Tansy

Ancient oaks lined the crumbling dead-end street. Their canopy shaded the pothole-laced road, obscuring views of the dilapidated two-story wooden homes. Once magnificent structures, most were in various stages of collapse. Windows wide open, doors missing, rotten wood inside and out, paint long gone, and roofs with holes wide enough for vermin to live in musty-smelling dark crevices.

Only one home, restored, gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. Its owner had bought one house after another until he owned everything on this ten-acre stretch of land that ended at an old cemetery. He cared only about the house centered on the east side of Shadow Street.

While he renovated the old home, he added a large atrium at the back. The enclosed glass roof reached the second-floor windows. Inside, lush greenery lined the walls, blocking the outside view. Flowers of various colors brought comfort. The air smelled of orange blossoms. A pleasing sight and fragrance.

Three chocolate-colored leather recliners were in the center, along with a long matching couch. The coffee table in front of the couch had a full candy dish and a bucket of cold water bottles. Classical music played softly in the background. The sun warmed the room. Everything beckoned to sit down and relax.

In his extra-starched white shirt and black dress pants with a razor crease, Mr. Garrison didn’t look like someone who relaxed. He towered over most men. His build resembled a linebacker, but he had no interest in sports. All business, his brown eyes missed nothing. He…