Tish heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Then you didn’t do it.’
‘Oh, no, Tish’ – Zadie looked Tish straight in the eye – ‘I did.’
‘But why? You just said Orson made life worth living again. Why jeopardize that?’
‘Because, try as we might to run from it, bury it, or ignore it, the past still finds a way to come crashing down upon us,’ she explained as a single tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I’d gone for my usual walk Friday morning, and had been out maybe fifteen or twenty minutes when I realized I’d forgotten to bring along a birthday card that needed to be mailed. So I returned home to retrieve it. As I entered my back kitchen door – I use that when I walk so I don’t track dirt through the house – I caught a glimpse of Sloane Shackleford sunning himself in his lounge chair. The sight of him made me ill. And then he actually had the audacity to speak to me. He made some snide remark about Orson’s garden and how he should probably throw in the towel, and then invited me, again, to have a drink with him. This time I agreed and walked over to his yard. There he was, basking in the sun like some bloated, bronzed, blood-sucking lizard. After all he’d done, after all he continued to do, there he was, grinning ear to ear, drinking a mimosa, and working on his tan, while my son – my beautiful, sweet boy – was dead.’
Zadie licked her lips and swallowed. ‘I suddenly felt the same way I did when Calvin was attacking William on that February afternoon. On my way into the yard, I’d noticed a garden spade standing against the wall of the garage. As Shackleford suggested I get a glass from his kitchen, I walked over to the garage, grabbed the spade, lifted it in the air, and let it come down on Sloane Shackleford’s head. I don’t recall how many times I hit him. I just know that I did it until the grin disappeared from his face. I then wiped the handle clean of fingerprints, went into my house to wash up, grabbed the envelope from the kitchen table, and went back out to post my mail as if nothing happened. I’d only just gotten back when you, Jim Ainsley, and your friend Mr Davis discovered Shackleford’s body.’
Several seconds elapsed before Tish could even respond. ‘This can’t be true. You couldn’t have done it,’ she argued.
‘But I did do it, Tish. Now, if you would, please tell Sheriff Reade that I would like to confess.’
‘No,’ Tish refused. ‘I can’t. I won’t.’
‘Tish, if you don’t go out there and tell him, I’ll just lean out the living-room window and scream. So, please, just go out and bring him in here. Let’s not drag this out any longer.’
Tish, blinking back her tears, nodded and turned toward the front door. Zadie stopped her. ‘Before I forget …’ She stretched out an elegant French-manicured hand. In it were two tiny drawstring velvet bags.
Tish stepped forward and collected them. As she did so, Zadie grasped Tish’s wrist. ‘I’m so sorry, Tish, but I needed to make things right.’
Without a word, Tish removed her hand from Zadie’s and walked through the foyer and out the front door.
TWENTY
As twilight began to descend upon the lifestyle-center parking lot, Tish and Jules rested upon the front bumper of Jules’s Mini Cooper. ‘Do you want to go back to Zadie’s house and see what’s going on?’ Jules asked as Tish blew her nose into a wad of tissue.
‘Why, so we can watch Reade take her away in handcuffs? I don’t think either of us could bear to watch that.’
‘I know, but I just feel badly for the woman.’
‘I do as well, but there’s not much we can do. You heard Sheriff Reade; we can’t be in the same room with Zadie while she’s giving her statement, and unless we’re her legal representation, we can’t talk to her during the booking process. Besides, what Zadie really needs right now isn’t moral support – it’s a good lawyer.’
‘Think Schuyler could help?’
‘He could and would,’ Tish asserted, ‘but I’m certain Zadie has attorneys in New York City who’d run circles around our Richmond lawyers.’
‘True,’ Jules frowned. ‘I don’t think they’ll keep Zadie in jail for long, do you? I mean, given her age.’
‘I should hope not, especially as she’s not a threat to anyone else. Of course, she can also probably afford to pay whatever bail they set.’
‘Then we’ll pay her a visit when she’s back home,’ Jules declared.
‘Absolutely,’ Tish agreed. ‘The time she spends awaiting trial and enduring judgment in the court of public opinion is going to be extremely rough. She’s going to need all the friends and allies she can get.’
