Best-Laid Plants

by Marty Wingate

  Moving to the French doors, Pru slung her bag across her shoulder and felt the weight of the journals within as her phone rang.

  “Christopher!”

  “Sorry, we’re still sorting things out here. I haven’t found Cherry.”

  “He’s here,” Pru whispered furiously. “We’ve had a problem. You need to—”

  A roar behind her cut off her words, and she turned to see Dr. Cherrystone, risen from the near-dead, wielding the chair high over his head on its way to crashing down on her.

  Found the girl and a friend practicing the 100-yard dash on the path by the glasshouse. C held the stopwatch for them. BB

  Chapter 39

  Pru threw her arms up and ducked as the chair smashed against the doorframe. She dropped her phone, but didn’t stop for it—instead, she clutched her bag under an elbow and ran. Down the stone path she flew. She heard Cherry behind her shouting something about “no use,” but she believed it was of great use to run, because she thought at this point she might be in better shape than he. After all, no one had clocked her with a crystal perfume bottle and knocked her senseless.

  Pru took every turn she came to, hoping to confuse him—right into the Long View, right again out a side path of the Thyme Walk, down a narrow corridor of yew and out onto a secondary gravel path where, across the lawn, she caught sight of movement in the abandoned glasshouse. She pivoted and dashed off the other way. Left now, crossing the Stilt Garden and onto the other side of the Long View. At the entry to the White Garden, she dared to slow and glance over her shoulder, but damn the man, here he came out of another opening and only ten steps away.

  Circling round the Woodland Garden and dashing across the footbridge, Pru cut the corner off Magnolia Mound and ran into the Pool Garden. The thick coating of duckweed on the water looked full of shot holes from the rain. She held her breath and listened for approaching footsteps—she heard nothing but the thud of her heart. Climbing into one of the corner beds, she shoved her bag behind a tall Viburnum tinus, half its leaves beaten off by the storm. As she crawled backward out from the corner, powerful arms encircled her waist, dragged her from the raised bed, and lifted her off the ground.

  Pru screamed and Cherry yelled in her ear as he careened left and right, struggling to stay upright and squeezing her round the middle. In the distance, she heard, “Pru? Pru?” And then what sounded like, “What are you doing here?”

  Pru shouted back, “Run, Coral—the police are on their—”

  The last word was lost as Cherry’s knee hit the edge of the pool. He cried out and released Pru, and she dropped into the water face-first.

  Before she could fight her way up, a hand or a foot on her back shoved her down and held her in the murk. She floundered, holding her breath and flailing, desperate to knock him off balance. Had she succeeded? The heavy weight vanished, and Pru struggled to rise and gain her footing on the muddy bottom. When she stood gasping and coughing, it was to see Cherry charging toward her to finish the job. But as his arms reached out, from nowhere Ger Crombie appeared.

  He launched himself through the air at Cherry, and both men crashed to the ground, Cherry crying out as Ger landed on top.

  Coral rushed through the yew arch and—with only a glance at the fisticuffs—ran to Pru.

  “Here now,” she said, leaning over the edge and offering her arms. Unfortunately, she got in the way of the two men, who wrestled on the stone pavers as they threw punches. Cherry kicked out, and his foot landed solidly on Coral’s bottom, causing her to lurch forward. Pru caught her, but couldn’t stop Coral’s momentum, and into the water they tumbled.

  They both thrashed about before Pru once again gained purchase on the slick pool floor. She pulled Coral up, and they waded to the edge to see that Ger had the upper hand in the fight.

  “You did all this for your bloody mansions, was it?” Cherry lay flat on the ground, fighting for breath, eyes and mouth wide. Ger had his knees on the doctor’s chest and one arm braced against his shoulder. “Thought you’d stitch me up for all your doings?”

  “Turns out you were as useless to me as you are to everyone else,” Cherry gasped.

  Ger raised the other arm high, his fist tight and ready to strike.

