Walter slumped on a cement bench facing Nora Sims’ grave. The scent of roses drifted around me. Sunlight glistened on a Jack Daniels bottle at his feet. Nearby, water circulated in a fountain, sending a spray from a stone maiden’s ewer into the pool. My footsteps crunched on the gravel walkway, but Walter gave no sign that he heard me approach.
I sat beside my old friend and tried not to grimace at Walter’s fetid odor. “Missed you today.”
“I’m not fit company, girl. Go on back home and leave me be.” He didn’t look at me, didn’t even move.
I was shocked to see scratches on Walter’s face and hands. A cut in the middle of a large bruise on his cheek looked especially painful. “What happened? Are you all right?” I touched the bruise gently.
He winced. “Reckon I fell, but I’ll mend on the outside. It’s my heart that’s broken forever.”
I sympathized with his grief. His wife had been a sweet, lovely woman, and Walter and Nora had seemed a devoted couple. But reminiscing wouldn’t accomplish my purpose. “We need to talk.”
Walter had been a friend of my parents and had worked at our family’s garden center since before I was born. After the death of his wife when I was twelve, Walter fell apart emotionally and started bouts of drinking, but my grandfather kept him on at the center. Not many people knew as much about gardening as Walter, so Grandpa overlooked his old friend’s occasional missed days of work. How could I not continue that policy?
He blew his nose on a soiled handkerchief. “She never should have stuck with me. Could have had a fancy life.”
“All Nora wanted was you, Walter. She was happy.”
“So was I.” He sobbed and fished a slightly cleaner hanky from his pocket. “Wish it’d been me who went first.”
Wondering how to get through to him, I cleared my throat. “Walter, something bad has happened.”
He met my gaze, but I wasn’t certain his bleary eyes focused. “Nothing’s happened to Dick or Meg, has it? Oh, no, is it Miss Elizabeth?”
That his first thoughts were for my grandparents and great grandmother touched me. “They’re fine.” I patted his arm. “Come with me and we can discuss it on the way to see Scottie.”
When I mentioned our family’s attorney, Walter straightened. “What’re you going there for?” He looked at me, frowning. “You in some kind of trouble, girl?”
“No.” I took a deep breath. Might as well just say it and get it over with. “Rockwell’s dead.”
Walter laughed and slapped his thigh. “Hot damn and hallelujah! So the devil come to claim his own. That’s the best durn news I’ve heard in a long time. What happened to the sorry bastard?”
“Someone bashed in his head. “ I grabbed his hand. “Walter, whoever killed Rockwell used your shovel to beat him to death.”
I watched Walter’s face change from gleeful to astonished to fearful in the space of seconds. He wasn’t so far gone that he missed the impact of my news.
“So, that’s why you’re here. They think I did it, don’t they?”
I nodded and released his hand. “We have to see Scottie, then let him talk to the police for you.”
He picked up the nearly empty bottle at his feet and stuffed it into a pocket. “Won’t be easy for him.”
“All you have to do is tell him where you were and let him line up witnesses.”
“Might be a problem.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Don’t remember much about yesterday after me and Rockwell argued. Lord knows I hated the sorry sonofabitch. I remember telling him I’d send him to Hell before long.” He grabbed my arm. “Heather, you reckon I killed him?”
“Of course not.” I was reassuring myself as well as him. “Come on, Walter. Let’s go see Scottie and get this over with.”
Walter managed to stand, but he didn’t look steady, so I looped my arm with his and guided him toward my car. That was when I saw Detective Steele leaning against the unmarked white sedan parked behind mine. I stopped so fast, I jerked Walter’s arm and he almost stumbled.
“Darn it,” I said. “When did that cop show up?”
I wished I could tell Walter to run away before he could be arrested, but he could hardly walk even with my help. “That man waiting is a police detective. He may arrest you, but don’t say anything until Scottie shows up. Okay?”
“Ain’t much to say. Leastwise, not much I can remember.”
I hoped Steele hadn’t heard that and lowered my voice. “Don’t tell him that. Don’t tell him anything.”