‘And you?’ Jules prompted.
‘What about me?’
‘How are you doing? I know you kinda idolized her.’
Tish shrugged. ‘I’m shocked and still in disbelief. I just can’t picture her leveling a shovel at someone’s head the way she did Shackleford.’
‘But Zadie told you she’d done it once before to her ex-husband.’
‘Yes, but that was different.’
‘Was it?’ Jules challenged. ‘Everyone has a trigger, Tish. Clearly, William was Zadie’s. And who could blame her? He was her son.’
‘You’re right,’ Tish agreed. ‘Here I am saying I can’t believe Zadie is a murderer when the truth really is I don’t want to believe it.’
‘What’s the old saying? Never meet your heroes?’
‘Yes, but I still rather like mine.’ Tish drew a deep breath and rose to her feet. ‘Look, I know it may sound selfish, but right now all I want is to load up the car, pick up Biscuit, go home, and forget this place for a few hours.’
‘I hear ya,’ Jules commiserated. ‘And I don’t think it’s selfish at all. This weekend’s been a serious trip for you – and not in a good way. You want to wait here and rest while I get Biscuit and the leftovers?’
‘No, l just want to get going. How about I get the leftovers from the kitchen and you walk over and get Biscuit?’
‘Deal,’ Jules agreed, but before either of them could act upon their plan, the heavy evening air was shattered by the sound of sirens. ‘Oh! They must be taking Zadie to headquarters.’
‘Clemson Reade wouldn’t parade an elderly woman through the neighborhood with the lights and sirens blaring. He’d leave her some sense of dignity.’
Jules pulled a face. ‘It’s getting closer.’
‘And it seems to be coming from the road.’ As if summoned by Tish’s words, an ambulance appeared at the security gate and sped past the lifestyle center toward the center of the development.
Tish had no reason to suspect that one specific resident of Coleton Creek might require urgent medical care more than another – indeed, in a senior living community, anyone could have been in need of emergency services – but at the sight of the ambulance, she gasped, ‘Zadie.’
With Jules close at her heels, she followed the lights and the sound of the siren through the tangle of streets to the vehicle’s final destination. Tish’s intuition was correct, for the ambulance had come to a stop directly in front of Zadie’s sprawling ranch home. The driver and passengers of the van were already inside the house.
Pushing past the fresh-faced police officer cordoning off the house with yellow tape, Tish and Jules jogged across the lawn and to the front door, where they were halted by Sheriff Reade himself. ‘Sorry, guys. The paramedics need space to work.’
‘What happened?’ Tish demanded.
‘Ms Morris collapsed after giving us her statement.’
‘Probably all the stress,’ Jules judged.
‘She was quite tired last night, too,’ Tish added. ‘I doubt she’s been sleeping well.’
Clemson Reade gave Tish a look that suggested Zadie’s health issues were far more serious than simple exhaustion.
‘What? What’s wrong, Clemson?’ Tish questioned.
‘The paramedics are with her now; that’s all I can tell you. When I know more, I’ll let you know.’ With that, Reade went back inside.
‘Come on,’ Jules waved her to the front path. ‘Let’s get out o
f their way.’
An obedient Tish followed Jules to the street, where a group of curious Coleton Creek residents had gathered. Among the crowd, Tish spotted the anxious face of Orson Baggett.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked as she approached, his tone frantic. ‘That young buck of a police officer told me to wait out here but wouldn’t tell me anything else. What’s going on? Where’s Zadie? She hasn’t been murdered too, has she? Because if she has—’
‘Zadie hasn’t been murdered, Mr Baggett.’ Tish placed a quieting hand on his arm. ‘She was speaking with the police and collapsed. The paramedics are treating her now.’
‘What were the cops doing talking to Zadie? Don’t they realize she doesn’t know anything about Sloane Shackleford? She only just moved in a few months back.’
Tish refrained from comment. It wasn’t her place to tell Orson about Zadie’s past or the fact that she had murdered Sloane Shackleford. Even if it had been her place, Tish possessed neither the strength nor the words to convey the news in a manner that wouldn’t leave the man utterly devastated.
