Garden of Death (24 page)

“That is ridiculous and patently false.”

A black SUV turned onto Third Street and parked on the other side of the road. Harold Spitz opened the driver's-side door and came over to us. “Are they bothering you, Professor? I saw these two running after you.”

“He's fine,” Simon said. “We want to know what is going on. Your friend Professor Russell gave the sword Jackson found to this fake Dr. Gillian.”

“He's not a fake,” Professor Russell said.

Simon ignored him. “And we think you two are working together to steal pirate treasure from Willow's garden.”

“You two are really losing it,” Harold said. “I'm a legitimate dealer. I don't have to listen to this, and neither do you, Albert. Come with me.” He put his hand on the professor's arm.

“He stays here until we get some real answers.” Simon grabbed the professor's other arm.

“Who do you think you are—the police?” Harold demanded. “He doesn't have to talk to you. Now let go of him.”

Reluctantly, Simon did, and Harold hustled Professor Russell with him across the street to his car.

•   •   •

We walked back to
Nature's Way and reviewed the events of the evening and what we'd learned, which wasn't much.

“So our next step is to go to the farmer's market in the morning?” Simon asked. “Not too early, I hope.”

“Jackson's life is on the line. We need to go as early as possible.”

“Okay, okay, so call me when you get up. Night.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek and began to walk down the driveway next to Nature's Way to the parking lot behind it to get his car. But then he stopped and turned
around. “Sure you're okay here by yourself tonight? I can stay if you need me to.”

We were long past a time when Simon might use a situation like this to get close to me. So it felt good that he cared enough to ask. But I knew I'd be fine, so I said, “I'll be okay. Tony's here, and I have my dogs to protect me. But thanks, Simon. I really appreciate you asking.”

“That's what friends are for, right? See you in the a.m.” He threw me a wave and headed down the driveway. I turned and headed toward Nature's Way, but then I heard the faint sound of the garden gate creaking. “Tony, is that you?”

Simon answered, “I'm over here. What's up?”

“Hold on.” I moved toward the garden gate and looked inside.

“I'm coming,” Simon said. “Stay right there.”

But instead of listening to him, I opened the garden gate. Once inside the garden, I took a few tentative steps and listened. Everything seemed normal. The sound of cicadas chirping filled the air, fireflies sparkled in the dark, and in a tree at the back of the property an owl hooted. But where was Tony?

Suddenly I heard shoes pounding on the garden path. Someone was headed in my direction, and before I could get out of the way, that someone pushed me hard. I landed with a thud, facedown in the dirt.

chapter twenty-eight

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

PASSIONFLOWER

Botanical name:
Passiflora spp.
, including
P. edulis
(yellow passionflower),
P. incarnata

Medicinal uses: An impressive perennial with purple and white flowers and twining vines, the passionflower is a calming herb, helping to quiet the central nervous system. Scientists think that passionflower works
by increasing levels of GABA or gamma-aminobutyric acid in your brain.

Extracts of the flowers, leaves, and stems serve a variety of medicinal uses such as elevating mood, promoting peaceful sleep, clearing emotions, soothing trauma, quieting mental chatter, and easing chronic worry. Passionflower also helps to relieve anger, anxiety, irritability, and stress. Research shows that it can be as helpful as prescription antianxiety drugs in relieving anxiety. As a flower essence, passionflower
helps inspire the integration of spirituality into daily life.

“Willow? Willow?”

I could heard Simon calling and lifted my head up to answer him, but still dazed, I lay back down again. A few moments later, Simon ran up to me. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I brushed the dirt out of my eyes and my mouth while Simon helped me sit up. “Who did this to you?”

I glanced around. The intruder was gone. “I don't know. I didn't see his or her face. But now that I think about it, I did smell something, a fragrance, like patchouli . . . or sandalwood.”

“So it was a woman.”

“Not necessarily, but it was probably the same person or persons who have been in here all along. I just don't know where Tony is.”

“I do. I saw him over there. He went back to his car to get new batteries for his flashlight, and then he got a call. I guess it was a case of bad timing.”

“Or someone waited until he left, then took the opportunity to do some more digging. They haven't been able to get in here for days.”

He helped me to my feet. “Forget about that for the moment. Are you hurt? Do you want to go to the hospital?”

I did a quick body scan. No serious damage, but I suspected I'd feel it in the morning. Thankfully, there was no reason to go to the emergency room. I brushed off my shirt and pants, and said, “I'll be fine, but more
than that, I'm angry. I've had enough. Jackson is in jail, and whoever this is won't stop. Well, we've got to stop them. Tomorrow, we find some answers and end this thing.”

