The Perennial Killer: A Gardening Mystery

by Ann Ripley

  Laboriously, Louise pushed down the trash and tied the white plastic bag tightly. She had taken it as far as the carport when the phone rang. She left the bag where it was and hurried inside to answer it. It was Ann Evans, calling to find out how she was.

  “I’m doing all right,” Louise said, so her friend wouldn’t worry. Actually, she was ready to take one of the pain pills in her pants pocket and crawl into bed. Then Ann inadvertently gave her a clue as to Bill’s whereabouts. It set Louise’s heart pounding faster. She told her about big doings south of Boulder late last night. “There were so many police cars and army trucks, you could hardly believe it. Something was up. I told Luke it must have involved Stony Flats, but of course there was nothing on the news or in the paper this morning.”

  Louise’s heartbeat quickened. Bill and his team. She wondered if they had caught the hijackers in the act, according to plan. It sounded as if they had, and she wondered if Tom Spangler was part of the scheme. From being relaxed, she now felt all her nerves tingle. Too bad she couldn’t share this with Ann. So she changed the subject, finding out that Frank Porter was doing well at Boulder Community and was expected to get out today. And the police had taken in all of Harriet’s canisters, as well as the buns, for testing. One canister held a substance they suspected was arsenic.

  “Great,” said Louise. “There’s one detail, Ann. Thanks for all you and Pete did last night. And, uh, I wondered what happened to that bag in the trunk of my car…”

  “The manure, you mean.” Ann laughed. “You were out of it last night when you got home. But you mumbled about something smelling terrible in your car. It didn’t take long to discover that bag—I can’t believe I didn’t smell it when we drove to the wake. Anyway, I just dumped it in your garden. It’s good compost. It was in a bag from the lumberyard, so it was obvious—well let’s just say I took the liberty of giving Eddie your number. He wants to call you. He feels bad about his little trick. And he has some news—I’ll let him tell you.”

  “Okay. Now, to more important things. How is Luke?”

  “He’s wonderful,” said Ann, in a voice guaranteed to patch up any divisions between the couple. Maybe Louise could take a cue from the younger woman. Though tough as nails on principle, Ann had great faith in the survivability of her marriage. The two women promised they would stay in touch with each other. When she hung up, Louise felt a strange sense of loss and wondered if she would ever see Ann again.

  Then she propped herself up in the chair and waited for Eddie’s call. It was worth waiting for.

  “Uh, about the horsesh—, uh, manure…” mumbled Eddie, “I’m awful sorry. It was a kid’s trick, but I tell ya, I’ve grown up since last night, Louise. Hell, I’ve lived a whole lifetime, seein’ Frank on the floor there, maybe dyin’ and leavin’ me with absolutely no family.”

  “But it’s terrific that he’s going to be all right.”

  “Yeah—Ann called ya, right? Well, last night I told her I was gonna swing this decision about the ranch right back ta where it was before my dad passed on.”

  Louise smiled to herself. “So you’ll go along with Frank on the decision to have the ranch become open space.”

  “I sure will. The two of us have the controllin’ votes, so t’ speak, and we’ll get Grace won over. I screw up everythin’ that has anything ta do with money, but I realize money wouldn’t’a mattered if Frank had died. So, that’s all I had t’say, Louise. Now, d’ya think you’ll show up at Ruthie’s café before you leave for the East?”

  “My husband’s due back, Eddie, and I bet we’ll be at Ruthie’s Monday night, for dinner.”

  “Then I’ll make it a point ta be there, and—we’ll hit it off better this time, right?”

  “Sure, Eddie.”

  Louise was completely out when Bill phoned. Fighting dizziness, she said, “I’m so glad to hear from you, darling. Is everything all right?”

  His voice was tired and strained, and he spoke in his usual shorthand, not bothering to impress her by using the good-natured Texas lingo he’d picked up this past week. “The project was successful. We still have to make contact with one man, though.” His way of saying one of the principals escaped their net.

  “Bill, I met someone here who could be involved—”

  She could hear someone at his end calling him. “Honey,” he interrupted, “as long as you’re safe, let’s talk about that later. We’ve got a briefing right now. I’ll call again, and I’ll be there soon I can’t wait to see you.”