The crowd outside Zadie’s house had grown exponentially in the short time since Tish and Jules’s arrival. Residents still dressed in their garden luncheon finery mingled with those who’d changed into T-shirts, shorts, or casual dresses, and still others who’d already given in to the comfortable allure of their pajamas and nightwear. All spoke in hushed tones as they speculated about what might be going on with their new neighbor, while others optimistically planned for her return from the hospital.
‘I can bring her dinner on the first night,’ one woman could be heard saying.
‘I’ll do the second,’ another volunteered.
‘I can’t cook worth a damn, but I’d be willing to send my housekeeper over a couple of hours a week to help Ms Morris with whatever needs doin’.’
‘What if she hires a nurse?’
‘Doesn’t matter. There’s not a nurse in town who can make a broccoli and rice casserole as good as mine. It’s my mama’s recipe.’
Fifteen long minutes and a month’s worth of convalescent meal delivery planning later, Sheriff Reade stepped from behind the front screen door and down the steps. The grim expression on his face said it all.
‘Mr Baggett, Tish, Jules, I’m afraid we lost her. I’m so very sorry.’
Orson buckled at the knees and for a moment it appeared he might faint. ‘I knew it would end like this. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. She told me she still had months to go.’
Tish, Reade, and Jules exchanged puzzled glances. ‘What do you mean she still had months to go? I don’t understand,’ Tish sought clarification.
‘Zadie had terminal bone cancer. It was one of the reasons she moved south. She wanted a milder climate and for her life to end where it began – near Richmond. I just thought we had more time together.’
‘She never said anything to me about being ill.’
‘She didn’t want anyone to know because she didn’t want anyone’s pity. That was Zadie. Always smiling on the outside, even when she must have been in a good deal of pain on the inside. “Everyone’s fighting their own battles,” she’d say to me if I’d been short-tempered with someone.’ Orson’s voice cracked and he brought his left hand up to the bridge of his nose. ‘Oh, Zadie.’
Tish placed a comforting hand on Orson’s back.
‘Again, I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mr Baggett,’ Reade extended his condolences. ‘Do you know if Ms Morris had any family?’
‘Don’t think so. She said I was the only person she had left in the world. She had a son once. William. She never told me what happened to him, except that he was dead. I don’t think she ever got over losing him. Though I expect you never do get over losing folks; you just get used to them not being around. I used to bring her a bouquet of Sweet Williams from my garden each week. Zadie would keep them in a vase on the kitchen table. She really liked that. Said it was a living memorial.’
The screen door to the house swung open again as a uniformed paramedic stepped out on to the front stoop.
‘The paramedics will be bringing her out just now, Mr Baggett. If it’s too upsetting, I’ll tell them to wait until you’re gone,’ Reade offered.
‘No, I want to say a quick goodbye, if I may.’
‘You may step forward for a few moments.’ Sheriff Reade led Orson up the path that led to Zadie Morris’s front door.
The first paramedic stepped inside and, with the help of a second, wheeled a gurney bearing a vinyl-covered body down the steps and on to the path. They paused before Orson Baggett, who immediately removed his fedora and got down on one knee. ‘Oh, Zadie. If you’d only told me how sick you were, I’d have married you before you left this world. You made me a better man, and although I feel like kicking and screaming and swearing at God for taking you away from me, I’ll remember the lessons you taught me. Wait for me, Zadie. Wait for me, please.’
Sheriff Reade helped Orson up from his kneeling position and gestured to the paramedics to proceed.
As the body of Zadie Morris was loaded into the ambulance, the crowd fell silent. Tish watched as an uncharacteristically sympathetic Callie Collingsworth, perhaps softened by her own grief, consoled a distraught Wren Harper. Just behind them, Tucker Abercrombie embraced his wife tightly and bestowed her forehead with a kiss that conveyed a renewed sense of commitment and appreciation. A few feet to their right stood a grim Jim Ainsley, his arms folded across his chest and his head bowed as if lost in either prayer or thought.
