An elderly woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat stood on the sidewalk in front of the yellow house, squinting her eyes at the house numbers painted on a wooden post. She checked the address on a small piece of paper, placed it in her pocket and slowly shuffled up the stone path. With some difficulty, the woman climbed the stairs, one at a time. At the top, she paused to catch her breath, and then leaned over to smell a red rose growing along the wide porch. She smiled, turned and knocked on the front door.

A dark-haired young woman with large bright eyes opened the door. “May I help you?” she asked.

“My name is Mrs. Julia Briar,” the old woman began. “Are you Cecily Brunner, the owner of this house?”

“Why, yes,” answered Cecily. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“I have heard you have the most beautiful rose garden in the county,” Mrs. Briar said in a slow drawl, her pale blue eyes beginning to flicker. “I too love roses and have many bushes myself. People say you take care of your roses as though they were your born and raised children.” A grin stretched across Cecily’s narrow face. “May I see your garden?” Mrs. Briar asked.