•   •   •

Although my anger fueled my
determination to find answers, it didn't do much to help me sleep—that and the fact that Jackson was lying on a cot over in the village jail. I did a quick check on the Internet that I should have done before; the sword we'd found was real and stolen from the East Hampton Historical Society, just as the fake Dr. Gillian had said. I also skimmed the books that Professor Russell lent me, hoping they would lull me to sleep, but after the revelation that Dr. Gillian was an impostor, I held little hope of finding anything truly useful.

Aunt Claire's journals, on the other hand, revealed a fascinating account of one woman's desire and determination to start a natural health store on the East End, many years before it was a popular—or even an accepted—thing to do. As I read, I could feel her speaking to me, and it felt comforting and reassuring and finally helped me drift off to sleep.

Saturday morning, I woke up a little after seven. I was covered in bruises, even though I'd taken a bath in Epsom salts and lavender before bed. But I knew the best cure for feeling stiff was activity, so I took the dogs for a quick walk, aware that this was normally Jackson's morning routine. After a restless night, it felt good to be outside, especially today, when the village was in Maritime Festival mode.

As we walked past Mitchell Park, I spotted two of the majestic tall ships, sails rippling in the breeze as they made port north of the ferry terminal. I'd toured the ships several times and found it amazing that dozens of men could live and work together in such small spaces.

The Saturday festivities included some of my favorites—the clam bake and clam chowder contest in Mitchell Park with various local bands playing, and the irony of ironies considering what had been happening, pirates performing. Since this was the closing weekend for the festival, all of the vendors were back on the south side of the street, although I didn't see Sandra and Martin at their artisanal cheese booth.

The first thing I did after I returned and fed the dogs was check in with Wallace. He was in the kitchen, heating up the commercial stove. “How is Jackson?” he asked.

“I haven't seen him. His lawyer says he's supposed to be out this afternoon.”

“Let's hope so.” He turned to the counter and stirred the contents of a large ceramic bowl. “Want some breakfast? I've already made the batter for strawberry buckwheat pancakes. The berries are in season now.”

“Sure, I'll have some. Wallace, did Merrily call?”

He turned to me. “I know you won't be happy, but she isn't coming in today either.” He put a large, flat skillet on the stovetop and added a few pats of butter.

“Did she say why?”

As the butter melted and began to sizzle, he poured the batter into the skillet, making five irregular circles.
“She says that Nate still isn't doing well, and she needs to take care of him. I told her that you understood all that but that we needed her here as well, not to mention that she was supposed to represent the store in the clam chowder contest. But she didn't want to hear it.”

“It's just not like her to do this. She was always such a loyal and devoted employee.” But, I thought, this was also what I'd been worried about, Merrily losing focus when she became involved with someone new. “I'm afraid I may have to let her go.”

“I know. It's a tough decision to make.”

“But what are we going to do about today? We need someone to work the booth out front and at least one other person to handle the store and café. I can't help much because I need to work with Simon to try and clear Jackson.”

“I've already left a message with Lily, and yesterday Allie said that if Merrily didn't come in, she'd help out, too.”

“But doesn't Allie have massage clients to see?”

“She knows the situation with Jackson. We'll make it work. We really just need one person inside and one outside.” He used a spatula to flip the pancakes, which were now golden brown.

“Has anyone asked about the garden tours?”

“No, sorry.”

“I guess everyone knows about Dr. White's murder by now. They're probably all afraid to come.”

Wallace patted my shoulder. “Once you get this mystery solved, things will change for the better. You'll see.”

“I hope you're right,” I said, but I could hear the doubt in my words.

He put two of the pancakes on a plate, added a dollop of butter, and dribbled syrup on top. “Eat these. They'll give you the energy to find the answers you need.”

•   •   •

Simon and I headed over
to the farmer's market a little after 9 a.m. I hadn't bothered to call Kylie again, thinking it might be better to make a surprise visit and catch her off guard. Although, after my repeated calls, she probably expected me to show up.

When we arrived at the market, the parking lot behind the Presbyterian church was much more crowded than it had been the last time we were here. We found Kylie in the same place, behind the information table in the center of the action, her long brown hair in a glossy French braid. She was busy selling a young girl a T-shirt with the farmer's market logo. I waited until the girl left then went up to the table.

Kylie didn't seem surprised to see me. “Willow, I got your messages and I've been meaning to call you back, but I've been super busy. I had several cancellations and had to find replacement vendors, and it's just been a zoo since we opened this morning.”

“That's okay. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She straightened out the brochures on the picnic table so they lined up neatly next to each other. “Ask away, but I don't know if I can help. Sandra told me she talked to you, and I don't know any more than she does.”