Ainsley was awakened from his fugue state by the appearance of a teary-eyed Pepper Aviero at his side. The couple gazed at each other for several seconds and then, without a word, Ainsley pulled Pepper to him and wrapped his arms around her. Pepper, amid a bevy of sobs, reciprocated, and the couple, arm in arm, moved on to console Orson Baggett.
It was, Tish noted as the ambulance drove off and tears streamed down her face, a sad irony that the woman for whom happiness had, until now, remained elusive should have inspired so much love and reconciliation upon her death. And yet, for a woman who encouraged three generations of women to be as strong and beautiful as they could be, there could not have been a more fitting tribute.
‘Rest in peace, Vera,’ Tish whispered beneath her breath. ‘Rest in peace.’
TWENTY-ONE
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Jules stood on the front porch of Cookin’ the Books Café with Biscuit’s lead in one hand and a bag containing his bed, food, and dishes in the other.
Tish had changed out of her cropped trousers and T-shirt and into a pair of baggy shorts and a tank top. ‘Positive. It’s a perfect fit. Given he was left to roam Coleton Creek on his own each evening, I suspect Biscuit’s led a rather lonely existence. Although Kayla and Gregory would love to keep him, Mary Jo doesn’t feel that she can care for a dog at this time, and as for me – well, aside from being busy with the café and catering jobs, having a dog here would make health inspections that much more complicated. That leaves you to give this sweet little guy a home.’
Jules gazed down at Biscuit with a broad smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll spoil him rotten.’
‘That was the expectation.’ Tish bent over and scratched Biscuit between the ears.
‘And I’ll be sure to bring him around for visits.’
‘That was also the expectation.’
‘It’s funny. I always wanted a dog when I was a kid, but Mama didn’t want to have to vacuum up the extra hair. And lately I’ve been kinda envious of other people at the station bringing their dogs to work with them. But I’d never given a thought to getting one of my own.’
‘Strange how fate works, isn’t it? I’m sure Biscuit will be an extremely popular member of the newsroom. I also have a hunch that he’ll be an excellent roommate, a great companion, and a slightly better fit for your lifestyle than an eighty-three-year-old woman.’
‘Well, I still plan on visiting Mrs Wilkes, Mrs Newman, and the other
pool aerobics ladies.’
‘And you should, but just remember you can be a positive component in their lives without giving up yours.’
‘How is it you always know what to do?’ Jules asked as he hugged his friend.
‘Oh, if only that were the case,’ she laughed.
‘It’s true, honey. I’m not sure where any of us would be without you.’ He let go of Tish and snatched up Biscuit. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK tonight? We don’t mind staying.’
Tish smiled. Jules and Biscuit were already a ‘we.’ ‘I’ll be fine, Jules. I just want to have a bath and go to bed. But I appreciate you staying and heating up those leftovers. I was hungrier than I thought.’
‘Well, you know me. If stress-eating were an Olympic event, I’d take gold. Now, you’re positive you don’t want me to call Schuyler and get him over here to stay with you?’
‘Positive. I already told him what happened today and we’re touching base tomorrow. Also’ – she modeled her outfit – ‘we’ve yet to reach the point in our relationship where I’d let him see me like this.’
‘Probably a smart move,’ he teased and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Bye, darlin’. I’ll give you a shout after work tomorrow. Come on, Biscuit. Let’s go home and watch some TV. BBC America is airing Sense and Sensibility tonight.’
Tish watched Jules and Biscuit drive off in the Mini Cooper before locking up for the night. With everyone gone, the café was oddly quiet. For a fleeting second, Tish wondered if she should have kept Biscuit for just one more night as a way to ease herself back into the silence, but she quickly dispelled the thought. She was so bone-achingly weary that even walking upstairs to her apartment felt like an arduous task, let alone taking Biscuit on his brief pre-bedtime outing.
After a lengthy soak in lavender-scented bathwater, Tish toweled off, slipped into a cotton nightgown, tucked herself into bed, and fell asleep within the hour in spite of the lingering thoughts of Zadie Morris echoing through her brain. She slept soundly until seven thirty in the morning, when she was awakened by the sound of someone knocking on the front screen door of the café.
The Garden Club Murder Page 23