Gore in the Garden

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  “Is it just me, or is she looking better and better every day?” he asked his wife.

  Mrs. Pitre slammed down her coffee cup. “Don’t even think about it Leon!” she said tersely.

  “Oh God, Evelyn, she’s probably a quarter of my age. No, I think since that no-good husband of hers disappeared, she’s much better off. She seems happier too.”

  “Well truth be told; she was always a pretty little thing. Her husband was the one who was putting her down all the time. The things he would say to her!”

  “I know,” said Leon Pitre, “I was out in the yard one time…”

  Evelyn smirked. “Passed out in the yard is more like it.”

  “You and I trade insults, but Brett was just plain mean. He told her she was uglier than a sack of…”

  “Oh don’t say it! I do not need that image in my head first thing in the morning!”

  Leon started chuckling and looked at his wife and said, “You left the door wide open woman.”

  Despite herself, she started chuckling too. “Go ahead, say it.”

  He pointed to her and said with disgust, “And I do not need that image in my face first thing in the morning!”

  ***

  “Yes,” said Julia, as she was drying her dishes, “Mr. Pitre may be nice, but he is so annoying when he sings.”

  Julia had started talking to herself on a regular basis since Brett disappeared. She supposed she could get a pet, because she had read that talking to a pet was very therapeutic, but she didn’t think she had the stomach to clean up after an animal.

  She stopped and thought hard.

  “I don’t think I could kill him, could I?”

  Julia stooped down and looked under the sink. Brett had rat poison under there. They never had any rats, but Brett said better safe than sorry, so just before he disappeared, he bought a great big box. It wasn’t even open.

  “I could put some in a bottle of whisky and give it to Mr. Pitre to drink; but then, what if he got sick?”

  Julia almost keeled over thinking about it.

  “No, he’ll just have to live, and I’ll just have to get ear plugs.”

  In a rare moment of insight it occurred to Julia if anyone had heard the conversation she just had with herself, they might seriously question her sanity. Perhaps she should get herself a dog.

  Julia spent a delightful morning watching funny dog videos. She really didn’t have anywhere to go; her trust fund made sure that she would never have to work, plus Mr. Pitre in his more sober times had installed underground irrigation for her. She had carefully read the manual and set up a watering schedule for each garden zone. She set the start time for two o’clock in the morning as this was the most efficient use of water in the summer.

  Or so she had read. That meant that her precious garden was already well-watered, and she could just sit and do nothing if she wanted to.

  About one o’clock a very unfamiliar feeling began to overtake Julia. She was bored. She did not have a new project planned and was feeling a little deflated.

  When Mrs. Pitre came over at one thirty with a pineapple upside down cake, Julia was thrilled beyond belief. It was just like in the magazines! A neighbor coming over with a cake and staying for coffee.

  Oh and the things they talked about! Haircuts and dresses and nail polish! And, of course, gardening.

  Mrs. Pitre told Julia how wonderful Julia’s garden beds looked and that her back yard was divine.

  “You know, when you planted rhubarb on top of those pillars, well I didn’t quite know what to expect,” Mrs. Pitre said, “but it’s turned out so interesting. What you do need now is a fountain!”

  Julia’s eyes opened wide. She had several bird baths, but a fountain! Now that would be something.

  “And you should put it right front and center, so everybody passing by your house will see it and…” Mrs. Pitre seemed a little loss for words. She had a sip of coffee. “And enjoy it’s splendor!” she finished.

  Julia was not the same Julia of a few months ago. She at least tried to guess how things worked.

  “I could divert the water supply from the main drip tubing, just change out a fixture and connect it to the pump for the fountain.”

  “Well, I don’t know if that would work dear,” Evelyn Pitre said, “But I’m sure the folks down at the hardware store will help you. They have a nice girl down there; Marcia I think her name is and she is so helpful.”

  Mrs. Pitre leaned forward and confided, “Well, Mr. Pitre doesn’t like her, I don’t know why. He even avoids looking at her, but she’s clever, that Marcia. She always tries to catch his eye and when she does, he gets so uncomfortable. Marcia and I just giggle and giggle!

