She looked toward me, but not quite at me. "Now I'm just guessing, mind you―but from what that boy called you, I would say that you're the DeFido girl."
"Cara," I told her. "So you heard about the nickname."
"Oh, believe me, I've been called a whole lot worse than that." She let loose a long, hearty laugh. "The Flock's Rest Monster' ain't all that bad, considering. It sounds legendary. Dignified."
She planted the pitchfork firmly on a grave and took my hand. "You come on in. I'll make us some tea."
3
The sweet and the rancid
Although I didn't actually know her before that day, Miss Leticia had always been of interest to me. Maybe it was because she was an outcast in town, rumored to have killed her husband when he sold this land, which had been in her family for generations. That was long before I was born, but the rumors still hung like sheets on a clothesline, twisting more and more the longer they stayed in the wind.
Her whole life now was spent in her cottage, and the huge greenhouse behind it that had once been the centerpiece of the botanical garden. It was a grand Victorian greenhouse, with a high crystalline dome, and smaller wings on either side.
She didn't take me to the cottage―instead she took me right to the greenhouse, which was even more spectacular inside than out. Strange black orchids grew from the dark soil, and up above hung carnivorous pitcher plants so big they could drown a rat. I took a deep whiff. Every inch of the place was alive with aromas. Turn your head and the scent would change to something else.