Breach of Crust: A Charmed Pie Shoppe Mystery (22 page)

“They’re not bad, Fitz. No plants are, but we have to make choices about which plants we want in our gardens. We’ve chosen not to have dandelions in this garden.” Vivian pursed her lips in thought. “You could feed them to a goat. Or a pig.”

Fitz and Hem grinned at each other. “Pig Newton!”

By the time they finished telling Vivian about the most
famous pet in Storyton Village, the spinach plants had been pulled and the twins were making excellent progress with the chickweeds. Jane, who’d given herself the job of rooting out the dandelions and invasive grasses, made a silent vow to weed the garden on a more regular basis in the future.

Much later, four hot, sweaty, and dirt-encrusted workers crossed the back lawn leading to the manor house and paused by the kitchen door. “Are you sure you won’t come in for a drink?” Jane asked Vivian. “Mrs. Hubbard always keeps a supply of sun tea and lemonade on hand.”

“What I want most is a shower,” Vivian said. “Between my morning hike and the lovely hours spent in your garden, I probably smell worse than Pig Newton. I’ll take a rain check on the sun tea.” With a wave, she headed for the guest entrance.

“Pig Newton doesn’t smell,” Hem said, instantly coming to the pig’s defense.

Fitz looked at Jane. “It’s true. Mr. Hogg put a baby pool under the tree behind the Pickled Pig Market. Mr. Hogg tosses some Cheerios in the water, and while Pig Newton’s busy eating, Mr. Hogg gives him a good scrubbing.”

“We could all use a good scrubbing,” Jane said. “Wash up to your elbows, both of you, or Mrs. Hubbard will have a fit.”

As though the mention of her name had conjured her from thin air, Mrs. Hubbard appeared from inside the closest pantry. “Hello, my darlings! You’re just in time for lunch.” Her apple-cheeked face was more flushed than usual. She exhaled loudly and put a hand over her ample chest. “I’ve been running around like a madwoman making sure we have everything we need for the Billingsley-Earle wedding.” Sliding a notepad into her apron pocket, she smiled at Jane and the boys. “As for you three, you can be my official taste testers. I want to add new sandwiches to the Rudyard Kipling
Café’s summer menu. Take a seat at the counter and I’ll be right back with the first candidate.”

She paused to issue orders to the kitchen staff and then returned carrying three plates. “Turkey club with herb mayonnaise. I mixed fresh parsley, thyme, and basil in with the mayo. There’s locally grown lettuce and tomatoes and crunchy bacon too. I know how much you boys like your bacon.”

“Is this spinach?” Fitz lifted off his top slice of bread and pointed at a few pieces of mayo-smeared lettuce. Jane caught the apprehension in her son’s voice and knew that he was picturing the diseased leaves from their vegetable garden.

“No, honey. That’s romaine.” Mrs. Hubbard put her hands on her hips. “Now put your sandwich back together, take a bite, and tell me what you think.”

Hem hurriedly yanked the tomato slice out of his sandwich before taking an enormous bite. His right cheek inflated like a balloon, and he grinned at Mrs. Hubbard and gave her a thumbs-up.

Though Jane took a more conservative sample of her sandwich, she was immediately impressed by how many flavors and textures Mrs. Hubbard had managed to squeeze between two slices of bread. The fresh tomato and lettuce slices lightened the heaviness of the crispy bacon and salt-and-pepper-seasoned turkey, and the aromatic creaminess of the herb mayo provided the perfect finish.

“This is a keeper,” she told Mrs. Hubbard.

With a nod of satisfaction, Storyton’s head cook walked to the prep station and returned with three small bowls. “Watermelon salad with fresh mint to round off your meal.”

“Ms. Vivian says that mint helps you digest,” Hem informed her.

Mrs. Hubbard looked pleased. “She found you, then? Good!”

“She knows
everything
about plants,” Fitz said. “She’s like Professor Sprout in the Harry Potter books. Ms. Vivian could teach Herbology at Hogwarts.”

“I believe she would take that as a high compliment.” Mrs. Hubbard gestured at their empty plates. “Vivian encouraged me to experiment with different herb combinations based on recipes from the Middle Ages. You should see my kitchen garden, Jane. Vivian mailed me dozens of seed packets when we first started writing each other. With her help, I’m now growing a medieval herb garden. I have the more exotic plants at home because they require more care. I even have licorice!”

“Can you make candy?” the boys asked in unison.

Too caught up in her narrative to be misdirected, Mrs. Hubbard winked at them and chattered on. “I’m growing ginger too. Can you believe it? I hope to harvest my first crop of baby ginger in October. To me, these herbs are as precious and wonderful as one of those illuminated manuscripts would be to you, Jane, my dear.”

At the mention of illuminated manuscripts, Mrs. Hubbard’s voice faded as Jane’s mind turned to thoughts of Edwin Alcott. The last communication she’d had from the man she’d been falling in love with had been in the form of a mysterious package. Inside the package, Jane had discovered a missing page belonging to the Gutenburg Bible hidden in Storyton’s secret library. Edwin had recovered it from some untold place in the Middle East and sent it to Jane in an attempt to prove to her that he was not a book thief—not in the pure sense of the word anyway. He had promised to explain himself when he returned to Storyton, but that had been months ago, and Jane’s doubts about his character had grown more and more with each passing day.

