments later he heard the click and step, and the woman herself appeared.

    Though she was rail thin, he wouldn’t have said frail, despite her age. More, he thought at first glance, a form that was tough and whittled down to the basics. She wore a dress of rich purple, and leaned on an ebony cane with an ivory handle.
    Her hair was a pristine white helmet, and her face—as thin as her body—was a map of wrinkles under a dusting of powder and rouge. Her mouth, thin as a blade, was poppy red.
    There were pearls at her ears and her throat, and her fingers were studded with rings, glinting as fiercely as brass knuckles.
    The puppy trailed in her wake.
    Knowing his role, Mitch got to his feet, even managed a slight bow. “Miss Harper, it’s an honor to meet you.”
    He took the hand she extended, brought it to within an inch of his lips. “I’m very grateful you were able to find the time to see me.” He offered the roses, the chocolates. “Small tokens of my appreciation.”
    She gave a nod, which might have been approval. “Thank you. Jane, put these lovely roses in the Minton. Please be seated, Dr. Carnegie. I was very intrigued by your letter,” she continued as she took her seat on the settee and propped her cane on the arm. “You’re not from the Memphis area originally.”
    “No, ma’am. Charlotte, where my parents and my sister still live. My son attends the university here, and I relocated in order to be close to him.”
    “Divorced from his mama, aren’t you?”
    She’d done her research, Mitch thought. Well, that was fine. So had he. “Yes, I am.”
    “I don’t approve of divorce. Marriage isn’t a flight of fancy.”
    “It certainly isn’t. I confess my marital difficulties were primarily on my shoulders.” He kept his eyes level with her piercing ones. “I’m an alcoholic, and though in recovery now for many years, I caused my former wife a great deal of distress and unhappiness during our marriage. I’m pleased to say she’s remarried to a good man, and we have a cordial relationship.”
    Clarise pursed her bright red lips, nodded. “I respect a man who takes responsibility for his failings. If a man can’t hold his drink, he shouldn’t drink. That’s all there is to it.”
    Old bat. “I’m proof of that.”
    She continued to sit, and despite nearly eight full decades of wear and tear, her back was straight as a spear. “You teach?”
    “I have done. At the moment, I’m fully occupied with my research and writing of family histories and biographies. Our ancestry is our foundation.”
    “Certainly.” Her gaze shifted when Jane came in with the flowers. “No, not there,” she snapped. “There, and be careful. See to the refreshments now. Our guest can’t be expected to sit here without being offered basic hospitality.”
    She turned her attention back to Mitch. “You’re interested in the Harper family.”
    “Very much.”
    “Then you’re aware that the Harpers are not only my foundation, but a vital part of the foundation of Shelby County, and indeed the state of Tennessee.”
    “I am, very keenly aware, and hope to do justice to their contributions. Which is why I’ve come to you, for your help, for your memories. And in the hope that you’ll come to trust me with any letters or books, any written documentation that will help me to write a thorough and detailed account of the Harper family history.”
    He glanced up as Jane came out carrying a teapot and cups on a large tray. “Let me help you with that.”
    As he crossed to her, he saw the woman’s eyes shoot over to her aunt. Obviously