by Ann Ripley
The use of stone and rock goes far back in the history of man and of gardening. It was used not only for decoration, but also to impart deep spiritual ideas and beliefs. Chinese gardens often have rockeries, which sometimes are whole structures with passageways of mortared rocks, and represent mountains, with nearby water features representing the sea. The Japanese use rocks more sparsely in their gardens, but bring just as much meaning to them; each stone is seen as an individual, whose full character is revealed when its best “face” is put forward. The popular Japanese style has been replicated in many U.S. botanical gardens, and in American backyards. Many an American homeowner is out there raking the gravel areas between rocks.
If you can move it, you can’t see it. A landscaper’s rule of thumb for using rocks is this: If the rock can be carried by a human, it will not show up in the landscape. Even a one-ton rock will have a minimal effect. On the other hand, and even though “big and bold” is in, simple rock gardens are still the most popular. Those who call themselves “rock gardeners” are usually plant experts, specializing in alpine and other often smaller-sized plants. Their aim is always to achieve a balance between rocks and plants. They often prefer rocks of a smaller size that one or two persons can move from place to place on the site. These gardeners know that there must be unity in color between the rocks themselves, and the popular fine rock gravel used as mulch in these gardens. In other words, don’t set out orange sandstone boulders on a platter of white gravel, or ruin the beauty of gray granite boulders by spreading pink gravel beneath them. Alpines, and many other plants, in fact, thrive in gravel mulch.
Even a small yard can use a few boulders. As gardening moves into the twenty-first century, the backyard plant enthusiast has become ever more experimental. One sign of this is the proliferation of water gardens. And where there is water today, there are more apt to be piles of stone and boulders rather than the mere rims of concrete or tile used in the past. Even a very small, narrow yard can hold a plentiful cluster of medium-sized boulders to surround a pool or waterfall.
As for the suppliers, they are happy at this new trend to punctuate yards and gardens with rocks and boulders. It’s a far cry, indeed, from the days when people’s ideal was enormous, tidy, but sometimes boring emerald green lawns, and flowers and evergreens all in neat rows.
OR CARVE YOUR OWN ROCKS…
During the Renaissance, Duke Vicino Orsini, a wealthy Italian member of the literati and a professional soldier, sculpted one of the most unusual rock gardens of them all. This is the startling Bomarzo garden, outside of Rome, a thirty-year effort of Orsini, who was born in the early 1500’s. His huge rock sculptures are now thick with mosses* and the patina of age, the envy of any rock-loving gardener.
The rocky site was a former Etruscan village with neighboring necropolis. Orsini made it into what he called his sacro bosco, or “sacred wood.” Some thought it blasphemous, with its stone carvings of Cerberus, Persephone, and Demeter, its entrance to Hades, and its sculpted ruins of an Etruscan tomb, all implying this was the underworld. In the garden are enormous stone depictions of hands and feet, bare-breasted harpies, and a general atmosphere of violence and paganism.
The garden was abandoned for years, until a visit by artist Salvador Dali renewed interest in the place in the 1950’s. Now it is a popular visiting spot for those who want the ultimate rock garden experience.
* If mosses grow where you live, then collect a moss-covered stone from a site similar to yours, and position it near your new, mossless stones. Sprinkle the new stones with a mixture of sugar and water, and keep them moist. They, too, will soon grow moss.
Chapter 9
LOUISE WAS RESTLESS, WANDERING the halls of the Justice Center to pass the time until Ann emerged from her interview with the sheriff. She passed clumps of worried-looking people caught in the system, but was too distracted with her own thoughts to be very curious. She made her way downstairs, passing the district attorney’s office and then the coroner’s office, wondering idly if there was a morgue on the premises. Then she came to a deserted courtroom from which emanated familiar voices. Eddie and Frank Porter, disagreeing as usual. Eddie, even scruffier than usual in his faded clothes and scuffed boots, was dancing around in a boxing stance in front of Frank, as if he might pop his brother on the nose.
