Gore in the Garden

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  “It wasn’t Dave Shufeldt was it?”

  “Yes! That was the name. Why, do you know him?”

  Gracie scraped the last of her meal off the plate and ate it. “Good to the last bite. Dave is a good friend of mine. He and his wife Pauline are on the same bowling team with me. They both have a quirky sense of humor. Dave likes to play bad cop. He thinks it unsettles the suspect.”

  “It did; it still does. Got to go; dessert is up next.”

  Liv and her assistant began unloading ramekins from the fridge onto trays.

  Saffron said excitedly, “It’s avocado chocolate mousse!”

  While they were busy serving the twenty-four diners, Gracie phoned Ted.

  “What’s this about Leon Pitre being murdered?” she asked.

  “And hello to you too Gracie. Do you have Liv Hayashi as a new client?”

  “Yes indeedy. And I must say she is most distraught about her interview the other night. You’ll have to tell Dave his bad cop routine finally worked. She’s rattled. So what do you think, did she do it?”

  “You know time of death isn’t an exact science. I think she could have, but the trouble is, Pitre’s death went unnoticed for a while.” Ted then added facetiously, “You may not have known this but Pitre had quite the reputation as the town drunk.”

  Gracie wondered if there was any dessert left in the fridge. Would it be rude if she looked?

  “Were you at the same garden party I was Ted? Mr. Pitre was pickled and pretty sure his wife was trying to kill him. Why is Liv on the hook?”

  “Rest assured, Gracie, we are looking at his wife, but she wasn’t there.”

  “Wait, Liv said that a whole lot of people heard and saw their argument. How did no one notice a murder taking place under their very noses?” Gracie added as she opened the fridge door, “Oh good! There are more ramekins!”

  “People saw Pitre laying on the ground and they just figured he was sleeping it off. But the thing was, he sobered up a few weeks ago according to Julia Smith, his neighbor. Poor little thing, she was heartbroken when she heard the news.

  “Anyhow, Liv Hayashi may have done a stealth like ninja move, stabbed him in the neck and no one saw him drop. The body has to be shipped to Munson for the autopsy, but the Coroner suggested that he could have been overcome by the pesticide fumes and stabbed later. We won’t know until the autopsy results and the tox screen comes in. Apparently, Pitre was using some toxic liquid that he had in the back of his garage for years. Pauline checked it out on-line and said it had been banned for years.”

  “So who discovered the body?” Gracie asked. She had helped herself to the mousse. It was fabulous.

  “Unfortunately, it was his wife. She had brought him his lunch and found him with the gun thing sticking out of his neck.”

  Gracie stopped eating. “His wife? Oh no, Liv Hayashi didn’t do this. His wifey-poo should jump to the top of your list!” She could hear Liv and Saffron returning. “Explain later,” she said and hung up.

  “Sorry for the wait,” Liv said, “But we always go round to the tables and get payment for the meal when we serve dessert. That way, people can relax and enjoy the music.”

  “The guitar player is my boyfriend,” Saffron said proudly. “He works at Billy’s Burgers in Munson. I was going to go work there, but with you know who gone, I like it here.”

  Liv smiled. “It was Saffron who suggested we get Nate to play at lunch. We don’t pay him, but he can sell his music.”

  “He has a sign showing where you can download his music. Plus, Liv lets me air drop a free sample to their phone if the customers want it.”

  “And speaking of free samples, here is my twenty for this excellent meal. You’ll notice I helped myself to dessert.” Gracie advised. “As far as your concern about the incident at the Community Garden…”

  Liv interrupted. “Don’t worry, I told Saffron all about what the police suspect.”

  “In that case, I suspect that you will be dropped as a suspect in about twenty-four hours or less. I can’t say much more, but I will phone you as soon as you are off the possible murderer list.”

  Gracie turned to Saffron. “My boyfriend is a Detective on the Huckleberry Police Force.” She turned back to Liv, “That’s how I know Dave Shufeldt; my boyfriend is his boss.”

