Digging For Death

by Clemmons, Caroline

  His amiable expression returned and I had to admit I liked the way it made his dark blue eyes sparkle.

  “Okay, I fell for that one.” He nodded toward the stairs leading to my apartment. “Looks like a jungle on the porch up there.”

  I raised my gaze. My bougainvillea cascaded over the rail in a blaze of color and the dozen or so other plants surrounded it in a mass of greenery. “I guess I have too many plants, but it’s all part of the job. It’s the bird feeder my cats love. They watch from the window.”

  “Two cats and a dog? How large is that place?”

  “Big enough—barely. Ruby lived there until her knees started protesting the stairs. Now she’s in an apartment in the wing behind the house.”

  His expression incredulous, he asked, “She’s housekeeper for this huge house, and she can’t climb stairs?”

  “She should retire, but she’s convinced it’s her job to boss everyone around and that we couldn’t manage without her.” I shrugged. “She’s right, of course.”

  “Wow, she must be way past retirement age.”

  “Shush, don’t let her hear you say that. Ruby’s fifty-nine, but never let her know I told you. And before you feel too sorry for her, you should know two women help her with the house three mornings a week. Gives Ruby more people to boss around. Also, there’s a small elevator at the end of the foyer.”

  “An elevator? You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Added when the original owner’s wife could no longer handle the stairs. It groans and trembles and takes so long I can walk up the stairs in less time, but it’s inspected once a year. The repairman assures us it’s safe for loads not to exceed eight hundred pounds. So, Ruby uses that to ride up and check on the other women’s work.”

  “But she lives on the first floor, leaving you the garage apartment?”

  “Special rent-free package for the owner’s only grandchild.” I watched Miguel carry a purchase to a customer’s car across the way.

  “Convenient set up. No rent, walk to work, save time, save gas.”

  From where Steele and I stood, the tables of colorful bedding plants set along the side of the garden center’s main building made an eye-pleasing sight. Their bright trays greeted customers as they arrived and tempted them to buy. Miguel looked our way and waved then walked back inside the nursery.

  I laughed at the detective’s assessment. “Right. Try, never-get-away-from-work because everyone knows where to find me at any hour.”

  He stepped off the porch. “Yes, well, you know where to find me if you learn anything further about Mr. Sims’ whereabouts last night.”

  I thrust one more parry. “Forget about Walter. Arrest the real murderer.”

  “I intend to see the killer brought to justice”—he shrugged and met my glance—“whether it’s Mr. Sims or someone else.”

  I crossed my arms. “It’s not Walter.” I prayed I spoke the truth.

  “I hope you’re right. I kind of like the guy, especially now that he’s sober.” He nodded toward the garden center where a man was climbing out of his car. “Sergeant Winston and I will be talking to your employees. We’ll try not to interfere too much with your business.”

  “I appreciate that. I’d accompany you, but I’m sure you want to speak privately with each person. I told them to expect a police visit, so they won’t be surprised to see you.”

  He speared me with a gaze, as if trying to see inside my head. “And what advice did you give them?”

  “Only to tell the truth. We have nothing to hide, Detective Steele. You’ll see that when you talk with my employees.”

  “No doubt I’ll see you again.”

  “Mmm, no doubt. I’m usually very law abiding, but it’s a small town.”

  I watched until he reached his car, then I went back into the house. I wished I’d asked him about his family. Not that I was interested in him, of course.

  In the parlor, I rummaged through a desk drawer until I found a map of the town. I carried it into the kitchen, where Grandpa was having his second glass of lemonade. Scooting green beans out of the way, I spread the map on the table.

  “What’re you doing, Heather girl?” Ruby protested. “You’re interrupting progress. We’re not through here.”

  “I’m doing my own detective work.” I looked at the dwindled number of unprocessed beans and sat down. “Looks to me as if you’re almost finished anyway. This won’t interfere.”

  “Wasn’t the detective a nice young man, Heather?” Grandma gave me the your-biological-clock’s-ticking look.