  “Ger!” Pru yelled and coughed. “Don’t!” She climbed out of the pool sloshing and stumbling toward them, aiming to take hold of Ger’s arm. But she slipped on the wet stones, and—arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance—she knocked Ger away and landed on Cherry herself. The doctor grabbed for her arms, and Pru lashed out. She couldn’t see, but she could feel the contact of her knuckles against skin and bone and hear Cherry’s cry before she broke free.

  “Stand back,” Coral shouted. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Coral, soaked and with her chignon hanging in one long, soggy sausage curl, had taken the last perfume bottle out of her pocket and stood cocked and ready.

  A whistle pierced the air and all four of them froze, eyes darting to the yew opening. “Everyone stay where you are,” Sergeant Appledore announced.

  Ger made a run for it.

  He dashed to the far entrance, and Pru scrambled after him, cutting him off just before he got there, and flinging her arms wide as if trying to corral a skittish goose. “No, Ger—stay. Sergeant,” she called, “Ger Crombie saved our lives—Coral’s and mine.”

  Pru directed her gaze at Coral, who dropped the perfume bottle back into her pocket. “He did, Sergeant. I daresay Cherry would’ve drowned Pru before you arrived if it weren’t for Mr. Crombie.”

  Appledore cut his gaze from Cherry, who had a rapidly swelling black eye, to Ger, whose nose dripped blood. “I have my orders,” the sergeant said and marched directly to the doctor. “Dr. Arthur Cherrystone, I am arresting you for the murder of Batsford Bede.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Cherry shouted, still on the ground, but sitting up. “Look what he’s done to me!”

  “I did that,” Pru called out. “I gave him the black eye.”

  Appledore paid no attention to the protest, but continued cautioning Cherry, explaining his rights while nodding to the two PCs who had followed him in. Mills and Fuller they were, and they went directly for Ger, who bobbed and weaved trying to get round Pru and make his escape.

  “Ger, you are not in trouble,” Pru said, a statement she hoped with all her heart was true. “You will need to go to the police station—”

  Ger cursed. “I won’t let them take me in.”

  “No, only to give a statement. We’ll ring Bram and she’ll meet you there.”

  Ger dropped his head. “Bram. I let her down.”

  Coral had crept up beside Pru, and now she leaned forward and said, “It was very good of you to find me on the path and then come and rescue Pru. You’re a hero for that, you know.”

  “I saw her”—Ger jerked his head toward Pru, but made eye contact with no one—“running, and him after her. Over by the glasshouse—that’s where I spent the night.”

  “Ger,” Coral continued gently. “Is it Gerard?”

  “No, miss,” Ger mumbled as if replying to a teacher. “Gerald.”

  “Well, Gerald, Bram mentioned you to my uncle Batty only a fortnight ago.” At that, Ger did look at her, his eyes wide and fearful. “And Uncle Batty said how good it was that you were working for her, because she needed the help.”

  “He knew I was here?”

  Coral nodded and smiled. “Yes. He said he’d seen you down in the meadows.”

  “He knew I was here!” Ger shouted at Cherry, who now stood handcuffed with Sergeant Appledore’s hand on his shoulder. “He knew and it didn’t matter. You lied to me!”

  “Inspector Pearse,” Sergeant Appledore announced, and everyone snapped to attention. “All in hand, sir.”

  Christopher stood at the entrance taking in the scene. Pru thought they must’ve looked like a demented pool party. Three uniformed officers—Appledore with the doctor in handcuffs and two PCs standing with a docile Ger.
Pru and Coral were the only two to have taken the plunge and were now covered in slime with bits of duckweed stuck in their hair and covering their clothes, making them look like giant Chia Pets.

  The autumn sun angled its light into the Pool Garden, throwing her into shade and, for the first time in more than a week, Pru felt a chill. She shuddered, and Christopher sprinted to her.

  “Hello,” she said brightly, reaching up and attempting to untangle her clip from her mass of hair and slime.

  He cupped her face in his hands, wiping off some muck with his thumb. She saw the question in his eyes.

  “Yes, we are all right,” she reported. “Aren’t we, Coral?”

  Coral gazed at the green film that had closed over on the surface of the water. “I’d say it’s time to have the pool cleaned.”