  Saffron squealed and punched Liv in the arm. “The girl has connections! You’re safe!”

  ***

  Gracie’s phone had been beeping non-stop with text messages from Ted. She hopped in her car and called him back.

  “I’ve got you on speaker on the car phone; what’s up?”

  “Why is Evelyn Pitre a suspect? What do you know that I don’t?”

  “Small reminder Ted; I’m your girlfriend, not a criminal to be grilled. But, if I were a fish, I would prefer to be grilled rather than baked. It would all be over much sooner.”

  “Gracie my dear, I am sorry for my outburst, but time is of the essence. At the garden party for death, Pitre did accuse his wife, but we have her at home helping her neighbor with some fountain thing. Please tell me your theory of the crime. Also, are you going home? I can meet you there.”

  Gracie turned towards home. She had wanted to talk to Jasmine at the hospice, but that could wait. After all, Petra wouldn’t complain.

  “I have it on good authority that Mrs. Pitre wanted to kill Mr. Pitre long before he announced it. I have a signed letter to that effect; but again, it’s not direct evidence, just hearsay. My theory is based on the singular oddity of Mrs. Pitre bringing lunch to Mr. Pitre. I think she walked up to him, saw him on the ground and just picked up the spray gun and stabbed him. Then she waited until he bled out and then called the cops.”

  Gracie heard Ted say ‘good theory’ just as she turned into her driveway.

  “At home Ted; see you soon.”

  ***

  About two weeks later, Ted and Gracie were numbers seven and eight at Las Vegans. Once they sat down, Gracie asked Ted, “What is it with us and numbers?”

  “And death,” he said.

  “So, no fingerprints on the pesticide thingy, but you did find some that nailed her. Where?”

  “She had wiped the gun clean but forgot that she had put her hand on the ledge Pitre built around his raised garden bed.”

  Gracie hadn’t been to the community garden and hadn’t seen his little garden, but she was pretty sure you couldn’t get fingerprints off wood. She told Ted so.

  “You’re right, but Pitre had decided to jazz up his little corner of paradise by gluing a very nice tile on his ledge.” Ted leaned forward and raised one bushy eyebrow. “A glass tile. Lifting her fingerprints from the glass tile was easy-peasy.”

  The couple was seated and eagerly looked to the chalk board for today’s lunch.

  “Oh, look who’s here,” Gracie whispered to Ted, “It’s Conrad and Julia. Nice.”

  Ted added with a grin, “Ah young love! I imagine they’re not talking about death and murder. Look at the menu! Roasted Portobello Mushroom Tacos with Creamy Carrot Slaw. This is going to be fabulous!

  ***

  Conrad and Julia were talking about death. This was their first official date even though both of them knew Julia was still married.

  Julia ‘s speech at the garden party had endeared her to Conrad and vice versa. Julia was explaining about Brett, about his truck and how she was pretty sure he was dead. She was also missing Mr. Pitre. She even missed his singing.

  In the kitchen, Saffron was happy. Liv had finally let her buy some spring loaded mouse traps which Saffron had baited with peanut butter. There was a loud snap. Saffron was pretty sure that mouse was dead; she hoped she heard a lot more snaps before the week was out. No sooner had she thought that when another snap sounded. It was weirdly satisfying.

  Thyme to Die

  “Did she go back to that Chef blue place in France?”

  “I think what you mean is Le Cordon Bleu in Paris France. Imagine, going all that way to learn how to
cook!”

  “For twenty bucks, I could have showed her how to make macaroni and cheese.”

  Gales of laughter rang out.

  Myron Flores heard these comments as he sat in the Town Hall. He knew who they were talking about, Mrs. Lily Davis, his cold fish of a neighbor. Lily and Mark had moved into the house directly across from Myron about three years before. Mark was some sort of computer geek and Lily did something in computers as well.

