The Ivory Rose
by
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A voice was shouted over the warm green grass on an early day in May. "Alison? Alison, where are you?" The sun shined brightly over a twelve-year-old girl with light hair and the face of an angel and she was sitting in a yellow spring dress. Kneeling over a rosebush, she was waving her hand over some roses. "Over here," she said without looking up. Her younger sibling, carrying a brown basket and wearing a pink dress, skipped from around the corner. "What are you doin?" she asked. "What’s it look like?" Trying to get her older sister's attention, the younger girl became proud of herself. "I must have picked over a hundred daffodils. I think I’ll give most of them to momma. Do you think she’ll like them?" "Who knows? She doesn’t like much of anything anymore. She didn’t even want to come out with us today. She never wants to do anything with us." "She doesn’t like the ocean. She says it makes her sick to even smell the air." "Yes, I remember," the older girl said, not giving a lick. The younger girl saw how talking about their mother upset her older sister. "Well, don’t you think they’re pretty?" "Do I think what are pretty, Mary Jo?" "My flowers?" "They’re okay. Kind of borin, though. Don’t you ever get tired of pickin those stupid daffodils?’ "No, I guess not," Mary Jo, said, feeling a little hurt. "You wanna see some real flowers? Come and take a look at these. They smell wonderful." "Alison, poppa said not to touch those," she warned her sister as she stepped back. "They’re roses. He said they weren’t ours for picking. He told us to stay away from them." Why it was said was of no importance to either of the girls, but if their father spoke stressfully about something, Mary Jo never questioned him. She just obeyed. It just gave Alison more curiosity. And of all the things Mary Jo would remember, her father’s warning would stick with her the most. "I was just looking. Ain’t they beautiful? If you put your hand over ‘em you can feel kind of a charge. I’ve never seen roses like these before, have you?" "I don’t think so." "Well, what do you think?" "They’re alright," Mary Jo, said as she looked away and tried not to care. "Oh, what do you know? You’re not even looking." "Alison, do you ever think about stuff?" Mary Jo asked, trying to pull her away. I mean, what’s going to happen to us?" Mary Jo’s question hit Alison hard, probably because she’d been thinking the same thing. Just not the way her sister was. Their parents were drifting apart which was turning Alison into a whole new person, but she always had a way of playing things off. "What on earth are you talking about, Mary Jo?" "Nothin. I was just wondering. That’s all." "You and your daydreamin. I swear, Mary Jo." If anything, Alison kept most of her emotions hidden inside of her. She was big on saying things like, yes, sir or thank you, ma’am, even if she didn’t mean it. If someone made her angry she would just give them a sarcastic smile. She would never waste time getting angry or showing emotion, especially with her mother. If her mother told her not to do something Alison would just say, "Whatever you say, Mother," just to spite her. It’s how she won an argument. It was by not giving a damn. It drove her mother crazy. She envied Alison’s power. Alison opened up to only two people and she did it a lot. "Poppa and her had another fight," Mary Jo said, softly. "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT!" she screamed.
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About the Book
On a clear night in July, Alison Clark lied dead in her own bedroom with her head through a shattered mirror. Who to be accused of her gruesome murder than her very own sister, Mary Jo. With the blood on her hands, Mary Jo stood by her innocence and called upon the one man who could represent her and free her from imprisonment. Dean H. Garret had just gotten over an ugly divorce and was in dire need of a vacation. Nearly on the verge of a breakdown, he needed to get out of the city. Just before he left for a long vacation, Dean legal assistant had informed him of a gruesome murder that occurred earlier that evening. Dean was stunned to hear that the young woman accused of murder was an old friend of his daughter. Even though reluctant, Dean decided to help the young woman and become her attorney. In his investigation, Dean had to battle her arrogant ex-boyfriend, an overbearing mother, a ruthless detective who was determined for a conviction, but in order to free the young woman Dean will have to step into an underworld nightclub and discover the real reason Alison was known as THE IVORY ROSE.
About the Author
Gregory Lavender was born in West Covina, California, but has lived his whole life in Virginia Beach, Virginia, where he continues to reside. The novel THE IVORY ROSE was his first title, which he began writing while studying at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. After studying acting, Mr. Lavender switched his passion toward novels and playwriting. When he is not writing, Mr. Lavender enjoys running and traveling. He is currently working on his second novel titled THE EYES OF THE HOUSE.