Plain Death

by Flower, Amanda

  I sat across from her on the edge of my new coffee table. “What is it?”

  When she didn’t answer, I stood and grabbed a box of tissues from the tiny half bath on the first floor. I handed her the box.

  Finally, she calmed down enough to speak. “Hannah told me she heard my family wasn’t allowed to see me because of the accident.”

  Wow, that Hannah is a real gem. I perched on the edge of the armchair. “How would she know that?”

  “She’s friends with Esther Yoder.”

  “Who is Esther Yoder?”

  “An Amish girl. It doesn’t matter how she found out. I know it’s true. You saw what happened between Ruth and Anna yesterday. It must be bad. The Lambrights and my family are close friends.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I sat back on the coffee table. “We had dinner with your family that night and spent most of yesterday with your grandfather and the children.”

  Gigabyte wiggled from her grasp and jumped to the top of the couch. He bumped his head against her shoulder.

  “That was before. She said Deacon Sutter visited the farm and warned them not to talk to me.”

  At least this much was true. Its truth made Hannah’s story plausible. “Why would she tell you that anyway?” I was beginning to dislike Hannah more by the second, and my feelings had nothing to do with Timothy’s possible affection for her.

  She shook her head.

  “Let’s call Timothy, and he can take us out to the farm to visit your family.”

  She shook her head. “It’s Sunday. They’ll be at church. If I show up there, it will be even worse.”

  “Your family loves you. I saw it, Becky. They are worried about you. Even if what Hannah says is true, they won’t let that come between you and your family, especially your younger siblings.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like. They won’t let me be who I want to be.” Her blue eyes were watery pools. “I want to paint portraits. They don’t understand that. They say it’s wrong, that I’m breaking God’s law when I do it. I’m not. I’m trying to capture a little piece of the beauty He made. How can that be wrong?” She dissolved into tears again.

  “Becky, look at me.”

  She lifted her head.

  “It’s not wrong. It’s not. Do you believe me?”

  “I’ll try,” she whispered.

  “Let’s call Timothy.” I hopped off the chair. “I have an idea of how to cheer you up.”

  She wiped at her eyes. “What?”

  “You’ll see.” I grinned. “You will love it.”

  And seeing it for myself will put my mind at ease, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Timothy turned into our driveway two hours later with Mabel asleep in the tiny backseat. Becky and I climbed in the truck as Timothy waited. “Becky, why didn’t you tell me yesterday about the job?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t started yet.”

  “Well, I’m glad Chloe called because I want to see this place. Daed would be furious with me if I didn’t check it out. Are they open on Sundays?”

  “One to seven,” I said. “I found their business Web site.”

  Timothy’s brow furrowed as he backed the truck onto Grove Lane. “Will you have to work on Sunday, Becky?”

  She shook her head. “Cookie said I didn’t have to.”

  Woof. Mabel was up.

  “Who’s Cookie?”

  Woof.

  Timothy pushed his dog’s nose into the backseat. “She thinks cookie—”

  Woof!

  “—means dog biscuit.” Timothy sighed. “I suggest we use another name in Mabel’s presence.”

  “Coo—she is my boss. Well, one of them. The other is Scotch.”

  He peered around Becky at me. “Is she making up these names?”

  I wagged my head. “Nope.”

  He laughed, and I liked the sound of it. “So where is this place?”

  “Sand River Road. It’s off of Butler.” Becky spoke quietly.

  Timothy shrugged. “That may be one way to get there, but I know another. It might take a little longer in travel time, but it’s a nice day for a drive.”

  Becky let out the breath she held.

  I sat back, happy to avoid the scene of the accident. “Absolutely.”

  Twenty minutes later, we turned into the parking lot in front of Little Owl Greenhouse. Half a dozen cars dotted the small lot. Every cement statue possible congregated on the right side of the building, from a replica of David, to frogs, to dozens of garden gnomes of all shapes and sizes. Overflowing hanging baskets dangled from hooks in the greenhouse’s porch eaves, and a rack of garden spades sat by the front door.

  Timothy got out of the truck and pushed his seat forward so Mabel could jump out. Becky didn’t move. I nudged her. “Don’t you want to get out?”

  “I’m scared. What if I can’t do it? I’ve never had a job before.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head. “I helped on the farm. I helped Mamm with the younger children.”

  “That’s why we came here today. Timothy and I are with you. We’ll make sure it’s okay. You won’t have to be afraid tomorrow.”

  “I wasn’t afraid until we got here.”

  “I knew you would be.”

  “How?”

  “Because I was afraid before I started my new job.”

  She stared at me. “At Harshberger?”

  I nodded.

  “You seemed fine your first day.”

  “I’m good at hiding it,” I said. “Now, get out.”

  She opened the cabin door. “What about Mabel?” Becky asked.

  Timothy pointed at a hand-painted sign next to the front door: WELL-BEHAVED DOGS WELCOME. He bent down until eye to eye with his dog. “That means you need to show your best manners, Miss.”

  She barked softly, as if she understood exactly what he said.

