The Devil's Garden Read Online Free PDF

into the bathroom, brushed his teeth. When he came out, Abby was sitting up in bed. The only thing she wore was a beautiful navy blue silk tie. It still had the price tag on it.
    “That’s the one?” Michael asked.
    Abby nodded. It was a ritual for them. Before every big case she would buy him a new tie, a lucky charm to wear during his opening statement. She had not failed yet. With Abby’s magical neckwear Michael had a 100 per cent conviction rate.
    “Professor Roman?” Abby asked, gently unknotting the tie and placing it on the nightstand.
    “Yes, Nurse Reed?”
    “I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”
    Michael pulled off his shirt. He now had on just a pair of light green hospital scrubs. “Of course.”
    “Which of the Brontë sisters’ books would be your favorite?”
    Michael laughed. “Well, let me think about this for a second.” He slipped out of his scrubs, under the sheets. “I’d have to say my favorite would be the one about Jane Eyre’s sister Frigid.”
    Abby snorted. “Frigid Eyre?”
    “Yes. It’s the story of a homely English girl’s quest for sexual adventure.”
    Abby shook her head. She put her arms around Michael’s neck. “I can’t believe we never made the connection. Charlotte and Emily. I mean, how many years of higher education do we have between us? Fifteen?”
    Of course, for Michael, this was not a rare occurrence. He was twenty-nine before he realized that the ABC song was the same melody as “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”. In his time he had once prepared a closing argument in a homicide case in less than an hour – with a vicious hangover, no less – and could recite the contributors to Black’s Law (Eighth Edition) by rote. But the subtleties of “Twinkle, Twinkle” were lost on him.
    The subtleties of Abby Roman’s body, however, were not.
    M IDNIGHT . M ICHAEL STOOD in the doorway to the girls’ room. Abby had been right. The girls were both still awake. He entered the room, kneeled between the beds.
    “Hi, Daddy,” Charlotte said.
    “Hi ladies,” he said. “Did you guys have fun today?”
    They both nodded in unison, yawned in harmony. Sometimes they were so different in their outlooks, their problem-solving skills, it was as if they were not even related. Charlotte with her ability to divine logic from chaos. Emily and her sense of color and flair for the dramatic. Other times, most of the time, they seemed to be of one mind, one heart, even more so than the connections that bound most twins.
    Michael glanced over at the corner of the room. Their little table was set for tea. It was, as always, arranged for three people. They never put a stuffed bear or bunny in the third chair. It was always just empty. It was one of the many mysteries that were his daughters.
    He turned back to the girls as Charlotte pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. She crooked her finger, beckoning Michael forward, as if to share a secret. He leaned between the two girls. They often did this when they wanted to tell him something together, an exercise that often ended with a kiss on each cheek. The kiss part was supposed to be a surprise.
    “What is it?” Michael asked.
    “ Ta tuleb ,” the two girls said softly.
    At first Michael thought he misheard them. It sounded as if they’d said “tattoo” or “the tool.” Neither interpretation made sense. “What did you say?”
    “Ta tuleb ,” they repeated.
    Michael leaned back, a little surprised. He looked back and forth between his daughters, at the four big blue eyes in the soft blush of the nightlight. “ Ta tuleb ?”
    They nodded.
    The phrase brought Michael back to his early childhood, to evenings above the Pikk Street Bakery, nights when he would be reading comic books while he was supposed to be doing his homework. When his mother, looking out the kitchen window, her long steel knitting needles in hand, saw Peeter Roman turn the corner onto Ditmars Boulevard, she would yell “ ta tuleb! ” up