  She had been too punchy—too slow on the draw—to protest. And then he had rung off. Well, she was probably just being paranoid anyway.

  She struggled to a sitting position and looked around the sunny living room, feeling dizzy. She got to her feet and slowly went out through the wide-open porch doors to get some air. Her wounded arm now felt as if it were a gigantic log. As she stood, admiring the weeding job she had done in the yard, she heard excited chattering. A family of chipmunks was threshing in crunchy leaves from an early leaf fall off a cottonwood tree. She saw that the door to the old greenhouse was ajar; the little creatures were debating whether or not to go in. She went to close it, then wondered why it was open in the first place. Pulling it all the way open, she peeked in and gasped.

  Chapter 27

  A SEEDY-LOOKING JOSEF REINGOLD was curled up in a corner, with his head lying on a bag of pine-bark mulch. Whatever had happened to him since she had seen him last had done nothing good for his designer jacket and pants, or his imported leather shoes.

  Had she acted with the speed and dispatch she used when she met the mountain lion, she would have been all right. But it was Reingold who acted quickly. He lurched to his feet and sprang on her, shoving her to the stone floor. Why her head didn’t crack open like a melon she didn’t know. “Ow!” she yelled. “Watch it—my arm’s already hurt.”

  With one hand on either side of her body, he straddled her. A dark beard grew on his face, and his hazel eyes were wide behind his stylish black-rimmed glasses, now sitting a little crookedly on his nose. His breath caused her to turn her face away. For a moment, she strained to push him away, then realized she was totally at his mercy.

  His voice was calm. “I need food badly. We’re going inside, and you’re going to cook it for me,” he said. He clambered off her and pulled her to her feet, stumbling as he regained his balance, but keeping a grip on her arm.

  Good. He wouldn’t kill her until the meal was done. If she played dumb, maybe he wouldn’t kill her at all.

  With his other hand, he pulled a gun out of his pocket. The nonchalance of his movements scared her more than any words could have. He shoved the weapon in her side and marched her slowly across the garden, as if he were a houseguest getting a little glimpse of the late harvest. Once in the house, he checked the doors and locked all but one, then sat down at the breakfast table, pulled out his gold case and a lighter, and lit up a cigarette. His eyes lazily checked out the room, noting everything in sight. “An ashtray, please,” he commanded.

  “We don’t smoke here,” she said. She was way too calm, practically floating on her feet because of that last codeine pill. She needed something to pull her to earth.

  “I know. I’m sorry, I must. Anyway,” he said slyly, “your husband Bill and your underage Janie are not here anyway, to be affected by second-hand smoke.”

  She knew then that Reingold had investigated her family, probably right down to the size of their mortgage. Maybe he suspected that by this time, Bill had told her everything about him. Glumly, she realized her life wasn’t worth much right now. If she only had a plan…

  He ordered breakfast as if he were in a restaurant, and she played his game, listening and frowning slightly, like a dense waitress. “I must have eggs,” he said, “several eggs in a light omelet with cheese. And meat, if you have any. Bacon, sausage, ham, something of that sort. Toast with butter, please, not margarine. And coffee, very strong, with cream.”

  The hazel eyes focu
sed on her. “After I eat, my dear, we will take off in your car.”

  “Take off for where?”

  “As you Americans say, ‘for parts south.’”

  “Where’s your car?” she asked, turning to get things from the refrigerator so that he couldn’t see her face.

  “I think you know. I had to leave it up at Frank Porter’s yesterday evening.”

  She remembered the papers he’d wanted Eddie to sign—at his father’s wake. A real estate deal one minute, she thought, and hijacking plutonium warheads the next. Was that part of his horizontal integration? “I’m sorry if that put a damper on your deal.”

  He tapped his cigarette ashes into a saucer she had skidded across the table toward him, and flicked her a worldly-wise look. “If you were to call me a Renaissance man, Louise, you would be right on the mark—as you gun-happy Americans are won’t to say. I handle a vast array of business deals, all over the world. But no deal—even for the best parcel of open land left in Colorado—is worth getting involved in a murder. And a messy one, at that.”

  He was getting chattier and chattier, and she was getting wider awake. On the counter, she had assembled ingredients for a very good breakfast. She put on the coffee and began grating the sharp cheddar cheese.