“So you have no idea what Harold Spitz is up to?”

“None. Harold and I don't really talk. I'm not interested in antiques and he's not interested in veggies, I guess.”

“But you joined with him to try and put me out of business?”

Kylie bit her lip and hesitated, as if weighing her words. “That was because of Arlene White.”

“What's she got to do with it?” Simon asked.

“Arlene and her husband basically ran the village. Arlene used to be on the Southold Town Board, and they had not exactly friends, but allies in every department of local government and in every local organization. So if you wanted something done, or needed a permit to build or hold an event or anything, they could stop you if they wanted to.”

“But Charles White is dead now,” I said.

“Which just makes Arlene think that she's the one running the show. She called Harold and said she wanted you shut down, and Harold—who's always looking out for Harold—organized us into a group. None of us were willing to risk getting on Arlene's bad side. That's why we went along with it. I'm really sorry, Willow.”

Me, too,
I thought. I'd been so busy learning to run Nature's Way and solving murders that I'd somehow never paid attention to local politics. I never understood how Greenport really worked—that half the town was afraid of the Whites. Now, I felt naive and foolish.

“It's okay,” I told her. “I understand. But who do you think might have wanted Dr. White dead?”

“That's a long list of people. Except for Joe Larson, I'm not sure he had any real friends. The truth is, Charles White was a selfish, manipulative power player who was also a bad surgeon. The only surprising thing is that it took so long before someone finally got rid of him.”

Simon and I exchanged glances. I felt as if we were starting from scratch; nearly everyone in town was a suspect. “Are Ramona and Rhonda here?” I asked.

Kylie looked startled. “What, you think one of them did it?”

“Jackson is in jail. I have to consider everyone.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know.” She shook her head. “I can't picture either one of them killing White. But if you want to talk to them, they're over there.” She pointed to a booth in the back of the lot.

We thanked her and walked over to their heirloom stand. When they saw us coming, Ramona whispered something to Rhonda, who gave me an annoyed look. “Let me take the lead,” Simon said. “Maybe I can find out something.”

“Be my guest.”

When we reached their booth, Simon gave them a charming grin and said, “Hi ladies. What's going on?”

“What does it look like?” Rhonda said stiffly. “We're selling our vegetables. This isn't a good time to talk.”

“We just want to know what you were doing at Village Hall the other day,” Simon said. “Good old Larry in the map room said you were down there asking questions. He also mentioned that some microfiche went missing. Can I ask what you were looking for?”

I leaned over to check out a beautiful heirloom tomato and as I did I caught a whiff of something, the same scent I'd smelled last night in the garden when I was shoved into the dirt.

“And did you find it?” I added. “Someone pushed me down in the garden last night when my guard stepped away. I think it was you.”

“Don't be absurd,” Rhonda said. She slid up the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt, then reached down into a crate of lettuce heads on the ground and began arranging them in a basket on the table.

“You were in Willow's garden last night?” Ramona sounded incredulous.

“Of course not. Willow has a vivid imagination.”

As she worked with the lettuce, I noticed that she had cuts and scratches all over her arms. “I don't think so. I think you got those scrapes from digging in my garden and pushing me down last night. And it probably wasn't the first time you've been in there searching for treasure.”

“Treasure?” Ramona looked confused. “What is she talking about?”

“I have no idea,” Rhonda said, turning to her partner. “It's nothing, you have to believe me.” Then she stepped out from behind the table and came over to us. “I think you two should go.”

“Why?” Simon asked. “Because you're afraid your partner will learn the truth about you?”

I put my hand on his arm. “We'll go,” I said, “but I'll be telling the police my suspicions about you and what you did.”

For the first time, Rhonda smiled. “You know what,
Willow, I'm not too worried about that. It's your word against mine, and I'm not the one who had a dead body in her garden.”

•   •   •

“Well, I think Rhonda is
definitely up to something,” Simon said as we left the farmer's market.

“Yeah, I think she was the one in the garden last night, probably searching for treasure. Lily told us that she's having money problems. But I have to go with Kylie on this. I just don't see Rhonda as a killer.”

“So you're
not
going to tell the police about her?”

“Not right now. I think telling the police would just keep me stuck answering questions instead of finding answers. We have to keep moving.”

So we walked back into town, past Mitchell Park where the clam bake and clam chowder contest were under way and pirates were roaming around the green. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

When we got back to Nature's Way, we found Lily staffing the booth out front. It had been stocked with fresh plants, T-shirts, and the rest of our merchandise, and she was handing a customer change. She gave me a thumbs-up as we walked by.