Blue Dahlia

might change the layout to improve sales and highlight non-plant purchases. You have a prime location, excellent landscaping and signage, and a very appealing entrance.”
    “I hear a ‘but’ coming on.”
    “But ...” Stella moistened her lips. “Your first-level retail area is somewhat disorganized. With some changes it would flow better into the secondary area and on through to your main plant facilities. Now, a functional organizational plan—”
    “A functional organizational plan. Oh, my God.”
    “Take it easy, this really won’t hurt. What you need is a chain of responsibility for your functional area. That’s sales, production, and propagation. Obviously you’re a skilled propagator, but at this point you need me to head production and sales. If we increase the volume of sales as I’ve proposed here—”
    “You did charts.” There was a touch of wonder in Roz’s voice. “And graphs. I’m ... suddenly afraid.”
    “You are not,” Stella said with a laugh, then looked at Roz’s face. “Okay, maybe a little. But if you look at this chart, you see the nursery manager—that’s me—and you as you’re in charge of everything. Forked out from that is your propagator—you and, I assume, Harper; production manager, me; and sales manager—still me. For now, anyway. You need to delegate and/or hire someone to be in charge of container and/or field production. This section here deals with staff, job descriptions and responsibilities.”
    “All right.” On a little breath, Roz rubbed the back of her neck. “Before I give myself eyestrain reading all that, let me say that while I may consider hiring on more staff, Logan, my landscape designer, has a good handle on the field production at this point. I can continue to head up the container production. I didn’t start this place to sit back and have others do all the work.”
    “Great. Then at some point I’d like to meet with Logan so we can coordinate our visions.”
    Roz’s smile was thin, and just a little wicked. “That ought to be interesting.”
    “Meanwhile, since we’re both here, why don’t we take my notes and sketches of the first-level sales section and go through it on the spot? You can see better what I have in mind, and it’ll be simpler to explain.”
    Simpler? Roz thought as she hopped down. She didn’t think anything was going to be simpler now.
    But it sure as holy hell wasn’t going to be boring.

four

    EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT. SHE WORKED LONG hours, but much of it was planning at this stage. There was little Stella loved more than planning. Unless it was arranging . She had a vision of things, in her head, of how things could and should be.
    Some might see it as a flaw, this tendency to organize and project, to nudge those visions of things into place even when—maybe particularly when—others didn’t quite get the picture.
    But she didn’t see it that way.
    Life ran smoother when everything was where it was meant to be.
    Her life had—she’d made certain of it—until Kevin’s death. Her childhood had been a maze of contradictions, of confusions and irritations. In a very real way she’d lost her father at the age of three when divorce had divided her family.
    The only thing she clearly remembered about the move from Memphis was crying for her daddy.
    From that point on, it seemed she and her mother had butted heads over everything, from the color of paint on the walls to finances to how to spend holidays and vacations. Everything.
    Those same some people might say that’s what happened with two headstrong women living in the same house. But Stella knew different. While she was practical and organized, her mother was scattered and spontaneous. Which accounted for the four marriages and three broken engagements.
    Her mother liked flash and noise and wild romance. Stella preferred quiet and settled and committed.
    Not that she wasn’t romantic. She was just sensible about it.
    It had been both sensible and romantic to fall in love with Kevin. He’d been warm and sweet and steady. They’d wanted the same things. Home, family, future. He’d made her happy, made her feel safe and cherished. And God, she missed him.
    She wondered what he’d think about her coming here, starting over this way. He’d have trusted her. He’d always believed in her. They’d believed in each other.
    He’d been her rock, in a very real way. The rock that had given her a solid base to build on after a childhood of