If it had been really, truly spring, I’d have changed back into my bikini to combine business with pleasure. But though the sun was still shining, I wasn’t in a carefree mood any longer. I pulled my gardening gloves on, because I didn’t want to ruin my fingernails. Some of these weeds seemed to fight back. One grew on a thick, fleshy stalk, and it had sharp points on its leaves. If you let it grow long enough, it blossomed. It was really ugly and prickly, and it had to be removed by its roots. There were quite a few of them springing up among the emerging cannas.

Gran would have had a fit.

I crouched and set to work. With my right hand, I sank the trowel in the soft dirt of the flower bed, loosening the roots of the nasty weed, and pulled it up with my left hand. I shook the stalk to get the dirt off the roots and then tossed it aside. Before I’d started I’d put a radio out on the back porch. In no time at all, I was singing along with LeAnn Rimes. I began to feel less troubled. In a few minutes, I had a respectable pile of uprooted weeds and a glow of virtue.

If he hadn’t spoken, it would have ended differently. But since he was full of himself, he had to open his mouth. His pride saved my life.

Also, he picked some unwise words. Saying, “I’ll enjoy killing you for my lord,” is just not the way to make my acquaintance.

I have good reflexes, and I erupted from my squatting position with the trowel in my hand and I drove it upward into his stomach. It slid right in, as if it were designed to be a fairy-killing weapon.

And that was exactly what it turned out to be, because the trowel was iron and he was a fairy.

I leaped back and dropped into a half crouch, still gripping the bloody trowel, and waited to see what he’d do. He was looking down at the blood seeping through his fingers with an expression of absolute amazement, as if he couldn’t believe I’d ruined his ensemble. Then he looked at me, his eyes pale blue and huge, and there was a big question on his face, as if he were asking me if I’d really done that to him, if it wasn’t some kind of mistake.

I began backing up to the porch steps, never taking my eyes from him, but he wasn’t a threat any longer. As I reached behind me to open the screen door, my would-be murderer crumpled to the ground, still looking surprised.