  The inside of Little Owl Greenhouse smelled like fertilizer and dirt. The front showroom held more lawn ornaments, garden tools, and dozens of birdfeeders. Beyond that an open garage door separated the shop from the main part of the greenhouse where plants were housed. Bright sunlight shone through the Plexiglas ceiling, warming the plants to their full potential. The shop’s cash register sat on a no-frills plank wooden counter.

  I watched Becky as she took it in.

  A woman at the cash register, who looked like she bought stock in Cover Girl makeup, accepted a twenty-dollar bill from an elderly man buying a hanging basket of purple petunias. A pair of rainbow-framed reading glasses hung from a red ribbon around her neck. “Don’t forget to pinch them after each flower fades,” she advised. “That’s how you will keep it blooming.”

  The man picked up his basket, promised to take good care of it, and shuffled out of the greenhouse.

  The woman with the clown makeup smiled. “Can I help you find something?”

  I poked Becky in the back, my voice a whisper. “Introduce yourself.”

  Becky’s eyes had grown to twice their normal size. Had she ever met anyone with such an obvious love of makeup? The woman wore hot pink lipstick and eye shadow that covered her from eyelid to eyebrow in peacock blue.

  The woman’s gaze fell to Becky’s cast, and for a second, she appeared suspended in time, just like Becky.

  “You must be Becky!” The woman hurried around the counter. “So glad to meet you! I’m Cookie MacGruen.” The foundation on her forehead creased. “Didn’t I tell you to come in tomorrow? I hope we didn’t get our wires crossed.”

  Becky stayed silent.

  “Becky’s not starting until tomorrow.” I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Chloe. We were in the neighborhood, so Timothy”—I pointed to Timothy—“her brother and I w
anted to see where she would be working.”

  “You chose a good day to come. It’s the end of summer, and our business is winding down for the growing season.”

  Her comment gave me pause. If their business was winding down, why did they hire Becky?

  “You have to meet my husband.” She turned her head. “Scotch, get out here!”

  Nothing. Crickets.

  “Scotch!”

  Mabel, who sat at Timothy’s feet, whimpered and covered one of her ears with her paw. I wished I could do the same. If Cookie yelled like that one more time, there was a chance we would all be deaf before the day ended.

  A chubby man, about a foot shorter than Cookie and who wore denim overalls over a tie-dye T-shirt, limped through the open garage door. “What is all that yellin’ about? Are you trying to give me a stroke?”

  “Scotch, we have guests.”

  “I can see that,” he grunted and held onto a sales rack of garden tools for support.

  “Becky’s here,” his wife said.

  One side of his forehead drooped down. “Becky?”

  Cookie looked to us and shook her head. “You will have to forgive my husband. He spent too much time restocking fertilizer today, and the fumes have gone to his head.” She put her hands on her hips. “Becky is the Amish girl. Remember?”

  “The girl who was in the accident that killed the Amish monk?”

  Cookie shook her head. “He was a bishop.”

  “Monk? Bishop? Aren’t they all the same?”

  Not exactly.

  Becky tensed up beside me.

  Cookie winced. “My husband’s not one to beat around the bush.”

  No kidding.

  “If you are Becky, who are these two?” He flicked his thumb toward Timothy and me. “Cookie, I hope you didn’t hire all three of them.”

  Cookie scowled at her husband. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s only teasing.”

  Becky still seemed unable to speak. This time Timothy made introductions.

  “Have you shown them around, Cook?” Scotch grasped the straps of his overalls, moving them like puppet strings.

  “That’s what I was calling you for, you dolt. I thought you’d want to.”

  “’Course, I would.” He looked unfazed by the name-calling. He hobbled in the direction of the greenhouse, then stopped and looked behind him. “Y’all comin’ or what?”

  We hurried after him.

  We stepped into the greenhouse, the first section under a green roof. Automatic misters spread water droplets that evaporated almost as soon as they hit the hot air. Must be what steamed broccoli feels like.

  “This is where we keep all our tropical plants, as well as others that wouldn’t make it three minutes through one of our frigid Ohio winters,” Scotch explained. “Becky, you will be working in here a lot until your arm’s healed. There’s not too much heavy lifting.”

  Timothy tapped a finger on a bird-of-paradise, and the leaf bounced back in his face. I hid my smile. He caught me watching him and winked. I blushed and hoped he’d think I was flushed from the stifling humidity. I cleared my throat. “What type of work will Becky be doing, Scotch?”

  His eyes darted back and forth. “We haven’t—”

  “This and that.” Cookie, who had followed along behind, interrupted her husband. “We’ll have her pitch in where we need help. There’s always watering, pruning, and weeding to do. You’ve done all that before, haven’t you, Becky?”

  Becky nodded.

  I elbowed her.

  “Yes, I helped my mother care for our garden back home and helped my father in the fields too. We grew lots of different vegetables and flowers.”

  “See, she will have no trouble.” Scotch waved us on. “Next up is ground covering.” He winced as he started walking again.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  A strange expression crossed Scotch’s face. “Yes.”

  “You seem to have some trouble walking.”

  Scotch opened his mouth, but Cookie chimed in. “It’s old age. Arthritis.”