  The first thing they did when they moved in was to literally rip off their front door. They took the door off the hinges and threw it on the grass beside their steps. Mark watched with fascination and his binoculars from one of his upstairs bedrooms.

  Myron assumed that they had to take the door off to move big pieces of furniture in, but they moved in delicate little things that Myron would squash in a minute if he ever sat on one. Myron didn’t know why the Davis’ had hired movers; the couple micro-managed the carrying of every stick of furniture and more often than not, ended up ordering the movers to put the items down.

  Myron could hear all this with a boom microphone he happened to have pointed in the direction of the red brick house across the road.

  “Town Meeting will now come to order, Mayor Hazel Froment presiding.”

  Myron stopped his wool gathering and got out his pen and paper to take notes even though he had a mini-recorder in his jacket pocket. Sometimes the recorder didn’t pick up everything.

  Hazel Froment walked up to the podium and began her well attended speech.

  “As most of you know, Munson has been wanting to open negotiations to expand into Huckleberry…”

  “Take it over, more like it,” someone yelled from the audience.

  “And build a massive condo complex with its own shopping mall and car dealership! Just what you want to see when you’re paddle-boarding on Wasabi Lake!”

  Mayor Froment ignored these comments and continued, “It does seem rather forceful doesn’t it? Hence this meeting. The big city of Munson has brought forth documents that purport to show ownership of land in East Huckleberry should the current owner decease or decide to sell. In particular, the five acre parcels that front Jubilee Road and extend all the way to Wasabi Lake.

  “As we know, there is no access to Wasabi Lake except on the Munson side, as all the land on the Huckleberry side is privately owned and has been for generations. The Munson documents claim that as of this year, ownership changes. For example, now that Mr. Walters has died, his land reverts to the city of Munson. We also have a secondary issue; Miss Barbara Shires and Mr. Barry Frederickson have listed their respective properties for sale. It was a title search that triggered someone in Munson to notify the City Fathers. They in turn claim that, as of this year, once the land is put up for sale, they are entitled to pay the current owner what Munson deems as a fair market value and take over the land.

  “Rip-off Artists! Fair market value my eye!”

  “What about Mr. Walter’s daughter? Doesn’t she inherit?”

  The Mayor stared into the audience. “Mrs. Gracie Noseworthy and Miss Barbara Shire if you could contain yourselves and keep your comments and questions until the end of the session, it will be appreciated.”

  She then went on and on about the wording of an old document and the cost of a current legal interpretation.

  Myron zoned out and started to think about Lily Davis again. He had gone over and introduced himself after he had given them some time to settle in. He brought a lovely lemon pound cake he had bought at the bakery. Lily had taken the cake from him and almost immediately, pretended to drop it.

  “What is this? Lead pound cake?”

  Both Lily and Mark had laughed. Myron had not.

  Lily made it worse by adding, “Well, we can always use it as a door stop.”

  Myron had admired their new door from across the road. It had gone in the same day they moved in. A beautiful beet red door with nearly a full glass pane that had a striking willow design etched in. Myron looked at the door as Lily dropped the cake in front of it.

  She. Dropped. His. Cake.

  Mark rushed in and scooped up the cake saying, “Lily, if this gets squished by the door it’s going to be a bear to clean off!”

  Mark handed the cake back to Myron.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” said Lily and shut the door.

  It was then Myron decided to kill them. But it wasn’t time yet. He had to gather more intel.

  Myron wasn’t the only one in the audience whose thoughts drifted. Shane Mitchell was thinking about his recent deal with the devil.

  “She would be the Mayor,” he thought despondently. Shane had never been owned by anyone; sure he had pretended to be; but he could always chose when to walk out. And he usually walked out with a fair bit of cash.

  This time he was hooped. He liked where he was living a bit too much and so he put up with the humiliating requirements to live in Hazel’s carriage house.

  Before the meeting, she had introduced him as her new pool boy. Him! A fifty-five year old gentleman with the physique of an Adonis!