  Reingold took a deep draught on his cigarette, as if preparing himself to talk about something distasteful. “The scene at Frank Porter’s house was quite unnecessary. Anyone who watches American movies knows it is much easier to kill than that. But instead, here was a grown man writhing on the floor, retching his guts out and dying as I watched.”

  Louise popped six pieces of low-fat bacon into a frying pan and turned a gentle heat on underneath them, playing for time.

  And then the phone rang. “Please—do not answer,” commanded Reingold. She turned back to the stove and let it ring. A sense of desperation filled her when the caller broke the connection without leaving a message. No one knew she was here alone with this villain. Her hands shook as she broke six eggs into a bowl and began whisking them.

  Reingold had lapsed into silence, his back bent as he slumped down in the chair like a ruined member of the aristocracy. He looked as tired as she felt. Turning her back squarely to him, Louise carefully added ingredients to the omelet mix, ending with the cheese. She wanted this to taste good, so that her guest would eat up the whole thing.

  “Matters were made much worse, of course, when a parade of sheriff’s deputies arrived.”

  She smiled at him over her shoulder. “What’s the matter,” she asked innocently, “didn’t you want to talk with them?”

  He gave her a sour look. “I had to take to the ground to get out of there, though of course the foothills of the Rockies are nothing to me. I’m a proficient skier, and quite at home in the back country. I decided that you must help me escape. It was no trouble to get to Lyons, though I was somewhat conspicuous in my Armani jacket, especially in view of the fact that the town was having a ‘good old boy’ celebration.” He exhaled smoke through his nose haughtily, and Louise wondered if he ever lost his composure.

  “I arranged to borrow a young lad’s trucks but it ran very poorly. In fact, it gave out on the way here and I had to walk a distance. I saw your greenhouse and decided to wait until morning rather than trip your silly alarm system. Without the proper tools these things can be quite a nuisance.”

  Having drunk the orange juice she gave him, he had mustered up enough energy to produce one of his famous smiles. “So we will go away together. I presume that’s agreeable to you?”

  “As long as you let me drive.”

  “No,” he said firmly, “You’ll be tied up—I think that should suffice. I want you immobile, and unable to use your ice pick, or whatever you employed to ruin my expensive tires—Christ…”

  She realized a less wealthy man would have sworn with more feeling. But wealthy as he was, he still sat there at her kitchen table, out of resources. He sighed, and looked over at the sizzling frying pan where Louise was doing her best to create the perfect omelet. “When will that food be done?”

  Don’t press a hungry man too hard, she thought philosophically, pulling the golden-brown toast from the toaster and buttering it. She drained the bacon carefully and placed it on the plate along with the puffy omelet. On a smaller plate she put the toast, and even found a jar of black raspberry jam to serve with it. She delivered the meal to the table, along with a cup of strong Colombian coffee. She watched him wolf the food down, realizing he must have gone without dinner last night. Too bad he hadn’t come earlier to Frank Porter’s and snacked on poisoned buns. She poured more coffee in his cup.

  “This is quite good,” he said.

  She didn’t reply, because she was thinking so hard of what she should do next.

  The phone rang again, and again she let it ring. This time it was Pete. He wondered where she had gone, and wanted her to phone and let him know she was all right.

  Reingold listened carefully to the message, fork paused in midair. He smiled. “A popular lady,” he said.

  She didn’t smile back.

  “And you’re my insurance.” His voice had developed an insinuating quality. “You’ll make a pretty companion, especially when you clean up a bit.”

  A wave of pain moved through her head, somehow leaving it feeling clearer. She thought to herself, Companion, indeed. He means to make me his hostage. Suddenly, she was completely awake, the codeine effect gone. As she puttered about the sink, cleaning up, she eyed the collection of knives in a wooden case on the counter. The big iron frying pan hanging from a rack. The square Chinese chopping knife she knew was in the drawer only inches from her left hand. As her eyes scanned the kitchen shelf, she spied another weapon, lying in a decorative garden basket. A broken pair of heavy-duty pruning shears with jagged, formidable edges, that the lady of the house apparently couldn’t bring herself to throw away. While Reingold concentrated on the food, she stuck them in the waistband of her gardening pants. They were so uncomfortable that they made her feel like a penitente, one who deliberately tortures the body to cleanse the soul.