  Not wanting to give her any fuel, I said, “I suppose, for someone who arrested Walter.” I found the cemetery on the map and held my finger on it. “Grandpa, put your finger on the Alibi Lounge.”

  He did, but frowned at me. “What for?”

  “Somewhere between our two fingers, someone must have seen or heard Walter last night. We have to discover who and where?”

  He tapped the map. “Here’s the corner of Oak and Jackson, where his house used to stand. Might ask the Henshaws on the west side or the Watsons at the back of his old place.” Grandpa moved his finger. “Old Denby lives here. Told me he doesn’t sleep well at night.”

  “Detective Steele’s probably already checked with them, but I’ll ask anyway.” I leaned back in the chair. “Maybe I’d have more luck finding out who else wanted Vance Rockwell dead. Devlin said there were dozens.”

  “I can think of several myself.” Grandpa refolded the map and stood. “Starting with me.”

  I gasped. “Grandpa, you can’t mean it?” I glanced at my grandmothers and Ruby before I rose and walked around beside my grandfather. I tugged at his sleeve, signaling him to accompany me into the family room.

  When we’d stepped inside the room, I asked, “Other than that he was a terrible person, what motive do you have?”

  He moved slowly, as if the memory aged him, and plopped onto the sofa. “Ten thousand big ones.”

  “Money? How come I’ve never heard this? Explain.” I sat on the sofa beside him.

  “Caused one of the few arguments your grandmother and I ever had. Not something we ever talk about, and I sure as hell don’t like to tell the story.”

  “But you’ll tell me, won’t you? How can I help Walter if everything is a secret?”

  Grandpa looked at me then exhaled. “Back when they were marketing that printer thingamabob, Vance hit me up to invest in the company.”

  “You own part of his business? I’ve never heard you mention anything about being associated with Rockwell. Besides, you said they used Bootsy’s money to set up, that she’d brought plenty into the marriage.”

  With a snort of disgust, Grandpa answered, “After a fashion, but Vance needed more in a hurry when George died. Said the unsolved death temporarily tied up funds.”

  “I imagine it did.” I patted his hand. “Go on.”

  “In return for my loan of ten thousand dollars, he agreed to repay the money with interest, plus give me a hundred shares in the whole shebang.”

  “Did you receive payment?”

  Grandpa shrugged. “Not a penny.”

  “What about the shares?”

  “Vance said expenses had been greater than expected, and kept putting me off.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “When I challenged him about the stock, he said he’d decided not to issue shares outside the family. Said all the money was tied up and he couldn’t pay.”

  “The rat.”

  “Reckon that’s the nicest thing you can say about him. He might as well have said he never intended to pay because I got the meaning of it.”

  True, the current stock market had greatly decreased Grandpa’s net worth and placed us in a cash crunch, but they were solid investments that would eventually rebound. I’d never known him to make a bad business deal. Not until now. “Couldn’t you sue him?”

  Grandpa blushed and looked at his hands. “It pains me to admit we had a verbal agreement. You know what they say. ’A ve
rbal agreement is only worth the paper it’s written on.’ In this case that’s true.”

  “But there must have been some paperwork involved. What about your check?”

  “I had no proof I’d given him money. Sure, I could prove I took it out of the bank. But there was no one but Vance and me present when I gave him the cash.”

  My heart hit my knees. “Cash? Oh, Grandpa, you of all people?” What could Grandpa have been thinking to hand over cash to a creep like Rockwell with no paperwork?

  “He said that because the company funds were tied up until George’s death was settled, he needed ready money. Said if he tried to cash a check, the amount would be seized and put in with the frozen funds. Made sense at the time.” Grandpa gave me a sheepish grin. “Honey, a fool and his money are soon parted, and Vance parted me from mine.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandpa. That must have stung.”

  “Did for a fact. But I’ve done business on a handshake all my life. If a man’s honorable, his word is all that’s needed. With Vance, I don’t suppose even a formal contract drawn by a sharp lawyer would have been enough to guarantee the deal.”