The older brother had goaded Frank into losing his temper. As Louise slipped into the room, Frank barked, “I’m not going to do it, and that’s that!”
She pulled the door shut behind her. No need for the world to hear this argument. “Hi, Frank. Eddie.” She came a little closer, but not too close, in case Eddie let fly a fist. “I want you to know how sorry I am about Sally.”
“If you feel so damned bad over our sister,” barked Eddie, “then I hope you told the sheriff where I was last night, so I can get clear of his goddamn suspicions.” He stopped his jittering about and stood there and glared at her.
Frank looked pleadingly at Louise. “We’re here to talk to Tatum again. Did you already see him?”
She nodded.
“I can’t remember the exact time we left that open space meeting,” said Frank, “and Eddie’s pushing me to make up a time. Do you happen to remember? Maybe your recollections will get us off the hook.”
“Us!” cried Eddie, and threw his hands out in a gesture of desperation. “Shit! Frank Porter, quarry owner—even if it is just a li’l bitty quarry—and IBM sucky-uppy engineer on his way up. Who’s going to think you did it? But Eddie Porter, who pleaded nolo contendere to assault and battery, and was also convicted twice for drunk driving? Hell, I’m a prime candidate to have done away with my father and my sister.” He looked sweaty and tired, but Louise’s heart did not go out to him.
“Why would the sheriff think you killed her?” asked Louise. “He told me he thinks Sally might have lost control of her car—or else decided to kill herself.”
“First off,” said Eddie, “because I used ta drive stock cars, and there’s some paint on the left rear side of Sally’s car. They’ll think I’m the only one with balls enough to force her off the road. It’s sick, damn it!”
“She went off the right-hand cliff?” Louise’s mind was constructing the scene. Why hadn’t the sheriff mentioned the paint streak?
“Yeah.” He frowned, not liking the direction this was taking. “But the paint didn’t look fresh ta me—it looked like something Sally mighta done when pullin’ out of a parkin’ spot months ago. Frankly, I think sis was just carried away with grief last night and went clean over the cliff.”
“What color was the paint?” asked Louise.
“White. Not red, like the color of the pickup I’m drivin’. It was white, like about a million cars in the United States.”
“Then why would the sheriff think—”
“Because, lady,” Eddie said, glaring at Louise, “I’m always a suspect whenever anything goes wrong—the black-sheep brother. And I have motive.” He pronounced the word with a sneer. “I’m the one who wants to get top dollar for the ranch, and not just give it away to Boulder County. Damned county already has more open space than it can even take care of.”
“From what I saw last night, Eddie, Sally was pretty sympathetic to you.”
“You’re right. But everybody knows Sally was wishy-washy, so they mighta thought I just wanted to get her out of the picture.”
She wasn’t eager to get in a fight with this redneck, but she had to be honest. “Eddie, as much as we might like to, neither Ann nor I could give you an alibi. I remember distinctly looking around at seven and seeing that you had gone.”
“Thanks, Louise—or whatever your name is. I won’t forgit this.” He stomped away in his old boots.
Frank came over to Louise. “I apologize for Eddie. He’s a lot more upset about Dad and Sally than he lets on.”
“Sure,” she said. “You’d better catch up.” Eddie had rushed from the room, apparently to go talk to the sheriff again. The fellow had a lot of bluster and a l
ot of denials. Was it to cover up murder?
When Ann emerged from her interview with the sheriff, she expressed little surprise to hear that the Porter brothers were still quarreling. But she was distracted by other things. “This inquiry is a sham, Louise, guaranteed to throw people into confusion and get absolutely nowhere. Tatum tells you and me it’s an accident, when even he knows it’s not true. Then, just to add a little eyewash to the investigation, he prods at Eddie Porter.” They walked to their cars under still-threatening skies. They were on their way to the mall to talk some more over lunch. “I’ll never believe this was an accident—especially not after Jimmy got cut down that way. Something weird is going on.”
She turned her pained eyes toward Louise. “You had to know Sally Porter. She was kind of a slow, plodding person who would never speed on that road. And it’s a road she certainly ought to have known—why, she must have driven it hundreds of times.”