He waved a hand, as if dismissing my worries. “I know, I know. Wait for Scottie.”
When we were at my car, the detective walked over. “Hello again, Miss Cameron. And this must be Mr. Sims.”
I glared at Steele. “How did you find us? Did you follow me here?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Just doing my detective work, ma’am.” He looked at Walter. “Mr. Sims, I’d like you to come with me for questioning about the death of Vance Rockwell.”
“I’ll come, but I ain’t saying nothing until Scottie Ferguson shows up. Except I ain’t sorry that bastard’s dead.”
Great. Walter was going to incriminate himself in spite of anything I could do to stop him. And wouldn’t the police detective love that?
“Walter? Don’t say anything until Scottie is with you. Anything, got it?”
He waved me off. “I know, I know. But no use pretending I’ll mourn that sonofabitch Rockwell.”
I grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at me. “Listen! Walter, really listen to me! Keep quiet until Scottie is beside you.” I glared at the detective. “Walter Sims is innocent and you’d better not mistreat him trying to get a phony confession.”
Steele looked grim. That little tic reappeared in his jaw. “You want me to go easy on the rubber hoses, huh? Don’t know if I can. We have to follow procedure. Lucky for Mr. Sims we only beat up old men on Fridays. Torture supervisor’s off duty Tuesdays.”
Let him take offense, but Walter needed protection. “You know very well what I meant. He’s in no condition to know what he’s saying.”
Walter mumbled under his breath as Steele gently led him to the car. The care Steele showed Walter surprised me.
“Watch your head, sir.” He helped Walter into the back seat. When he straightened, he smiled at me. “Guess that’ll do until the rough stuff starts back at the station. See you later, Miss Cameron.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You can count on it.”
“I’ll look forward to our next encounter.” With a nod, he climbed into his car.
Chapter Four
I grabbed my cell phone, which I’d left lying on the car seat. I was put through to Scott Ferguson, who had just come from court. He promised to head for the justice center immediately. I disconnected the call and sagged against the seat. Poor Walter.
And though I wouldn’t shed tears for Rockwell, no one deserved to be bashed in the head and left on the ground like that. I sympathized with his family. They probably loved the rat and would mourn his passing.
I called my grandfather, who promised to go to the police station immediately. I wanted to go there, too, but Scottie and Grandpa would look out for Walter. And I had a business to run and damage to control. With a sigh, I started my car and drove toward Gillentine Gardens.
What a day, and it was only half past noon.
When I arrived at the garden center ten minutes later, the parking lot was packed with cars, unusual for a Tuesday. Miguel met me as I dropped my purse on my desk.
“Business, it is up since the news was on the radio and TV. Curiosity seekers are here. Had to call in Greg and Juan to help out.”
Greg Parker was a high school student who helped after school and summers. Juan was Miguel’s twenty-year old son. He’d worked for us while he was in high school. Now that he was attending the University of North Texas, he came in on holidays, weekends, and summers.
I said, “I’m glad Juan’s here. And lucky for us Greg
’s a good student. Otherwise, he’d be taking finals this week.”
Miguel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The roses, they are unloaded. Should I pick up the crepe myrtles Walter delivered yesterday?”
The dull ache in my head had become a pounding hammer. “I don’t know what to say. They didn’t mention anything like this in grad school.”
Apparently Miguel’s good humor was restored because he chuckled. “No, don’t suppose this, it came up in class.”
“I think I’d better change clothes and call on the Rockwell family. See if I can pick up an indication of future plans. I hate to sound mercenary, but we’ve a lot invested in this project.”
“Sí, you’re right, it’s the largest job we’ve had in years. She’s paid already for the irrigation system. We can sell the plants,”—he looked up and shrugged—“eventually, if Mrs. Rockwell, she changes her mind. Still, it’s much money tied up for who knows how long?”
“Oh, drat. I forgot about all those yews and boxwoods we have on order for the maze. They’re due the first of next week.” Our center has an area for propagating popular trees and shrubs, but we order specialty items from other growers.
“Maybe you can delay them, or cancel the order. If Mrs. Rockwell, she backs out, it’ll take years to sell that many giant shrubs.”