  I calculated various locals who might have made Rockwell a loan. “Do you suppose he tried the same trick with others?”

  “Can’t say.” Grandpa tugged his earlobe and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Considering his success with me, seems likely he’d try it again, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, if you were even the first. Who knows how many people that weasel may have cheated?”

  Suddenly, frustration overwhelmed me. Grandpa was a kind and loving person who had worked hard right up until the day he turned the garden center over to me eight months ago. I didn’t understand him letting his guard down for a weasel like Vance Rockwell. I grew furious with Rockwell all over again for taking advantage of my grandfather—and who knew how many others like him.

  I sighed. “It appears it might be easier to determine who didn’t have a reason to hate the deceased.”

  ***

  I had time before dinner to call on the Watsons and the Henshaws and see if they could offer any help for Walter’s case. I knew Detective Steele would interview them, maybe already had. My advantage was that he was the newcomer and a policeman. On the other hand, I was a hometown girl. That made the detective “they” while I was part of “us.”

  I parked the Jetta in front of Andy and Mae Henshaw’s home. They’d lived there a long time and Mae and Nora had been good friends. Mae answered the door and invited me in.

  I declined coffee and sat on the sofa. “I know the police will talk to you, maybe already have, but I’m trying to help Walter.”

  “They were here already. Andy and I both talked to them.” Mae sat in a chair across from me and looked down at her hands. “Sad about Walter murdering that man, isn’t it?”

  “We don’t know he’s guilty, Mrs. Henshaw. I hope I can establish an alibi for him.”

  She looked up. “I thought it was his shovel killed the man. That’s what I heard on the news.”

  “That doesn’t mean Walter was the one wielding it. I’m surprised you’re so quick to condemn him. I thought you and Mr. Henshaw were Walter’s friends.”

  “Well....” She looked down at her lap and smoothed her slacks. “We used to be, but I don’t think you can say that now.”

  Oh, no, now what? I hadn’t heard anything about a fuss between Walter and his neighbors. Mae Henshaw looked so smug, I just wanted to shake her. Surprised at myself, I asked, “What happened?”

  “It was back in April. Me and Andy just wanted to help Walter out, being neighborly and all. You remember we had that week of rain this spring?”

  I nodded. “Yes, it was in April.”

  “Andy mowed the lot a few days after the rain quit. Place was looking a mess and we were afraid the tall grass and weeds would attract rats and snakes.”

  “That was neighborly of you.”

  She preened, “Andy thought Walter would appreciate the help. Expected him to be grateful.”

  I knew Walter viewed that lot as sanctified ground because his Nora had lived there. “But that’s not how Walter saw it?”

  “I’ve never seen him so mad. I thought he was going to hit Andy. Scared the life half out of me. Scared Andy too.”

  I leaned forward. “Surely you didn’t think Walter would become violent toward your husband after all the years you’ve known one another?”

  “You didn’t see him. Never saw anyone so mad. He was wild looking, had a weird look in his eyes.”

  “Because your husband mowed the grass?” That didn’t sound like Walter.

  “Well...Andy trimmed up that pink climbing rose by the fence. It was hanging over our yard.” She crossed her arms defensively. “It’s needed trimming back for years.”

  I grimaced, remembering Walter’s love for Nora’s roses—for anything Nora touched. “Pink roses were Nora’s favorites,” I said. “She planted that rose bush herself.”

  Mae shrugged. “I remember her doing that very thing and Walter fixing that trellis for it. Anyway, Walter yelled at Andy for touching that old rose bush. Came out of the shed waving his shears around like he was going to stab Andy with them or something.”

  “I’m sorry, but you know how he treasures Nora’s roses.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at me. “They’re just old plants and my husband’s a person. It’s like I told that policeman. Walter threatened to kill Andy if either of us set foot on his property again without an invitation from him.”

  “It’s just something people say when they’re angry.” I didn’t think the police would see it that way, and it worried me that Mae and Andy would have related this incident. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it literally.”

