Garden of Death (13 page)

“Who would do something like this? The garden was supposed to be a haven, a restful place in the heart of Greenport.”

Jackson pulled me into a hug. “It's going to be okay. It's nothing that can't be covered with some black spray paint.”

“And then what? First, Dr. White is murdered, then someone digs up the garden, then the petition and that horrible Web site, the intruder last night, those protestors, and now the graffiti. What's next?”

“Let's not jump to conclusions. Take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Don't borrow trouble.”

“I've got plenty right now.” The graffiti was a
reminder that I couldn't ignore. “I can't look at this. Let's go inside.”

•   •   •

I changed into my sweats
and a T-shirt and got into bed, where Jackson was already playing with the dogs. Jackson gave me an appraising look and said, “You need to turn your mind off, McQuade. You've had a long day.”

I took a tube of honey and grape seed oil hand cream from my night table and began rubbing it in. “I just keep thinking that I really made a mistake in creating that garden. Look at all the trouble it's caused.”

Jackson scratched Qigong behind the ears, then in turn, Rockford and Columbo. “Greedy people are causing this trouble, not the garden.”

“Maybe we should close it down.”

Jackson gave me a surprised look. “What do you mean—just give up? That's not like you, Willow.”

“I don't want to fight with anyone,” I said. “I'm tired of having half the town against me, trying to take the garden. Maybe I should just give it to them.”

“I think you'd regret that,” Jackson said. “Especially since Professor Russell might be the key to figuring this whole thing out, and he told you to call him tomorrow. You just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

“And maybe Professor Russell will leave me just as stuck as I am right now. He couldn't tell me anything definitive tonight, so I'm not going to count on him having some miraculous key to the case.”

Jackson thought for a moment before he said, “You
know what, you're right. Why don't you just give up? It's definitely the easier thing to do. It's not like there's anything at stake—like your business and all the hard work you put into the garden. Let them win.”

He picked up his book, opened it and began reading. The dogs quickly arranged themselves, Qigong on his shoulder, Rockford on his stomach and Columbo at his feet.

“I thought you wanted me to be safe. If I quit, I'll be safe.”

He used the book flap as a bookmark and looked at me. “Of course I want you to be safe. But if you quit, if
we
quit, there's a good chance that we'll still be in danger. Someone wants what's in that garden, and they won't stop until they get it. But if you want to quit, go ahead. It's up to you.” He opened the book and began reading again. Qigong looked up at me, yawned, and put his head back down. I had to admit that they all looked pretty cute together.

“Are you using reverse psychology on me?”

Jackson smiled but kept reading. “Is it working?”

“Yes, it's working. You're right. There's too much at stake to give up. Besides,” I said reluctantly, “I never give up.”

He closed the book and gave me a kiss. “That's my girl.”

“I'll call Professor Russell first thing in the morning, on my way to get black spray paint.”

“You always were a good multitasker. I'll contact my security guy and meet you in the garden. I need to work on the patio, so you'll have your open-air teahouse.” He took the hand cream away and put it on
the nightstand. “Now, what can we do to pass the time until then?” He gently moved the dogs to the side of the bed, where they snuggled next to each other and promptly fell asleep again.

“Gee, I don't know. Got any ideas?”

He pulled me to him. “Just one.”

chapter sixteen

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

GARLIC

Botanical name:
Allium sativum

Medicinal uses:
Garlic is an edible bulb from a plant in the lily family, and one of the superstars of medicinal plants. It has been used as both a medicine and a spice for thousands of years. Antiseptic, antibacterial, and antimicrobial, garlic stimulates the production of white blood cells, improving immunity and helping to speed healing from colds and flu. There is a reason Grandma's chicken soup makes you feel better! Garlic also is effective at lowering high cholesterol and blood sugar levels. You can eat garlic cloves raw if you're feeling brave or add them to your next soup or stir-fry.

Tuesday morning found me out in the garden, spraying black paint over the ugly graffiti. When I'd started, I was furious that I had to repaint the fence at all, but gradually, as the graffiti disappeared, I felt better about things. It was just after 10 a.m., and I'd just covered the last of the neon lettering, when my cell rang. The caller ID read Albert Russell
.

“Professor Russell, thanks for calling me back,” I said.

“Not at all. I'm glad you phoned.”

“I realized I have a lot of questions I didn't ask you last night,” I began. “I was wondering if you could stop by this morning. Or I could come to Shelter Island, whatever you prefer. Is that possible?”

“It is, and I can come to you,” he said. “I need to pick up a few things from your store. I have my sister staying with me, and she only eats organic food. My cupboard is bare.”

“We've got plenty of that here. When were you thinking of coming over?”

“Within the hour. I think it's important that we discuss your artifacts further.”

“My
artifacts
? Does that mean you think they're the real thing?”

“We'll talk about it when I get there. Expect me by eleven.”

