Between a Rock and a Hard Place: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

Primrose House—and she couldn’t claim credit for that beyond the plantings—were birthday parties. She didn’t think cone-shaped hats with elastic chin straps and pin the tail on the donkey would suit the occasion.
    “We haven’t set a date,” he reminded her. “When is your project finished? What about the weekend after that?”
    “Yes,” she said. “I’ll just check with Lydia to find out when school ends for the girls.”
    “Have you spoken with her again?”
    “No. I didn’t even tell her I’m going to Edinburgh. I’ll wait until I’m there and settled,” she said. “I’ll have plenty of time in the evenings. All by myself. I’ll have to get used to that all over again.”
    He raised his eyebrows in agreement. “As will I.”
    —
    Pru met Jo in a café near Jo’s flat in Belgravia. A steady rain fell, and the three small metal tables out on the pavement sat dripping and empty while indoors, the lunch crowd wedged into chairs at tables that fit together like puzzle pieces. Pru saw Jo through the window—eyes on her phone screen, probably conducting business. As a property manager, Jo matched clients with appropriate and elegant spaces, and was able to work from a restaurant or while minding her only grandchild, Oliver, while Cordelia taught piano.
    Jo dressed for work no matter what, and today had on a well-cut black business suit, sky-blue silk blouse, and three-inch black heels, which brought her height even with Pru’s shoulders. Jo had worn her Burberry trench coat, probably against the weather. Pru shed her yellow waterproof jacket as soon as she walked in the door lest she be mistaken for someone from the road-works crew. She had donned her best pair of woodsy-brown wool trousers and a rose-colored cardigan.
    “The soup is cream of winter veg with crème fraîche,” Jo said. Pru could live off soup, as Jo well knew; there was no point in looking at the menu. “I ordered wine—just glasses— we must keep our heads about us.” She reached across the table and squeezed Pru’s hand. “How is everything going? What have you accomplished?”
    Pru had been reading a transcription of letters that morning. “Oh, Jo, Mr. Menzies seems like such a lovely man.” She scrambled in her bag and brought out a scrap of paper. “Listen, this is what he wrote to his mother in 1791, just before he sailed away on the
Discovery
. ‘May the guardian hand of Divine Providence long, long continue its protection toward you.’ Isn’t that sweet?”
    “Oh, Pru,” Jo said, laughing. “You’re about to be married. What about those plans?”
    Pru had started making mental lists. Wedding: date, time, place, would Simon give her away? Every day she added another few items. She had a separate list for Mr. Menzies: layout of an eighteenth-century ship, surgeon’s duties, how did they keep the rats away from the seeds? Her head began to spin.
    “You are helping me with the wedding, so I don’t have to worry,” Pru said. She could see a light in Jo’s eyes. “What have you accomplished?”
    Jo practically levitated off her chair. “I’ve had an amazing idea.” She stopped long enough for the waiter to serve the wine. “Cheers!”
    Pru took a sip, kept her eyes on Jo, and sighed with relief. Jo had been Pru’s first acquaintance in London, now more than two years ago. At the beginning, it was all business—Jo managed the town house in Chelsea that Pru had sublet. But soon it went beyond business: Jo showed her around the neighborhood, invited her for Christmas, and became her best friend.
    “I’m ready—what’s your idea?”
    “Have you thought about having the wedding in Scotland?”
    “Where” and “when” were unanswered questions for Pru; it was only “who” that Pru was sure about. “It’s awfully far away, isn’t it?”
    “You know that we would all go up for it. I’m sure that Simon and Polly would love a little holiday up north. Harry and Vernona would certainly be there.