  She shook her head. “He meant it, I can tell you that much for sure. I saw the way he looked at us.”

  Grasping for answers, I asked, “Had Walter been drinking when he, um, threatened your husband?”

  “Not that I could tell.” She narrowed her eyes. “Walter Sims is a dangerous man. I’m not at all surprised he killed that man. And I told that young policeman as much.”

  Thanks for nothing. But I thanked her for talking to me, even though I felt sucker-punched. The Walter I knew would never kill anyone, even drunk. I knew he’d occasionally been in a fight, but nothing life threatening. Could he have a Jekyll and Hyde personality? I’d known him all my life and had seen him angry and sulking, but never violent.

  I drove around the block to talk to Sara and Clem Watson, praying for anything to help Walter.

  Sara was cooking dinner. My stomach rumbled at the tempting odor of chicken fried steak drifting through the house. Clem invited me into the kitchen so I could talk to both he and his wife without endangering his meal.

  The kitchen table was already set for two, but I took a chair and explained I was looking for clues to help Walter or for someone who might have seen him on the night of the murder. “Can you tell me anything that might help clear Walter? Did you see him on the night of the murder?”

  Clem looked at Sara then said, “No, we didn’t see him that night. Wish we had.”

  Sara turned the steaks in the bubbling grease. Then, she looked at me. “We don’t think he did it.”

  “Neither do I.” I asked, “Is there anything specific you can add?”

  Clem said, “It’s like I told that policeman. Walter’s as gentle as a lamb when he’s sober. Real good friend to Sara and me for going on twenty years now. I’ve seen him mad plenty of times when he was drinking, but he wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  Oh, great, he’d damned Walter with faint praise. The smell of their dinner and my own hunger pangs reminded me I was due back at my grandparents. I thanked them and left.

  These two visits uncovered nothing except that Walter had a bad temper when he’d been drinking, which I already knew. Could he have been so angry with Rockwell that he clubbed him with a shovel? If so, why leave the evidence there? Why not destroy anythin
g incriminating? It didn’t make sense.

  Worry and hunger gave me a pounding headache. Darn it, there had to be something I could do to help Walter. What was it?

  Chapter Eight

  After a night so restless my cats abandoned the bed, I overslept. I gave Rascal a quick run around the garden center boundary, then returned home to a revitalizing shower.

  Scottie Ferguson was scheduled to appear before the judge this morning to plead Walter’s bond. I hoped the amount would be manageable. In the meantime, I had to get to work.

  Instead of taking time to dry my hair, I braided it in a long plait down my back. Dressed in gray slacks and a green garden center top, I hurried across to my office. I checked my desk for messages and mail, then went into the shop.

  Chelsea was already at work. Today she wore a red spandex mini-skirt. Her red sandals drew attention to the butterfly tattoo on her ankle.

  “Hey, Heather. The phone’s been ringing off the wall with people wanting to speak to you about designing their garden.”

  That bit of news left me flabbergasted. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She grabbed a stack of notes. “No, I think they figure if Bootsy Rockwell is using your services, they’ll have to also. Sam said she’s quite a trend setter.”

  I took the memos. “Sam said? You’re seeing him pretty often now?”

  Chelsea blushed. “Yeah, we’ve met a few times for drinks.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How many is a few?”

  “Okay, maybe four or five times a week. We’re going out tonight. Just dinner because he has to get back to his house. Relatives and such.”

  “I imagine. I think his aunt may already be there.”

  I wanted to warn her about Sam’s temper, but Chelsea was her own woman. Our friendship and working relationship survived because I didn’t pass judgement on her whirlwind relationships. And she usually didn’t mention my lack of them.

  We were swamped with customers. Mostly lookers, but even they required assistance. I returned the calls from the stack of messages and set up firm appointments for next week with four customers. Although I had hoped my ability would attract new landscaping jobs, I wasn’t about to turn away business—no matter what the reason for the interest.