Blue Dahlia

to him she was a woman born to nag. At least she had the sense not to interrupt.
    Then again, she seemed to be nothing but sense.
    Maybe she’d surprise him. He liked surprises, and he’d gotten one when he met her kids. He’d expected to see a couple of polite little robots. The sort that looked to their domineering mother before saying a word. Instead he’d found them normal, interesting, funny kids. Surely it took some imagination to manage two active boys.
    Maybe she was only a pain in the ass when it came to work.
    Well, he grinned a little as he cut through a branch. So was he.
    He let her wait while he finished. It took him another thirty minutes, during which he largely ignored her. Though he did see her take a camera—Jesus—then a notebook out of her purse.
    He also noticed she’d gone over to speak to his men and that Dick sent occasional glances in Stella’s direction.
    Dick was a social moron, Logan thought, particularly when it came to women. But he was a tireless worker, and he would take on the filthiest job with a blissful and idiotic grin. Sam, who had more common sense in his big toe than Dick had in his entire skinny body, was, thank God, a tolerant and patient man.
    They went back to high school, and that was the sort of thing that set well with Logan. The continuity of it, and the fact that because they’d known each other around twenty years, they didn’t have to gab all the damn time to make themselves understood.
    Explaining things half a dozen times just tried his patience. Which he had no problem admitting he had in short supply to begin with.
    Between the three of them, they did good work, often exceptional work. And with Sam’s brawn and Dick’s energy, he rarely had to take on any more laborers.
    Which suited him. He preferred small crews to large. It was more personal that way, at least from his point of view. And in Logan’s point of view, every job he took was personal.
    It was his vision, his sweat, his blood that went into the land. And his name that stood for what he created with it.
    The Yankee could harp about forms and systemic bullshit all she wanted. The land didn’t give a rat’s ass about that. And neither did he.
    He called out a warning to his men, then topped the old, dead oak. When he shimmied down, he unhooked his harness and grabbed a bottle of water. He drank half of it down without taking a breath.
    “Mr....” No, friendly, Stella remembered. She boosted up her smile, and started over. “Nice job. I didn’t realize you did the tree work yourself.”
    “Depends. Nothing tricky to this one. Out for a drive?”
    “No, though I did enjoy looking at the neighborhood. It’s beautiful.” She looked around the yard, gestured to encompass it. “This must have been, too, once. What happened?”
    “Couple lived here fifty years. He died a while back. She couldn’t handle the place on her own, and none of their kids still live close by. She got sick, place got run-down. She got sicker. Kids finally got her out and into a nursing home.”
    “That’s hard. It’s sad.”
    “Yeah, a lot of life is. They sold the place. New owners got a bargain and want the grounds done up. We’re doing them up.”
    “What’ve you got in mind?”
    He took another slug from the water bottle. She noticed the mulcher had stopped grinding, and after Logan sent a long, narrowed look over her shoulder, it got going again.
    “I’ve got a lot of things in mind.”
    “Dealing with this job, specifically?”
    “Why?”
    “Because it’ll help me do my job if I know more about yours. Obviously you’re taking out the oak and I assume the maple out front.”
    “Yeah. Okay, here’s the deal. We clear everything out that can’t or shouldn’t be saved. New sod, new fencing. We knock down the old shed, replace it. New owners want lots of color. So we shape up the azaleas, put a weeping cherry out front, replacing the maple. Lilac over there, and a magnolia on that side. Plot of peonies on that side, rambling roses along the back fence. See they got that rough little hill toward the back there, on the right? Instead of leveling it, we’ll plant it.”
    He outlined the rest of it quickly, rolling out Latin terms and common names, taking long slugs from his water bottle, gesturing.
    He could see it, he always could—the finished land. The small details, the big ones, fit together into one attractive whole.
    Just as he could see the work that would go into each and every step,