‘But even if Shackleford dropped out, you couldn’t be certain your wife would win,’ Tish was quick to indicate.
‘I know, but Vi would have at least stood a better chance without him in the running. And he – well, that thieving, two-faced skunk had no place being awarded anything other than twenty years behind bars.’
‘So you were going to “suggest” that Mr Shackleford drop out?’
‘Oh, I already had. Last Monday. Friday was just to see if he’d changed his mind. Shackleford had those gardeners of his mowing the lawn and whatever else they did to help him win the competition every year. Bad back, my eye. Although I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything the man did. Truth and he never were related.’
‘So, you say you saw Shackleford last Monday,’ Tish prompted, hoping to speed the man along. As fascinating as Tucker Abercrombie’s story might be, she still needed to check on her roasts.
‘Yes, I found him on the patio, sipping sweet tea and looking over some piles of broken cement. What he was up to, I haven’t a clue, but I introduced myself – even though he already knew who I was – told him what he and his company had done to Vi and me years back, and told him that if he didn’t drop out of the competition, I’d let everyone in Coleton Creek know just what a charlatan he was.’
‘I can only imagine how well that went down.’
‘About as well as a pork pie in a synagogue,’ Tucker deadpanned. ‘Shackleford started laughing like a madman. Then he went on to tell me that if I told folks about his insurance dealings, he’d tell them about my wife’s affair with Jim Ainsley.’
Tish felt her face go red. ‘Affair?’
‘Precisely my reaction. There isn’t an affair. Never has been. Vi has always been close with Jim. He’s a man of integrity and the best friend a person could ever ask for. And Vi – well, everyone who knows her loves her. I can’t blame Jim if he developed feelings for Vi at some point through the years. She’s the most beautiful, kind, warm, and funny gal to ever grace this earth. But the two of them would never have an affair. Neither of them have it in their being. If anything, Jim has helped me to be a better husband. There was a time when I was working round the clock and traveling all the time. Jim sat me down and explained how he didn’t mind keeping Vi and the kids company, but how it should be me watching a movie and eating popcorn with Vi and tucking the kids into bed at night. Right after that conversation, I asked my boss if I could be moved to telephone sales. I had to take a cut in pay at first, but it was worth it. Eventually, telephone sales became telephone and online sales and customer support, but the company gave us a good life and stuck with me when Vi was sick.
‘You know who else stuck by me when Vi was sick?’ Tucker continued. ‘Jim Ainsley. There were moments – I’m not proud of them – but there were moments when I just felt like I couldn’t go on another day if Vi didn’t get better. Moments when I thought it might be better for me to go before she did. Jim was there during those dark times, walking me back to sanity. And I won’t even go into how much he’s helped us by letting us live here in Coleton Creek. I’m lucky to have both Vi and Jim in my life, and I’m doubly lucky to have the people I care most about also care about each other – not as lovers, but as the bestest of friends.’
All these years, Tish thought to herself. All these years Tucker Abercrombie understood there was a special bond between his wife and Jim Ainsley. And all these years, Violet Abercrombie had been trying to hide it.
‘Have you ever told your wife what you told me just now?’ she asked.
‘No, she knows how I feel about Jim.’
‘Yes, but she doesn’t know that you know how she feels about Jim. That’s led to a fair amount of guilt and secrecy over the years.’
Tucker’s jaw dropped open. ‘So Vi has spoken with you.’
Tish nodded. ‘She told me about your history with Shackleford and then told me that neither you, she, nor Mr Ainsley had killed him.’
Tucker closed his mouth and tried on a puzzled expression. ‘All three of us?’
‘Well, when she saw you return home for lunch Friday without a newspaper and looking frazzled, she probably thought the worst. However, coming to me to say her husband was innocent would have put me, and subsequently the police, right on your scent,’ Tish explained.
‘So she diverted the focus from me by putting it on all of us,’ Tucker surmised. ‘She never ceases to amaze me.’
‘Your wife is a very intelligent woman.’