  Something fell into place in Julia’s brain.

  “Oh no, she’s not at the hardware store anymore. Didn’t you see that article in the paper ages ago? She died in a pond accident.”

  The two women gossiped on about the fate of Marcia and the urgency of Julia’s new fountain project.

  “Oh, I think you should get started right away,” urged Mrs. Pitre, “You could go ahead and dig the hole this afternoon!”

  Julia was doing a search on the internet.

  “Oh it’s a closed system. I can’t use the irrigation; in fact, that would be the absolute wrong thing to do. Also, who would want a fountain to only run at night? You’re right, Mrs. Pitre, I better ask someone who knows how to do this!”

  “But you can dig the hole this afternoon dear. Just do it right out front of your house, where everyone can see,” Mrs. Pitre continued to harp on the subject. “And of course, you will be able to see it from your front room window! It will be magnificent!”

  Julia nodded. She was still a bit unsure about the fountain in the front of the house. She kind of wanted it in the back, so she could sit out on her little deck in the morning and watch the water. But, she reasoned, she could go ahead and dig the hole and if she changed her mind, she could fill it back in.

  “Mr. Pitre has a spade you could use. Do you want me to bring it over?”

  ***

  “She actually brought the spade over to your house?” Gracie asked Julia.

  They were sitting in Gracie’s comfortable living room. Each had a cat curled up on their lap and a cup of jasmine tea on a side table.

  Over on the kitchen table was a check and a carefully cut out newspaper clipping that read:

  “Did you do something bad, but can’t quite remember? Did your neighbor do something bad and you want to get the goods on them? Contact Gracie Noseworthy Investigations at 555-2368. I sniff out trouble!”

  The check Julia had written Gracie was unfiled. Gracie wasn’t sure there was a case.

  “Yes. Right after she left, she was back with it. She waited until I went out and started digging. It was hard work, let me tell you.” Julia smiled and patted Zoey. The cat sensed that this was one of the gentlest beings in the Universe and stretched and yawned happily.

  Julia continued. “When she went in the house I kept digging, but I guess my mind was working too because suddenly I thought of Mr. Pitre. He’d be coming home drunk. He always walks home from the bar and cuts right across my front lawn. I don’t mind, of course, but I realized that he would trip in the hole.”

  “Well that doesn’t sound all that terrible,” Gracie said, “What makes you think Mrs. Pitre was trying to kill Mr. Pitre?”

  Julia looked off in the distance. “You know that feeling you get when someone is watching you? I just knew Mrs. Pitre was watching me so I kept digging. The more I dug, the more I wanted to tell her to go jump in the lake, I want my fountain in the back yard!”

  Quite unlike other clients, Gracie had no desire to push Julia to get to the meat of her story. Gracie loved having this delightful young lady at her house. She had such an innocence about her and such a beautiful speaking voice.

  “And did you tell her to jump in the lake?” Gracie asked.

  “I didn’t have the courage. No sooner had I fini
shed digging a fairly wide and deep hole for the fountain reservoir, Mrs. Pitre came over and said she would help me chose the right kind of rocks.” Julia sipped more tea. “You know Gracie, I did see a picture of this on the internet. You pile up the rocks like a tower and the tubing is hidden behind and the water just trickles down the rocks. It did look lovely.”

  “I imagine it did.”

  “So Mrs. Pitre went over to the dry river bed I built and started taking rocks from it and piling them on one side of the hole. In my mind, I saw Mr. Pitre stumbling home, tripping and then smashing his head on the rocks. I was nearly sick thinking about it.”

  Gracie narrowed her eyes at this last part of Julia’s story.

  “Now we’re cooking with gas!” Gracie said. “Did you say anything to Mrs. Pitre about your concerns?”

  Julia nodded sadly. “I did. She just laughed and said, well it’s a good thing I’ve got a lot of life insurance out on him.”

  Gracie was alert now. “Did Mr. Pitre fall in the pit?”