Taking a deep breath, I willed myself not to panic. “Let’s handle one crisis at a time. Sorry to leave with all these people here, but I’d better talk to Bootsy Rockwell.”
I went back to my apartment over my grandparents’ garage. In a patch of sun on the window seat, Yin, my white cat, and Yang, my black one, were asleep. Curled up together, they looked very much like their symbol namesake. Rascal leaped up when I entered and danced around hopefully.
I scratched his ears. “Sorry, boy. I’m on a mission and it doesn’t involve you.” When I marched through the sitting room and into my bedroom, he gave up and plopped onto the floor in the doorway.
I pulled my black knit tube dress from the closet and searched through my stockings for a pair with no snags. I twisted my hair into a chignon and grabbed a pair of pearl earrings. Maybe too severe, so I searched out a brooch. Suitably attired in black, I hurried down the stairs to my car—or took the stairs as quickly as pencil-heeled shoes allowed. Used to wearing trainers or Keds, my feet were already complaining.
Ten minutes later, I turned into the estate’s long drive. Seeing the cheerful flowerbed Vance Rockwell and I had argued about only yesterday gave me a weird shiver.
I drove past the hedge where his body had lain. The muscles in my stomach tightened. Thank heavens I hadn’t actually seen Rockwell’s body except for the mound in a black body bag. I hoped Bootsy didn’t hold the garden center responsible simply because one of our shovels was the murder weapon in her husband’s death.
I’d been inside here several times, of course, when Bootsy and I had discussed the formal garden. The Palace at Versailles was the only comparison I could make to this home’s interior. Apparently, Bootsy believed money was meant to be spent, and lavishly. Not that I cared, especially when Gillentine Gardens benefited.
I parked in the circular drive near the front entrance. Should I have brought a potted plant? No, I was merely making a condolence call. Later, I’d send the family flowers. I strode up the steps and rang the bell.
A uniformed maid opened the door. “Mrs. Rockwell is resting and isn’t seeing anyone. She gestured toward a table. “Would you like to sign the guest book before you leave?”
I nodded, but thought, And don’t let the door hit me on the way out. I supposed servants took their cue from their employers, and this woman was almost as rude as Rockwell had been. I stepped in and signed the book that rested on a table.
The entry ceiling looked to be fifteen feet high. An ornate light fixture hung from a gilded, rayed medallion. Gilded molding circled the base of the ceiling. Walls were covered in gold, and I wished I could touch them to see if they were thin metal or some other material. I’d been in a lot of fine homes, but the opulence of this one made me feel as if I were in a Regency museum.
An attractive man came forward. From the photos Bootsy had shown me, I recognized him as her elder son, Devlin Douglas. The one Chelsea said was a geek techno-nerd. Maybe so, but he looked more as if he’d stepped from a magazine advertisement. With a nod, he seemed to signal the maid, who frowned and returned to stand guard at the door. He was tall, thirtyish, with his blond hair cut short. He wore gray slacks and a pale yellow button-down shirt open at the throat. Wire-rimmed glasses called attention to his dark brown eyes. Very handsome—in a geeky way.
His smile welcomed me. “I’m Devlin Douglas.”
I extended my hand. “I’m Heather Cameron”—I prepared myself for a tirade—“of Gillentine Gardens.”
He looked at me, but didn’t appear hostile. Instead, his eyes held a touch of sympathy. He gestured toward the living room. “Won’t you come in? Mom took the news of my stepfather’s death very hard. She had to be sedated.”
I exhaled, aware I must have been holding my breath. My heels clicked on the foyer’s marble tile and I struggled to appear more at ease than I felt.
Devlin offered his hand to assist me as I stepped down into the living area. When I’d consulted with Bootsy on other visits, we’d bypassed this room for her office. Pale green walls had inserts of Grecian-themed medallions over white panels flanked by ionic columns. Medallions also decorated the ceiling. Hardwood flooring showed at the edges of a massive sculptured carpet in green, cream, mauve, and blue.