  Scotch rotated a small cactus pot on the table. “Right.” He laughed. “I don’t recommend getting old to anyone.”

  He went on to show us the rest of the greenhouse, including the outdoor plant area, surrounded by a ten-foot high chain-link fence. Dozens of potted trees, bushes of every shape and size, and fruit and vegetable plants filled the area. Scotch rattled off their names, both common and scientific.

  Cookie sniffed. “Stop showing off with those fancy plant names.” She pointed her index finger at her husband. “He fancies himself a botanist.”

  Scotch scrunched up his nose. “I almost was.” He led us back into the hothouse.

  “Until you dropped out of college to follow that rock band,” Cookie said.

  Scotch folded his arms over his wide chest. “Says the girl I met on tour!”

  I buried a smile, slipped my cell phone out of my purse, and checked the clock. “Gee, look at the time; we should get going.”

  Timothy peered at me curiously, before his face split into a grin. “You’re right. We need to head home.”

  Scotch held up a hand. “You can’t leave without a plant!” He paced the greenhouse and selected an aloe. “Here. It’s easy to take care of and can double as a first aid kit.”

  He set the plant in Becky’s arms as if handing over a baby. Becky cradled the aloe plant to her chest between her cast and good arm. “Thank you. I start at ten tomorrow, right? Thank you so much for hiring me.”

  Cookie smiled. “Aren’t you sweet? We’ll pick you up at nine thirty.”

  “Do you need my address?” Becky asked.

  “No,” Scotch shook his head. “I know where you live.”

  I glanced at Timothy, but his face showed no reaction. Was I the only one who found Scotch’s comment odd?

  I turned to Cookie. “Are you sure you can drive Becky back and forth to work?”

  “’Course we don’t mind.” Cookie sounded huffy, and I was sorry for questioning her. “We are in the neighborhood. Why should you waste the gas by driving her all the way out here?”

  Why indeed?

  “And we can keep an eye on her that way,” Scotch said.

  Why would they need to keep an eye on her?

  With travel arrangements made, we said our good-byes. Back in the truck, Becky stared at her plant, her expression serene. “Didn’t you think they were nice, Chloe? I think this job is just what I need.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Something about the arrangement struck me as odd. Surely in the current economy they could find someone to work for them who could find her own transportation. I glanced again at Becky, who for the first time since the accident looked genuinely happy, carefree.

  So I said nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Monday morning arrived. Becky was already up, dressed, and perched on the sofa, watching for Cookie and Scotch’s car—even though they wouldn’t arrive for another hour and a half.

  “If anything comes up at work, call me. I’m sure Cookie and Scotch will let you use their phone. You remember my cell number, don’t you?” I felt like Mrs. Green. How many times had she asked Tanisha and me that same thing when we were teenagers? I’m becoming my foster mother!

  “Yes, don’t worry, Chloe, everything will be fine. I’m going to do a good job.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” I moved toward the door. “As soon as I get a new car, we will buy you a cell phone. I don’t like you not being able to call.”

  Becky’s eyes sparkled. “Like yours?”

  I laughed before heading out the door to work. “Not that fancy.”

  On the walk to Harshberger, I decided to put the accident and Becky out of m
y mind. I needed my wits about me to survive another day with Joel.

  Even though I arrived early, Miller was already there. It was the first time I would be alone with the fidgety programmer.

  I strode in. “Morning, Miller.”

  He jumped up from his seat, and in the same movement turned off his monitor. I pretended not to notice, but stood beside his desk, waiting for a return greeting. None came. “How are you today?”

  He blinked at me from behind thick glasses. “Fine,” he muttered.

  I swallowed a sigh and walked to my office.

  Thirty minutes later, I was engrossed in a report for Dean Klink when Clark and Joel arrived in the office. I could hear them greet Miller, and he in turn returned their hellos. I tried not to take it personally.

  Laughter floated into my office.

  I e-mailed the report to the dean and emerged from my office. Clark, Miller, and Joel sat around the conference table working on their respective laptops.

  “Good morning,” I said and stepped over to the coffee machine. When my mug was full, I turned. “I’ll be sending you all an e-mail later to reschedule our Friday meeting.”

  Joel grinned. “Why was last Friday’s meeting canceled? Car trouble?”

  Clark shook his head. “Man . . .” He shared a glance with Miller, whose eyes looked the size of silver dollars behind those glasses.

  I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them, the assistant director smirked at me. “Gone on a buggy ride lately?”

  I stepped up to him and put on my best Tanisha impersonation. I wouldn’t tell a man Joel’s size off, but my best friend would. “Do you have something to say to me, Joel?”

  “No, boss, just making conversation.” He winked at Miller.

  Miller licked his lips, his eyes darting around.

  “Come on, man,” Clark said.

  Joel snapped his fingers as if he just remembered something. “Know anything about Friday’s auto-buggy accident?”

  My cheeks heated, but I held my ground.

  “The car they mentioned sounded an awful lot like yours.” He wore an unnerving grin. “I didn’t see your vehicle in the parking lot today.”