  “Oh no! I watched for him and walked him home. Today I went and bought a bunch of solar garden lights and put them all around the rocks and the hole. I decided to build a fountain there after all, but I am determined to build one in the back as well!”

  Gracie thought for a bit. “Julia, it certainly sounds very suspicious and you absolutely did the right thing with the solar lights and meeting Mr. Pitre. I’d like you to write this all down, while it’s still fresh in your mind and sign it and I’ll keep it in a file. If anything happens to Mr. Pitre in the future, I can bring your suspicions to the police.”

  Julia frowned. “Can’t we do anything else?”

  Gracie walked over to the table and picked up the check.

  “I’d like to earn this check,” she said, “And this is how. For the next few weeks, I will happen to bump into Mrs. Pitre wherever she goes and start discussing preventable accidents at home.”

  “But won’t that give her even more ideas on how to murder Mr. Pitre?”

  Gracie held up her index finger. “I’ll also mention somewhat true-life stories of the aftermath of these accidents. The long convalescence at home and the strain on family members as they have to be at the beck and call at the person recovering from a fractured hip, or twisted ankle or whatever.”

  Julia got it. “So then Mrs. Pitre will think twice about trying to kill Mr. Pitre. She could just end up hurting him and then she would have him at home with her all the time!”

  “Exactly!”

  Julia left Gracie’s home feeling lighter than air. She was so relieved that nice Mr. Pitre was safe. Oh yes, he still sang terribly out of tune, but he also was looking out for her. The least she could do was look out for him.

  When she walked him home last night, she wanted to thank him again for all the irrigation work he had done for her. She knew what she wanted to say, but what came out of her mouth was, “Thank you for all the work you did underground!”

  He chuckled and stopped walking. Julia tugged on him a bit, but he stayed rooted in place.

  “Oh so you figured it out did you? That husband of yours, he wasssh a rotter! We got drunk one night and he told me he was gonna poison you with rat poison and inherit all your money. So I jes killed him. Yup. I bashed him over the head with my spade and buried him in your back yard. When you started getting into gardening, I dug him up and put him in your flower beds. I mixed up some quick set concrete, layered it on him, and sunk your bedposts back in. Then I put a whole pile of dirt over the concrete. I mounded it up like somebody was under the covers. And they were!”

  Julia took this revelation calmly. That’s why the bedposts looked like they had been moved, she thought and were more firmly embedded in the ground.

  Mr. Pitre had started to chuckle again. “Flower beds! That’s hilarious. I love those things.”

  He started walking again and Julia stayed with him and helped him use his key to open his front door. She then walked home and looked fondly at her marigolds where Brett would be sleeping forever.

  That was last night. This afternoon, Julia didn’t tell Gracie Noseworthy any part of the discussion with Mr. Pitre. Mrs. Pitre trying to kill Mr. Pitre had nothing to do with Mr. Pitre killing Brett.

  Besides, Julia already figured Brett was dead, so she just filed the information away and forgot about it.

  The definitely widowed Mrs. Smith returned home excited to start on her new projects. She was going to watch some videos on how to build fountains and then make a list of all the supplies she would need.

  But first, she was going to sit by her marigolds and tell Brett just what she thought of him.

  The Garden Rake or Lettuce Alone!

  Lothario. Rake.

  Oh they had names for him over the years.

  Lounge lizard, Ladykiller, Casanova, Snake. That last one bugged him.

  He wasn’t a snake. He just loved the ladies and they loved him. Sure, they were sometimes just a little bit older than him. Okay, maybe two sometimes three decades older, but heah, love was love. It knows no age.

  That what he always emphasized. He had said those exact words not more than ten minutes ago to his current paramour, Hazel Froment. And he really, truly did love Hazel. It’s just that he loved her money more.

  He had just enough of a nest egg for wining and dining Hazel for two weeks. They went to the finest restaurants and ordered the finest wines.

  Of course he had to look the part. Shane Mitchell knew the value of a custom-made suit. No off the rack suits for him, no sir! He had told Hazel he was ‘just going to freshen up’, but in reality, he wanted to look at himself in the mirror.