He released my hand. “You’re caught in the middle of this tragedy, aren’t you?”
“I’m relieved you aren’t blaming Gillentine Gardens for your stepfather’s death.”
A slight shrug accompanied, “Don’t suppose you wielded the shovel, did you?”
“No, and I have no idea who might have. But I’m sure it wasn’t one of my employees.” At least, I hoped not.
He indicated a cream-colored club chair for me. Quickly, he re-positioned a Chippendale armchair with a seat upholstered in soft blue and sat there. “Vance wasn’t an easy man to be around. Could have been any one of dozens of people.”
I realized my mistake when the overstuffed chair swallowed me. Trying to keep my knees together and my legs crossed neatly at the ankles, I cursed the darn tube dress. Made for standing or sitting in a proper dining chair, it inched up my thighs at an alarming rate.
Tugging discreetly at my hem, I asked, “You and your stepfather weren’t close then?”
“No, never were. Not that there was any open animosity, you understand.” He shrugged. “All very civil, but no love lost either way.”
“Sorry. I realize that’s inadequate both for your relationship and for his death, but I don’t know what else to say.”
I already regretted coming and wondered if I could make a hasty exit. But how was I going to get out of this woman-eating chair without disgracing myself and showing body parts not meant to be publicly displayed?
The sound of a door slamming came from the back of the house seconds before a young man stormed into the room. “You didn’t waste any time getting here, did you?”
I recognized Sam Rockwell from photos. He was a younger version of Devlin, handsome even when anger flushed his face. At first I thought his charge was aimed at me, but Devlin rose.
“Sam, calm down. You don’t think I’d stay away when Mom needs me?” Devlin’s voice sounded unruffled and placating.
I received the impression Devlin had dealt with Sam’s accusations many times before. I struggled to my feet while the two men were distracted, hoping to escape the chair with my dignity intact.
Rage distorted Sam’s features. “Mom needs you? You came to make sure you didn’t lose out on the old man’s money.”
“Whether I’m here or not won’t change Vance’s will. I came because Mom called and asked me to. It’s her house, Sam, not yours or mine. We should both remember that.”
&n
bsp; Sam’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “I remember a lot of things. Like how much I dislike you, Dr. Ph.D. Know-It-All.” He turned and stomped out, and I heard his steps ascending on the stairs.
Devlin turned back to me. “Sorry you had to witness that. Hard times seem to bring out the worst in families.” He shrugged. “At least, in this family.”
“I only wanted to offer my condolences. I didn’t mean to take you from whatever you were doing.” No longer thinking of the landscaping project, I edged toward the foyer to escape.
He leaned against one of the ionic columns separating the living area from the marble entry. “I’ve heard too much about the amazing woman who’s designed Mom’s garden not to greet you.”
I stopped. “You knew who I was when I came in?”
”Mom’s description was glowing, and I must say I agree. I’ve taken a few weeks’ vacation, so perhaps I’ll see you if you’re here to direct the planting. I plan to take some of the load off Mom while I’m here.”
Encouraged, I tried to sound casual, as if his answer wasn’t as important as whether or not the sun came up tomorrow. “You think she’ll continue?”
He pursed his lips before admitting, “She has her heart set on that garden. Has wanted one since her first trip to England. She hasn’t changed her mind, not even after Vance’s death. Until she can do so herself, she specifically asked me to see it went forward.”
“I won’t pretend I’m not relieved. This was a big project and we’ve already invested a lot of time and labor.”
“And your firm is up in the air about what to do next?” He appeared to think it over a few seconds. “Vance’s funeral will be on Thursday. Why don’t you plan to resume work on Friday? May sound cold to some, but life goes on. Will that fit your schedule?”
Relief swept through me and I wanted to throw myself at his feet in gratitude. Instead, I extended my hand. “Thank you and your mother for being so understanding.”
The maid opened the door, as if shooing me out. Devlin appeared about to follow me, but the sound of shouting came from upstairs. He gave me a tired smile and let the maid close the door behind me. I walked to my car, pleased to have the information I’d come for and eager to escape an unpleasant household.
Digging For Death Page 4