‘Again, I’m a very lucky man.’
‘Yes, let’s just hope that luck holds when you speak with Sheriff Reade.’
‘Sheriff Reade? I told you, Shackleford was dead when I got there. Why do I have to talk to the police? I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Given that you were in the clear until you spoke to me, I tend to believe you. However, your story presents us with a clearer timeline of the murder. Did you pass anyone on the way to or from Shackleford’s?’
‘No. Not a soul.’
‘Are you certain? Not even a car or bike or dog walker?’
‘I’m positive. It was a typical hot day here at Coleton Creek. Most folks walk their dogs or tend their gardens early in the morning or in the cool of the evening. From noon onward to about five, you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone out in the sun.’
‘Which route did you take back home? Did you go back the same way?’
‘No, I wanted to get away from Shackleford and back home as quickly as possible, so I went the shorter way. Past Wren’s and Orson’s. You, Jim, and Mr Davis were on Wren’s front porch when I went by, but you didn’t see me. Glad of the fact too, since I couldn’t rightly explain why I was walking so fast.’
Tucker’s description of their visit to Wren Harper’s was correct, thus only further substantiating his story, which in itself caused another conundrum. At the thought of it, Tish heaved a heavy sigh.
‘What’s wrong, Ms Tarragon? I’m telling you the truth. Apart from the three of you on Wren Harper’s porch, not a single person crossed my path.’
‘I believe you, Mr Abercrombie. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? If the people who visited Shackleford prior to you are also telling the truth, then the murderer had just fifteen to twenty minutes to enter Shackleford’s garden, strike him dead with a garden spade, and make his or her getaway.’
‘Sounds plausible to me,’ Tucker Abercrombie shrugged.
‘To me as well. But if I’m not mistaken, there are only two approaches to Mr Shackleford’s house – the one you took and the one we took. Correct?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And none of us passed another person along the way – except for, eventually, each other.’
‘Right.’
‘So where did the murderer go, Mr Abercrombie? Where did he or she go?’
EIGHTEEN
After allowing Tucker Abercrombie admittance to the patio, Tish reported to Sheriff Reade via telephone, only for her call to be forwarded directly to voicemail. Upon leaving a message about Tucker’s visit to Shackleford on Friday morning, Tish returned to the lifestyle-center kitchen, where Celestine, Jules, and two medium-rare roasts awaited.
‘Hey, honey. I took the liberty of removing your roasts from the oven,’ Celestine greeted.
‘Thanks, Celestine.’
‘You’re welcome. Now let’s take a look at you.’ The woman gave Tish a hug and inspected her wounds. ‘Jules told me what happened. You were very lucky.’
‘I know,’ Tish moaned. She was tired of discussing her good fortune. ‘Where are the cakes?’
‘In the fridge,’ Jules replied. ‘Ms Celly wouldn’t let me see them until you got here.’
‘You’re darn right I wouldn’t. These beauties deserve a proper introduction.’ She extracted three boxes from the refrigerator and lined them up on the counter. ‘Rose cakes with raspberry frosting,’ Celestine announced as she removed the lid from the first box to reveal row after row of pristinely pink cakes
topped with fresh raspberries and crystallized rose petals.
‘Ooooh,’ Tish and Jules cried in unison.
Celestine lifted the lid off the second box. Inside stood dozens of miniature loaf cakes with a light, whitish glaze and purple flowers. ‘Lavender and lemon cakes with lemon glaze and whole sugared violets.’
Tish and Jules’s second response echoed their first.
‘And, finally, something for the gluten-free folks.’ She opened the third box, which was filled with tiny golden Bundt cakes filled with billowy soft peaks of cream and garnished with tiny yellow flowers. ‘Corn flour and orange blossom chiffon cakes with crème-fraiche frosting and candied honeysuckle blossoms straight from my backyard.’
‘These might be the most beautiful cakes I’ve ever seen,’ Tish gushed. ‘As well as the most fragrant.’
‘I know they ate fairy cakes in the book, but I thought using the garden as inspiration might be fun,’ Celestine chuckled.