  Shane sighed. Maybe he was just a pool boy now.

  ***

  “I think we might have a chance with the phrase ‘a preponderance of opinion’,” Gracie said to Trudy-Faye during the coffee-break.

  “I’m sorry Gracie, I just don’t see the issue. Why does anyone want to stand in the way of progress?”

  “You’re a Realtor; of course you’re wanting progress for the good of everyone in Huckleberry. It has nothing to do with the commissions you’ll make if you and William move to Munson and sell condos.”

  Trudy-Faye choked on her Nanaimo bar.

  “Gracie Noseworthy you are just too smart for your own good,” she retorted and walked away.

  Gracie didn’t feel too smart. There was something she was missing about this whole ‘old document’ business. She looked over at the chairs in front of the podium. Only two were occupied. Barb Shire and Barry Frederickson were deep in discussion. Barry would shrug occasionally and pat Barb’s back consolingly. Barb continually fanned herself and looked on the verge of tears.

  “This seems a bit more serious than trying to sell their properties for a good price,” Gracie thought, “Maybe I’ll just wander over and see what’s going on.”

  Her plan was interrupted by a portly man holding an uneaten donut.

  “You’re that Gracie from the ad in the paper, aren’t you? I have an interesting theory if you want to hear it.”

  Gracie ran an ad in the local paper which 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!”

  “Yes I am and yes I do; I just need to know your name first,” said Gracie, eyeing the donut with some interest.

  “Myron Flores. I live over in the ‘berries.”

  The ‘berries referred to one of the oldest subdivisions in Huckleberry. All the streets were named after berries. Myron had lived on Thimbleberry Street his entire life.

  Gracie shook his hand. “Nice area; I love all those Victorian style homes. Well, once they’re updated. Call me materialistic, but I love having an ensuite and a thermal paned windows! What did you want to discuss?”

  Myron liked this lady; she was easy on the eyes. She had a warm, but more importantly, firm handshake. His Dad always said you can judge a person by the strength of their handshake and Dad was usually right about everything.

  “Firstly, you’re on the wrong track with the word preponderance. That word comes from the Latin and has been around for hundreds of years; so that wouldn’t prove the document a fake,” Myron explained.

  “I did not know that. Okay; what’s your theory?”

  “I think this old document was recently faked by those who will gain financially, but not by this proposed condo development. The zoning will not pass, even in Munson.”

  Gracie
narrowed her eyes for two reasons. Myron seemed to be a man who knew a little about a lot of things. The second reason? He still had not taken a bite.

  “Are you going to eat that donut, or what?” Gracie asked with a grin.

  Myron blushed. “It’s a new weight loss technique I’m trying. You can have anything you want, but you just can’t eat it. You hold the item you want, and psychologically it stops the craving.”

  “Is it working?”

  Myron handed Gracie the donut and continued with his other theory. “I think the ulterior motive is to build up Wasabi Lake into a destination resort area.”

  “Interesting,” Gracie said between bites. “What has led you to this particular conclusion?”

  Myron looked around the town hall and put his finger on the side of his nose.

  “The walls have ears, you know.”

  Gracie polished off the donut and was licking her fingers. “No, I don’t think so. Please just tell me your reasons.” Myron suddenly looked incredibly sad, so she reconsidered. “If you would feel more comfortable, we can step outside and discuss this.”

  Once outside, Myron looked pleased and noticeably relaxed.

  “I’m currently unemployed, medical leave you know, but I used to work in the City of Munson as one of the cashiers. Like any employee considered by management as working in a menial job, I was invisible.” Myron smiled. “Yes, a man of my size was invisible. When I wasn’t at the wicket, I was at a desk located by the Zoning Commissioner’s office. I heard things.”

  Gracie nodded and murmured, “I can imagine.” She still didn’t know if Myron had anything worthwhile, but it was an intriguing theory. She wondered though, what he expected her to do with the information? She put a pin in that thought and heard him out.