I walked over to tell Jackson about our visitor. He and Nate were working on the patio at the north end of the lot. They seemed to be making progress, but it was difficult to be sure. “How are things going, guys?”

“It's going,” Jackson said, wiping his forehead with
his glove. “We had to take two steps back, but now we're moving forward.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that despite the new lock, someone was in here again, digging around.”

“Yeah, they even moved the pavers,” Nate said as he lugged over a gray paver stone and set it on the ground. “So we had to fill in the holes, smooth it out, and make sure the ground was level before we could put these back. What a pain.”

“It's fine, Nate. Stop complaining.” Jackson threw him a look.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked Jackson.

“You have enough to think about.”

“I still need to know. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Jackson said, taking off his gloves. “Nate, start prepping the next paver. I'll be right back.”

Nate didn't look too happy about being left on his own, but he didn't say anything.

When were out of earshot, Jackson said, “I am getting really tired of his complaining.”

“Really? He seems fine to me. What's going on?”

“When we started to work together, Nate was enthusiastic and capable; he did everything I asked without complaint. But lately, he's got a poor attitude and productivity to match. I'm not sure what to do about it.”

“Me either,” I said, dismayed. “But I can't fire him now. We still need him to maintain the garden and to help you finish the teahouse.”

“Don't worry, I'll make it work. But enough about Nate. Did you talk to Professor Russell?”

As we continued to walk to the front of the garden I told him about our phone conversation. “He's coming over at eleven. Do you have time to meet with him?”

“I'd like to, but we're way behind and I really don't want to leave Nate alone any longer than I have to. Why don't you report back?”

“I could do that.”

“I'll look forward to it.” He stepped closer. “You know, you look really pretty today.”

I'd just thrown on a multicolored sundress made of organic cotton and flip-flops and put my hair in a ponytail, but I was glad he liked it.

Jackson pulled me to him and nuzzled my ear, and then planted baby kisses all along my neck. My spine tingled, along with other more interesting places. I wanted to stay but I needed to go.

“We'll finish this up later,” I said, pulling away, but not before giving him a long, soulful kiss.

“I'll be here.”

•   •   •

Inside, things were running smoothly
at Nature's Way. I'd forgotten that Merrily was off this morning, but Wallace was doing fine all by himself. I retrieved the artifacts from the bedroom closet, brought them downstairs, and put them on the couch in my office, where Qigong was chewing on a bone. I knew that no one would be able to take the treasures with him there.

As promised, Professor Russell showed up at precisely eleven o'clock. He had several empty cloth
shopping bags in one hand and a long list in the other. Today he was dressed more casually, sort of, in jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt, and a paisley tie.

“Hi, Professor, looks like you're ready to stock up.”

He smiled. “My neighbor shops here and she raves about the selection, so I came prepared.”

“What do you need?”

“Here's my list.” He handed me the piece of paper. “My neighbor assures me that you carry all of these items.”

I quickly scanned the list. On it were things like gluten-free bread and cookies, rice cereal, and organic peanut butter, along with NoFo Crunch, one of our customer favorites, made with granola, dried fruit, nuts, and organic raw kombucha. “We sure do. Why don't you let me put the order together for you?”

“That would be grand,” he said. “I can check my messages on my phone while I wait. I had quite a nice response to my talk last night. I'm hoping that it will help book sales.”

“I'm sure it will. It was very informative.” I scanned the café; there were a few open tables. “You can sit anywhere you like. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“A cup of Earl Grey tea would be lovely.”

He took a table next to the window, and I went into the kitchen and made him his tea. When I came back, he was staring intently at his phone. “I think I've found an appraiser for your items.”

“That was fast. Who is it?”

“Another expert on Gardiner's Island and Captain Kidd's treasure, someone who knows even more than I do.”

His food list temporarily forgotten, I took the seat across from him. “Who is this person? Can he or she help us?”

He took a sip of tea, then said, “First, let me explain the chain of events. As I was leaving last night, your friend Simon Lewis approached me and told me what happened in your garden, the fact that Jackson is a suspect in Dr. White's murder, and about the merchants who have been harassing you and trying to shut down your venture.”

“So, you know,” I said.

“Yes, and I'm sorry for your trouble.”

“It hasn't been easy,” I admitted.

“Simon was very insistent that I help you. It's obvious he really cares for you.”

“We used to be a couple but we're better off as friends,” I said with a smile.

“That is often the case.” The professor took another sip of tea. “It seems Simon has done his own research on the pirates that frequented the East End, for some movie project, he said, and he's convinced that the artifacts that you've found are lost treasure. He asked me to help you, and I told him that I would consider it.”

“I was already inclined to do so, as I indicated at the museum. When I got home, I did some research on you and the two cases you've solved. I take it that you are trying to solve the mystery of Dr. White's murder as well?”

“I have no choice,” I said. “I have to clear Jackson, myself, and my business for being at fault.”

“Clearly, you are not at fault. I think forces beyond your control are at work here, and perhaps I can help you.”