  Wanted: A Bold Solution

  (The Jungle Look, Revisited)

  MAYBE IT IS A RESPONSE TO years of exposure to pink-and-blue English cottage gardens. “Bold” and “tropical” gardens have taken hold in the public’s fancy, and continue to be the favorite trend of designers. This flies in the face of the realities of temperature zones: Most Americans, for instance, live in climates too cold for tender plants. Clever gardeners achieve these effects with hardier varieties, while always tempted to cave in and buy a tree fern*—or the nonhardy banana plant, which can be a good deal of trouble.

  Acknowledging that exotics like these may make or break our tropical garden, let’s look at a few hardy plants that provide bulk and/or bold color, and thus make the job easier.

  The hot end of the color spectrum: Red is the first color people think of when they plan bold gardens, and it will go far in helping you believe you’ve created a jungle. Second favorite is probably yellow, with orange a close third. (Don’t forget, one has to balance these with such shy additions as gray, blue, and purple.) Many hardy plants come in this bright color range.

  Crocosmia was almost designed for a bold garden: Colors range from pale yellow to deep red. It is not only fiery, it is sturdy. Its lines are graceful, and the flowers fall in little fans, providing blooms from July to September. This plant likes a rich, moist, sunny, or partially shady environment, and wants to be divided before too crowded. The newest hybrids have larger, showier flowers. Even its spiky foliage is a relief from all the other full-leafed plants around it. There is no better wild, tropical accent than this in our bold garden.

  We’re talking really bold here: For a double-whammy of primary colors, plant a clump of bicolor yellow-and-orange “red-hot poker” plant (Kniphophia uvaria) behind the crocosmia. (The more restrained gardener may prefer to save the magic of Kniphophia for a more subtle spot—say, as the focal point in
an herb-filled all-green garden. But, we’re talking bold here, so why not a little overkill?)

  At the feet of the graceful crocosmia, try the hosta. Although it has insignificant flowers, this specimen is one of the best ways to introduce rich green tones to our garden—from blue-green to chartreuse, and many shades in between. Variegated-leaved hosta is one of the most valued plants in existence. It’s hardy even in cold climes, and may even outlive the gardener. In spring, the plant unfolds its large leaves and adds unbelievable class to almost any planting.

  Bergenia, like hosta, is useful simply for its foliage. Its main attraction is its fat, satisfying, leathery leaves, that add a strong base note to the lower plant story. It goes well in combination with the brilliant Liatrus spicata.

  The impact of the daylily: One can never underestimate the contribution of the daylily, whether designing a dramatic tropics or an old-fashioned garden. It comes in enough shades to please everyone, and has generous-sized flowers. A vibrant red or orange clump will light up the garden, and its’ color impact only increases over the years as the plant spreads.

  White is a necessity in this garden, relieving our eye and adding drama. Introduce it by way of clouds of tiny white blossoms of baby’s breath, spikes of white verbascum, or big white buttons on the tall Achillea ptarmica “Boule de Neige.” This achillea is the perfect coda for dramatic displays of hotter plants.

  The hollyhock can be underrated. It is an old-fashioned stem that some people might not think of as a quality flower, much less bold. Yet one gardener’s use of apricot hollyhocks, Alcea rosea, teamed with the flaming orange double flowers of a daylily, Hemerocallis fulva “Flore Pleno,” and a flutter of white achillea, could have won a design prize.

  Big, easy plants for background: Cephalaria gigantea, the eight-foot-high version of the pincushion flower, will explode in yellow flowers, set gracefully on open branches. Chartreuse Euphorbia goes well in the foreground. Crambe cordifolia is another large-sized specimen, with huge leaves and long-lasting clouds of delicate white blossoms on six-foot stalks. And, of all things, people are beginning to use corn as a background accent in gardens. The conformation of its leaves and tassels is more graceful than many ornamentals. Corn plants go nicely with the feathery perennial grasses that are a must in your tropics garden. Another good background plant is a huge shrub from the mallow family, the ten-foot-high Lavatera “Kew Rose.”