  “You carry on,” Pru said to Christopher. “We’re fine here.”

  He turned his attention to police business, and Pru sat down on the edge of the pool. The mud had started to dry and draw up on her skin, but her clothes remained wet and clammy. If only she could strip and have a proper bath. Would she and Coral be allowed to leave or would they, too, head for the station to give statements?

  Coral remained standing and surveying the area, although Pru noticed her eyes deftly skipping over the police.

  “I’ll need to plan Uncle Batty’s service. We’ll have it here in the gardens, of course,” she said, half to herself. “And the burial.”

  “He wanted to be buried next to your mother?” Pru asked. “Is she here, at Glebe House?”

  “Couldn’t you guess?” Coral asked, her eyes shining. “Under the bench at the top of the Long View. Where the lily of the valley grows. The view runs all the way to the meadows.”

  Pru put a hand to her heart as a tear leaked out her eye. She flicked it away with a mucky finger.

  “Very good, Sergeant,” Christopher said. “Pru—the codicil?”

  “In my bag there, under that Viburnum tinus.” She nodded toward the evergreen shrub in the corner. “The journals are in there, and the codicil is in the third one.”

  “No,” Coral said. “It isn’t there.”

  “What?”

  “I thought it would be safer elsewhere,” Coral answered. “I hid it behind the tapestry in my room. It’s propped up on the wainscoting.”

  The tapestry of Constance’s meadows. With a laugh, Pru said, “Good thinking.”

  As Appledore and the PCs escorted their charges out of the Pool Garden, Christopher said, “See that Dr. Cherrystone and Mr. Crombie travel in separate cars. Bram is on her way to the station.”

  Disregarding her condition, Christopher put his arm round Pru’s shoulders, and they followed Coral out of the Pool Garden and to Mr. Bede’s courtyard. On their way through, PC Mills held up a plastic bag to show they’d retrieved the codicil.

  They reached the yard in front of Glebe House just as a Range Rover screeched to a halt, sending up a spray of gravel. Oliver popped out of the passenger side and without pause ran to Coral and swept her up in his arms.

  Coral responded in kind, and over muffled offerings of “I’m sorry…” and “I was afraid you…” John Bennet-Smythe put an elbow out the driver’s window and said to Pru and Christopher, “When he heard you were on your way to Glebe House with officers, I thought he’d do himself injury getting out of the drive—thought I’d better bring him over myself.”

  The grand reunion was short-lived. The next minute, Coral stood with her arms stiff at her sides, as Oliver pleaded. “He is, but he isn’t. You have to let me explain.”

  “Look now,” Christopher said, “why don’t we hold off explanations?”

  “Yes,” Pru said. “Coral, we’ll need to go to the station to give our statements.”

  “I think we can delay that until you’ve cleaned up,” Christopher said, eyeing her.

  That was a relief—of sorts. “Right, then, off to the Copper Beech.” She didn’t relish the walk down the lane, squishing with each step, but they were in no fit state to sit in a car.

  “No, not the B&B.” She saw that ghost of a smile. “The storm knocked out the Copper Beech electrics—the only cottage to lose power. There’s a thought that it might have had something to do with Mr. Draycott’s unusual wiring. We’ll have to stay at the Hall tonight. As will Mrs. Draycott and Coral.”

  My God, a house party.

  Today, we laid to rest Crumpet under the martagon lilies in the Pool Garden. I returned later to find the girl sitting next to his grave amid the flowers. Said she only wanted to keep him company a little longer. BB

  Chapter 40

  Pru and Coral rode in the backseat of John’s Range Rover for the short journey to Grenadine Hall—Inspector Pearse had left for the station, as he had a great deal to do. Coral remained silent and still while Oliver, in the front passenger seat, fidgeted. Pru had at first protested John’s offer of a lift, afraid of the mess they’d leave, but John had said not to worry, he’d had worse, and proceeded to tell a story of transporting a neighbor’s dog that had suffered from digestive problems. That’s why he’d had the tarpaulin in the back, upon which they sat.