I should just forget about him
, Jane chided herself for
the hundredth time.
He must be a thief and a rogue. Why else would he stay away? Why else would he make his sister worry? Or make me promises he never meant to keep?

“Mom?” Fitz waved his hand in front of Jane’s face and she blinked.

“Sorry,” she said. “I drifted off for a second there.”

Mrs. Hubbard studied her closely. “You should stick your nose in my rosemary plant and take a deep breath. That’ll clear your head. If you’re not growing any in your own garden, take some of mine. You could whip up a lovely rosemary lemon chicken for supper—it’ll help focus all of your minds.”

“We don’t need to focus,” Hem countered. “It’s summer!”

Smiling at him indulgently, Mrs. Hubbard said, “So it is. But there’s a saying about idle hands and the devil.” She shot a conspiratorial glance at Jane. “If it’s all right with your mother, I’d like to hire you boys to weed and water my kitchen garden. The groundskeeping staff is too busy to deal with it. And in all honesty, I think you two would take better care of my plants. Not because the groundskeepers aren’t hard workers,” she hurriedly added, “but I believe you boys will come to love the garden as I do. You’d have to tend the plants for an hour every day except for Sundays. I’ll pay you on Friday. In cash. Are you interested in the job?”

The twins laced their fingers together and made begging motions. “Can we, Mom?
Please?
”

“Only if Mrs. Hubbard and I can come to an agreement about your wages,” Jane said. “Thank her for the delicious lunch and then go play while we talk.”

Hem and Fitz hugged Mrs. Hubbard before racing out of the kitchen. As soon as they were gone, the two women settled in for a good-natured haggling session.

“They should be doing the job for free,” Jane began.
“Stewards have been maintaining Storyton Hall for centuries. Even my great-aunt and great-uncle have chores, though their tasks are far less physical.”

“But Master Hem and Master Fitz are children,” Mrs. Hubbard countered. “Let them see what’s it’s like to earn money for a job well done—a job not assigned by a teacher or a parent. It’ll do them good. Give them a sense of pride.”

Eventually, Jane capitulated. It was nearly impossible to say no to Mrs. Hubbard.

“Time to bake the scones,” Mrs. Hubbard said, rising to her feet and smoothing her apron, which was embroidered with tiny pink and white teapots. “And since several of our herbalists have checked in early, I’ve added cheddar and chive biscuits to the tea menu, so I’ll have to make those as well.”

It never failed to amaze Jane that Mrs. Hubbard, who rarely left the kitchen, was able to keep tabs on the goings-on at Storyton Hall. It didn’t hurt that the majority of the employees fed her the choicest tidbits of gossip in exchange for a piece of shortbread or a slice of Victoria sponge.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the day off,” Jane mused aloud. “I wonder who else has arrived early.”

“Vivian told me that she’d seen their group’s president getting out of one of our cars just as she was heading out on her hike this morning. She didn’t want to delay her walk, so she didn’t stop to say hello.” Mrs. Hubbard’s jovial face suddenly clouded over. “And the
third
early arrival showed up just before you and the boys came into the kitchen. Billy carried her bags to her room and declared that her luggage had a nasty odor.”

There was an unmistakable note of disapproval in Mrs. Hubbard’s voice.

“Do you know this guest?” Jane asked the cook.

Mrs. Hubbard snorted. “It’s Constance Meredith.”

Jane frowned. The name was familiar, but she’d reviewed so many names recently in reference to both the upcoming wedding and The Medieval Herbalists booking that they’d all begun to blend together.

“You’d probably recognize her by her
stage name
. Does the Poison Princess ring a bell?” Mrs. Hubbard asked. The note of disapproval had morphed into outright disdain.

“Ah, the Poison Princess!” Jane smiled. “Ms. Meredith’s talk is supposed to be one of the highlights of the upcoming week. According to Mr. Mason, the group president, she’s their most famous member. She’s served as an expert witness for dozens of murder trials, advised physicians, toured the world giving lectures on poisonous plants, and appeared on several television shows dealing with illusive medical diagnoses.” Jane’s smile faded as she examined Mrs. Hubbard’s troubled expression. “You’re worried. Why?”

Mrs. Hubbard twisted the corner of her apron and pulled a face. “At first, I was thrilled to discover that the Poison Princess was staying at Storyton Hall. As you know, I hardly ever use the computer, but I went into Mr. Sinclair’s office and asked him to pull up her website. The more I read, the more I disliked the woman. I watched some video clips and they made my skin crawl. Constance Meredith is as cold as the White Witch of Narnia. And you should listen to how she describes the terrible effects these poisonous plants have on people—she
admires
the power of the plants. I could tell that she didn’t give a fig about any of the victims. She bears watching, Jane. Trust me.”

Jane reached out and took Mrs. Hubbard’s hand. “After what happened during the Romancing the Reader convention, I wouldn’t dream of ignoring your hunch. I’ll keep a close eye on her. I promise.”

“There’s something else.”

“Yes?” Jane asked, feeling an inexplicable sense of dread.

Mrs. Hubbard squeezed Jane’s hand for emphasis. “Don’t let that witch within a mile of these kitchens. Or near any food, for that matter. She knows a hundred different ways to kill someone using plants. And several of those plants are growing right outside our back door.”

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