‘These are absolutely brilliant, Celestine. And they’ll look terrific on our vintage cake stands.’
‘I got some lemon leaves to decorate with too. Just for a little extra pop of green.’
‘The heck with lemon leaves. I can’t believe I’m drooling over something gluten-free,’ Jules declared. ‘When do we get to taste them?’
Celestine happily cut up one of each cake for a quick – and ultimately divine – taste test before settling into the day’s work.
Even with a late start, the day’s tasks were accomplished smoothly and on schedule. At precisely five minutes to twelve, the buffet table was practically groaning under the weight of a luncheon fit for royalty.
There were silver platters piled high with crustless tea sandwiches on country white or artisan wheat bread: salmon and cream cheese, egg mayonnaise, cucumber, and spicy Coronation chicken. Martini glasses were filled with prawns, greens, tomatoes, and creamy Marie Rose sauce. A sectioned chafing dish presented both golden miniature Yorkshire puddings packed with sliced roast beef and horseradish cream and buttery sage-and-onion-infused sausage rolls. And, on an antique platter in the center of the table, stood a pyramid of plain and savory cheese scones accompanied by bowls of clotted cream and homemade strawberry preserves.
Indeed, the morning workload was completed so efficiently that Jules even had time to devise a new cocktail.
Determining that a second specialty cold-beverage option might prove more popular in the ninety-five-degree heat than a warm pot of tea, Jules brewed half of his Earl Grey tea supply, chilled it, added homemade lavender lemonade (made from the lavender Celestine had left over from her cakes), a splash of gin, and a cucumber slice for a drink he dubbed the Arnold Palmerston.
‘You know, the former British Prime Minister?’ Jules explained to bewildered guests. Despite their puzzled reactions, the drink was an unmitigated success.
Tish and Celestine waited behind the buffet table and watched as the luncheon food rapidly disappeared into the mouths of hungry guests and Jules served up drinks with his usual élan.
‘Everything surrounding this event may have been chaotic, but I’d say this was a triumph,’ Celestine whispered to Tish.
‘Pardon me if I refrain from celebrating until the last of our guests is home safe and sound and is still breathing in the morning.’
As if on cue, Sheriff Clemson Reade appeared in the glass door of the lifestyle center. ‘See?’ Tish gestured in his direction.
‘What’s that boy doing here? Doesn’t he realize he’s about as welcome as a porcupine in a nudist colony?’
Tish rushed to the door before Reade’s presence was noticed. ‘Hey,’ she greeted as she stepped into the lifestyle center.
‘Hey. Sorry for interrupting you. You got a minute?’
‘A brief one.’
‘I wanted to tell you your hunches paid off. It being Sunday, I couldn’t get in touch with any labs in the area, but some nosing into Shackleford’s financial records showed that he made payments to both Virginia Tech Soil Testing Lab in Blacksburg and a private environmental engineering firm in Roanoke as recently as last month. I couldn’t find the results of their work, but our team did a cursory pH test of the soil included in those bags and they were highly alkaline. But that’s not all. Guess who showed up at headquarters first thing this morning?’
Tish shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Susannah Hilton. It appears Mariette Knobloch called Susannah at her home last night demanding that something be done to stop today’s luncheon and, in Mariette’s words, “scare the garden club into disbanding for once and for all.”’
‘So Susannah was the one who vandalized my car?’
‘Nope. When Susannah refused, the Knoblochs fired her.’
‘That would explain why she wasn’t here this morning,’ Tish mused aloud.
‘Yep. Based on Susannah’s complaint, we took the liberty of visiting the Knoblochs in their home. When we arrived, Nathan was putting some trash in the bins by their garage. In that trash was a hooded sweatshirt, the sleeves of which were covered in what appeared to be glass particles. Before I could even call for a warrant, Mariette came out of the house and confessed to the whole thing. Nathan vandalized your car. She was the one who pushed you to the ground. We have them both in custody.’
‘Did they say anything about the building debris?’