“Did you tell the sheriff that?”
“Yes, though, of course, he already knew it.”
“I got to know the sheriff a little better this morning.”
“Good,” said Ann.
“I talked to Mark Payne, too.”
“Oh, him.” She blushed. He wasn’t Ann’s favorite topic; in fact, Louise figured that if the man fell through the earth and disappeared, she’d be more than happy.
But Ann was willing to talk about Tatum. “When Boulder County elected Tatum sheriff, reasonable people were appalled—hip Boulder County going ‘retro’ He’ll never get reelected.”
“It must have been a beauty contest. He’s the Marlboro man, with paunch.”
Ann smiled at this feeble joke. “He looks the part, doesn’t he? And he makes a great speech. More importantly, he’s got an organization, including scores of relatives. Tatum was sheriff years ago—something like forty years ago—when he was a young man,” she said. “Then he was in real estate for a long time.”
“He seems to like developers. Mark Payne is his shadow.”
“That’s right. They probably have something they’re working on together right now.”
The two women exchanged a long look. “You couldn’t think…” Ann started.
Louise shrugged. “When you’re looking for suspects, Ann, you have to consider everybody.”
They were approaching the first row of cars when she noticed the license plate. “Look.” The black Lexus stood in the closest parking spot, the one reserved for the top guy. The vanity plate read ‘Sherf-1.’ “A sheriff with a forty-thousand-dollar car. And a new wife, too. Sometimes they’re expensive.”
“Who knows?” Ann agreed, smiling. “A little quiet scandal surrounds him, and a grand jury may get him before his term’s up. Good ol’ boys aren’t as powerful around here as they used to be. People like a more honest, businesslike approach these days.”
Louise grinned. “Good ol’ boys passé in Boulder County? Last night in the county courthouse, the good ol’ boy network was humming like a high-tension wire.”
“That’s natural, Louise. But the boards, the city commission, the people who ultimately make the decisions, are on the up-and-up. They’re very professional. They no longer make land decisions, for instance, based on whether it’s a buddy of theirs or not.”
“If you say so.” Louise spotted her shiny red rental up ahead. “What do you say we go to lunch where we can observe some of these characters again—you know, Rein-gold, and people like that.”
“That means the Rattlesnake Grill,” said Ann. “it’s Boulder’s hot new lunch spot. I’ll call ahead and get us a res.” She pulled out her cell phone.
“Rattlesnake?” muttered Louise, mostly to herself, since Ann was busy cajoling the maître d’ into holding a table. She thought dismally of the rubbery feel of the dead snake she had stepped on last night in the road.
“All set, and don’t worry,” said Ann, laughing for the first time since Louise had met her today. “Rattlesnake’s not on the menu.”
They didn’t have to wait long for their table for two in the upscale restaurant, which featured high-tech, shiny surfaces in silver and black, softened with linen tablecloths and napkins. After studying the food choices, Louise looked up with satisfaction to see Josef Reingold with his coterie, and Mark Payne with another group. “Developers just seem to hover around the county building like vultures.”
“Remember, you wanted to come here—so we could do our sleuthing. I agree with you that after Jimmy Porter’s murder, I can’t trust these people. But they are a kind of necessary evil, and they provide lots of jobs. I don’t want to apologize for them, but they just do what developers do—take advantage of every opportunity, every city and county ordinance and state law, pick up any decent vacant land they can find, then get it annexed to an existing city. Or else build a new town out of it—whatever it takes to promote their business.”
Louise smiled. “They sound like sweethearts.”
“I see you’re putting me on. Okay, they’re not sweethearts. They compete with us for the remaining land in the county, which we want kept vacant, and they want to fill with homes.”
Watching Ann carefully, Louise said, “As I mentioned, I ran into Mark Payne, too.”
Ann tried to sound casual. “Yes, and I bet he didn’t tell you one thing about himself.”
“You’re right. He didn’t.”