“It would be wonderful to finally get some answers. I feel as if I've been going up one blind alley after another.”

The professor shrugged. “Well, I doubt I can tell you who killed Dr. White, but I may be able to help you identify the sword and goblet. Simon could be right—the sword, at least, may indeed be from a pirate ship. It may even be Captain Kidd's treasure, and the goblet may be perhaps a hundred years more recent. As I said last night, some of that treasure was never recovered. I'm hoping that my Captain Kidd expert, Dr. Travis Gillian, who works with the East Hampton Historical Society, will be able to help identify your items. I called him this morning, and he has just agreed to see us. Are you free to go over there today, to East Hampton? I've texted Simon and he can obtain the services of a helicopter pilot who can take us to there and we can even fly over Gardiner's Island on the way, if you are willing.”

I checked the calendar on my phone. I didn't have any tours scheduled for that day, and everything else on my to-do list could wait. “Let's go.”

•   •   •

I contacted Simon, who called
his pilot, the one who took him to parties in the Hamptons, and made the arrangements. We agreed that the professor, Jackson, and I would meet him at the airfield in Mattituck, a North Fork town twenty minutes west of Greenport.

Two hours later, we were up in the translucent blue sky, flying east down the length of the North Fork, over the glistening aqua-blue Peconic Bay. It was a
spectacular view of verdant wetlands, sprawling farms that produced everything from pumpkins to potatoes, and numerous vineyards that crisscrossed the land, along with the homes and the villages that made up Cutchogue, Southold, and Greenport. The North Fork, east of Cutchogue, was to me the “real” East End.

Professor Russell sat in front next to the pilot, while Simon, Jackson, and I sat in the back. We all wore helmets with microphones, so we could talk with each other.

I leaned around Jackson and said to Simon, “Thanks for helping me with this, Simon. I really appreciate it.”

“We both do,” added Jackson, who had the bag of artifacts on the floor between his feet. “And thanks for the scenic tour.”

“This isn't the most direct route to the island, but I thought you'd enjoy seeing the East End from this vantage point,” Simon explained.

Moments later, we passed over the Maritime Museum and the ferry terminal. Professor Russell said something to the pilot, and he turned north and flew over Nature's Way on Front Street. “There's the store,” I said, pointing out the open window. I quickly scanned the medicinal plant garden. From this distance everything looked peaceful and serene. Today, there were no protestors. “All quiet.”

“That's nice for a change,” Jackson said.

The pilot continued flying over Greenport, past Mitchell Park and the harbor and the shops and restaurants and the dozens of tourists and locals clogging the streets. Today was the Maritime Festival Foodie Tour.
You could buy a wristband for twenty-five dollars and visit all the local restaurants and sample their offerings.

The pilot flew across the neighborhoods north of the village, those around the Stirling Harbor Marina, before heading East again, toward East Marion, where Jackson lived. I dug my binoculars out of my purse and handed them to him so that he could see his house, which was on the north side of the road just before the Orient Point causeway that transected the wetlands and the bay.

Within minutes, we flew over his two-and-a-half-acre property with the rambling farmhouse that was an ongoing restoration project. The property also contained a huge barn and a generous paddock for his rescued animals, which included horses, donkeys, and goats, along with dogs and cats.

It was a beautiful day, so most of the animals were outside. Some of them were munching grass and hay and others were playing with the volunteers or lounging in the sun.

“It looks like things are fine at your house, too,” I said.

“The interns and volunteers are doing a great job. The animals are all thriving.”

“Thanks to you.”

“I'm glad to be able to do it. I just applied for another grant from the state, and chances are good we'll get it. If we do, I want to expand the paddock and the barn so they all have more room.”

“You're a good man, you know that?” I would have kissed him, but my helmet prevented it, so I had to settle for squeezing his hand.

“By the way, I found a guard for you.”

“Really, who is it?

“Bob Cooper. He's an old cop buddy of mine from up the island. He's retired out here and does this type of thing for extra bucks, but he's reasonable. He'll be there at seven tonight, before it gets dark. Hopefully, he'll discourage any fortune hunters.”

“I hope so.”

We continued East over the Causeway and into Orient, with its old money and stately mansions and newcomers building and renovating homes. Finally, when we reached Orient Point and the Cross Sound ferry terminal, the pilot informed us that if we looked south, we'd see Gardiner's Island in the distance.

•   •   •

The helicopter flew over the
water toward one of America's largest privately owned islands and oldest family estates, four hundred years old, in fact. Featuring thirty-three hundred acres and twenty-seven miles of coastline, Gardiner's Island was closer to the South Fork and part of the town of East Hampton but really, it was a kingdom unto itself.

It felt exciting to be so close to this mythical place with so much history. I squeezed Jackson's hand. “This is amazing. I just wish that we could land on the island and go explore.”

“Can't put down there,” the pilot said. “They don't like visitors, unless you're invited, but I'll try to get close so you can get a better look.”