‘They admitted they cut corners and that Shackleford was on to them, but they both denied being involved in his murder.’
‘Wow, that’s some fast work,’ Tish commended.
‘Thanks. But wait, there’s more,’ Reade added in a voice similar to that of a television spokesperson. ‘I did some checking into Callie Collingsworth and it appears there’s no record of her anywhere prior to 2015.’
‘But how? She only bought her house here at Coleton Creek a few years back. They must have checked her background for a mortgage.’
‘She paid cash for her home. Meaning all she would have needed to provide were a couple forms of identification, like a driver’s license and social security card. Easy to get decent forgeries of those these days.’
‘What did she say when you confronted her?’
‘I didn’t. I stopped by Ms Collingsworth’s house to chat at our predetermined time, but she wasn’t there.’
‘Yes, she said she had an appointment to meet with you today.’
‘Well, either she forgot it or she had no intention whatsoever of speaking with me.’
‘Hard to believe she’d pull up stakes before receiving her share of Shackleford’s will,’ Tish opined.
‘Unless she thinks someone’s on to her.’
‘Callie, or whatever her name is, said she was meeting a friend in Richmond for dinner yesterday evening. Perhaps she’s staying there.’
‘I tracked down Ms Collingsworth’s car – a 2018 Jaguar XE R-Sport in cobalt blue – as well as the license plate number from the Virginia DMV. They match what Susannah had on file here. I’ll put a call out to the Richmond police.’
Tish frowned. ‘Do you think Callie killed Shackleford?’
‘My guess is she’s more a grifter than a murderer, but I could be wrong. By the way, I got your message about Tucker Abercrombie. What’s going on?’
Tish summarized Tucker’s story.
‘Do you believe he’s telling the truth?’
‘I do. He saw us standing on Wren Harper’s front porch. That’s a detail that’s hard to fake.’
‘Unless he ran past you on his way home from murdering Shackleford.’
‘If he committed the murder, why talk to me at all?’ Tish argued. ‘He’d be safer sitting tight and waiting.’
Reade scratched his chin. ‘If Tucker Abercrombie’s account is true, it changes a lot of things. Callie Collingsworth would be in the clear. She was seen at the pool at twenty-five minutes after eleven and didn’t leave until you bumped into her in the lifestyle center.’
‘It rules out Jim Ainsley too, since he was with me and Jules the entire ti
me the murder took place.’
‘What about Violet Abercrombie?’
‘Tucker said she was at home making lunch.’
‘Exactly. “Tucker said.” What if he invented this whole story to cover up for his wife? That would be a good reason for speaking with you – to provide her with an alibi. He nearly lost Violet once to cancer. He wouldn’t want to risk losing her again – this time to prison.’
‘And Violet Abercrombie came to me in order to shift suspicion from herself and on to her husband or Jim Ainsley?’ Tish challenged. ‘That doesn’t sound quite right either.’
‘Maybe they’re in it together,’ Reade suggested.
‘Again, Tucker wouldn’t put his wife at risk.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’ll pay him a visit after the luncheon and hopefully I’ll gain a new perspective on things.’
Tish nodded. ‘I’d better get back in there and clear dishes before the awards ceremony.’
Tish and Reade bade farewell and went back to their respective posts, Reade to the makeshift headquarters on the green outside Shackleford’s house and Tish back to the patio where she and Celestine loaded the leftover food and used dishes on to a pair of tiered carts and wheeled everything back to the kitchen.
After loading the dishwasher and setting it to run, they stacked a cart with piles of dessert plates, serving pieces, and cakes, and wheeled it back to the patio, where they waited near the door and quietly watched the ceremony unfold.
‘And the award for most improved garden,’ Jim Ainsley announced into an ancient microphone as he stood before the buffet table and opened a sealed envelope, ‘goes to Emily O’Malley.’
An auburn-haired woman in a green dress rose from the audience and, with a brief curtsey to the cheering crowd, stepped forward to accept her prize.
The Garden Club Murder Page 20