“Well, he’s not made it strictly on his own merit. He took over his father’s contracting business, and they bought land at the right time—the father in the fifties, the son in the eighties, when Colorado property was seriously devalued. Lots of people with money around here made it that way. But Mark’s not very successful in his personal life.” She made a little moue with her mouth.
Louise held her tongue, hoping Ann would go on. She did. The words came out with difficulty. Ann talked so quietly that Louise had to lean over to hear. “His wife Carrie left him. It was a terrible divorce. One night, he and Carrie went out for dinner—probably to talk over some kind of business. They were at the Flagstaff House and Mark drank a lot.” She looked down at her plate self-consciously. “He always has to drink a lot when he confronts a sticky situation with a woman. Anyway, they drove farther up the mountain, and crashed against the side of a cliff. Carrie was killed, and he got all banged up.”
“That’s why his face has a masklike quality.”
“He had six operations to restore his face. He’s lucky he’s alive, I guess. Mark took it so hard that even I felt sorry for him.” Ann bowed her head, as if this was a sign of personal weakness. “Don’t ask me why, but I started dating him rather seriously.”
“He doesn’t seem like your type.”
She flashed a quick look at Louise. “I was pretty lonely about then, and I thought he was nice. But he wasn’t. Thank God I’ve found a wonderful man—even if we do have our problems.”
“Your Luke.”
“My Luke.” Apparently that was all Louise was going to hear about Luke. Ann continued, “I try to keep my gripes with Mark on a strictly professional basis and put that old stuff out of my mind. Mark tends to cut corners. His houses are attractive, but wherever he puts a development there’s trouble. He’s underfunded something, he hasn’t come through with the services he’s promised a given community, he’s skirted building codes…”
“What about Mr. Reingold?”
“DRB has a great many projects around Longmont, which is nowhere near as built up as Boulder. He’s like the others—always working to get his way.”
Louise’s right eyebrow shot up. “Developers will be developers.”
Ann opened her hands. “Look, he’s always played square with me when he had anything to do with our office. I know he’s in with lots of people who count in Boulder.” She smiled ruefully. “I knew you’d call it wheeling and dealing.”
As they finished their meal, Mark Payne came and stood near the table, as usual not daring to look at Ann. “I heard you were at the sheriff’s this morning, Ann, and I th
ought I’d tell you why I was there. I’m offering a reward for clues that lead to the killer.” He shook his blond head. “I’ll be darned if we can let this happen in Boulder County. And Harriet, you know, is all alone up there.”
Ann gave him a guarded look and said, “If you want to do it, do it. There’s no one who would like to see the person caught more than I would.”
They watched in silence as the man made his way out of the restaurant. Then, as Louise decided to yield to the temptation of crème brûlée, and Ann to tiramisu, Josef Reingold walked over.
“Do you mind?” he asked, as he dragged a nearby chair up to their small table. Sophisticated glasses with understated wire frames, expressive hazel eyes, a thin nose, the faint odor of cologne—Louise found it made a rather pleasant impression. He bowed his head toward her. “I deeply regret that I didn’t have the chance to talk to you at the open space meeting.” Then he, too, went into a lament over the Porter family’s double tragedy. “You two were questioned by the sheriff, I hear.” His eyes were guileless.
The women exchanged glances. Reingold wanted to find out what they knew. Louise answered. “The sheriff, of course, might want us to keep everything confidential.” She leaned forward toward Reingold. “But just between us, Ann and I learned absolutely nothing from Sally, even though we had dinner with her last night.” She settled back and took a spoonful of the crème brûlée.
The developer seemed to relax then, and turned the subject to other things, asking her all about her work, where she was renting a house, what her husband did. Reluctantly, Louise told him that Bill worked for the State Department, for somehow she was sure the man would know if she lied.
But she felt flutters in her chest. Was Reingold pumping her? After a minute, she decided that he was merely lusting after her dessert, for, as he talked, he overtly eyed her crème brûlée, with its freshly blowtorched crackling-brown-sugar glaze.
Without thinking, she picked up an auxiliary spoon. “Would you like a bite?”