  At fifty-five, he still had it. Thick black hair, just long enough to say, ‘bad boy’ but not too long so that it said ‘dandy’. Luxurious mustache and neatly trimmed goatee, a flat stomach and beautifully manicured nails.

  And his height. At six foot four, he really stood out in the crowd. For this engagement, as Shane liked to view his latest conquest, he had chosen to wear strikingly blue contacts. No wonder everyone in the restaurant turned to watch him as he walked back to the table. He was, quite frankly, dashing.

  Shane had been dating Hazel for two weeks. She had been a tough nut to crack. He figured it was because she was a lot closer to his age; she was sixty-seven. They finally were entering the honeymoon phase, as Shane preferred to think about it. This was the time to strike.

  He slid in beside her and accidentally on purpose jostled her arm, the one holding the wine glass.

  “Darling, look what I’ve done! We must rush you back home and get you out of those wet things.”

  Hazel was appalled. She had gussied herself up, had her hair done and got this beautiful gown out of mothballs for tonight’s date.

  “Do you think club soda will take this stain out?” she asked while attempting to pat herself dry with her napkin.

  “You go out to the car my darling,” Shane said, “and I’ll settle up the bill. Be with you in a jiffy! Hurry my darling, run!”

  Shane approached the Manager as Hazel made a beeline to the car without thinking what the hurry might have been as she still had to wait for Shane to get in and drive,.

  “Did you see my date run out of here?” Shane said snippily.

  “Yes Sir, is there an issue?”

  “Is there an issue? Is there an issue? I’ll say. She took one sip of that subpar red wine and spit it out.” Shane tapped the manager on the chest and said confidentially, “Not the most cultured woman I’ve dated, but she was right about the wine. It was atrocious!” Shane waited for the manager to make amends by comping their meal.

  “But Sir, you have been drinking the wine all evening with your steak Neptune.”

  Damn, Shane thought, the disadvantages of a small town; on a Friday night the so-called fanciest restaurant barely had any customers. The manager could easily keep an eye on the patrons. This guy even knew what they were eating. Oh well, maybe he could get a discount.

  “Perh
aps you and your Mother would enjoy a coupon for a free dessert with the purchase of an entrée on your next visit?”

  Shane pursed his lips and waved away the offered coupon. He reluctantly paid the full amount of their meal; only slightly mollified that the manager had called Hazel his Mother. At least, his good looks were holding up; the man thought there was at least twenty years between them instead of twelve.

  “We won’t be visiting your establishment again,” Shane said as a parting shot.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” agreed the Manager, “You’ve been here four times already this week. If you haven’t got the fish on the hook by now, I’d just give up.”

  “You look all red in the face Shane, what’s going on?” Hazel asked when he got in the car.

  “Just angry at myself for ruining a perfectly good evening. But no worries, we can sit and cuddle at your place.”

  Hazel put her hand on his arm. “Shane don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ll work on getting this stain out of my dress and then we’ll see where the evening takes us.”

  I’ve got her now, Shane thought. Oh no, he wasn’t expecting marriage or sex for that matter. It’s just that when these old dolls get all googly eyed around him, he could ask them for the moon, and they would give it to him. The last old biddy he had ‘dated’ parted with a check for over twenty thousand dollars. Not bad for two weeks work. He didn’t even make up a good excuse. He just said, “I need money, Gertie, can you give me some?”

  Fortunately, Shane had cashed the check the day before she popped off permanently. Her family was still trying to get the money back, but Shane was long gone from that town. Just like he’d pack his bags tonight and high tail it out of town.

  He figured Hazel was good for at least twenty thousand. Shane hummed a tune while he drove and suddenly Hazel started singing along:

  “Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, Starlight and dew drops are waiting for thee; Sounds of the rude world heard in the day, Lulled by the moonlight, have all passed away.”

  Again, she placed her hand on his arm and stared up into his face with a serene smile. Shane noticed that her fingers clasping his arm were pretty boney. Her rings will probably slip right off, he thought. Maybe I should avoid asking for a check and just take the rings? Nah, he thought, I’ll go for both.