  The field that had played host to the fête appeared to lie in shambles—the bouncy castle only a lump, marquees flattened and poles strewn about. But, upon further inspection, Pru realized there was order to the chaos—the marquees were being dismantled. John reported that there had been no serious injuries from the storm, and everyone had started to clear out of the house once the rain had stopped. The highlight of the afternoon’s entertainment had been the lightning strike.

  “You can see the oak that was hit from here.” Pru looked back over the field in the direction of Glebe House, and saw a tree that looked as if it had exploded—half its canopy was gone, and a thin trail of smoke still rose. It was the same oak Pru had been standing under when the storm approached.

  At the Hall, Pru and Coral headed for the back entrance to the mudroom, and on their way, met Jo, who stopped dead and looked the two women up and down. She raised her eyebrows and said, “Well, Pru, I know you love your gardens, but you don’t think this is a bit much?”

  Pru laughed so loudly she slapped a slimy hand over her mouth. Jo grinned and said, “Christopher rang to tell us you were both all right. Good to see you again, Coral.”

  “And you,” Coral replied.

  “Granny!”

  Cordelia, Lucy, and Ollie—who clutched a small plastic gnome that held a spade in one hand and a pipe in the other—came up the path from the kitchen garden, and Ollie ran for Jo.

  Coral froze. Oliver drew near and took her hand, but she pulled it away. If Pru’s face hadn’t started to set with all the mud and muck, she would’ve found it easier to raise her brows and roll her eyes.

  “Hello, all,” she said, ignoring the state she was in. “Coral, remember you met my friends from London last evening—Cordelia and Lucy.”

  Coral had plastered a pleasant expression on her face barely discernible through the duckweed. “Yes, hello, lovely to see you again.” Coral cast a quick glance at the boy with them.

  “But you’ve yet to meet their son, Ollie.”

  Coral looked at Ollie, then at Cordelia and Lucy, cut her eyes at Oliver, and returned her gaze to the women. “Your son?”

  “Yes,” Pru replied. “Cordelia and Lucy’s son. They are Ollie’s parents. Two mums.”

  “Parents?” Coral echoed. “You’re Ollie’s parents?” A smile spread slowly across her face, causing a blob of muck to fall off. “How lovely—how perfectly lovely.” She reached over and took Oliver’s hand, then leaned over toward the boy. “Hello, Ollie, I’m Coral.”

  “You green,” Ollie said.

  Coral looked down at her skirt in surprise. “Well, so I am. That’s because I need a bath.”

  “You see,” Lucy said to her son, “even grown-ups take baths.”

  —

  Pru certainly enjoyed hers. Afterward, she wrapped herself in the thick bathrobe lef
t for her and sat at the window in the same room she’d stayed in three years before. The only difference now being Christopher would be staying with her. That, plus Mr. Bede’s murder, experiencing Glebe House gardens, getting to know Coral and Mrs. Draycott and Cyn and the rest of them. Nothing like a murder as a way to learn intimate details of people’s lives in only a week.

  John had collected Mrs. Draycott from the Copper Beech, helping her to pack up Coral’s room as well as Pru and Christopher’s before the light faded. Mrs. Draycott accompanied John and the bags upstairs and looked in on Coral first, and Pru after, to commiserate on the shocking turn of events.

  “My only regret,” she said to Pru, “is that Mr. Draycott did not install the petrol generator he had always promised to do before he died. Otherwise, we would all be safely tucked up at the Copper Beech now with our dinner.”

  Pru could’ve sworn she saw, behind those thick lenses, a hint of merriment in the landlady’s eyes.

  “And which room is yours here at the Hall?” she asked.

  “I will not be staying, much as I appreciate Natalie and John’s invitation,” Mrs. Draycott replied. “I’ll be bunking with Lizzy until we’ve sorted out the B&B wiring. But before I left, she and Cynthia joined me in performing a…well, I suppose you could call it a Moving On ceremony.”

  The title of the event alarmed Pru. “You aren’t moving, are you?”

  “No, certainly not. Not physically, at least, but in other ways, yes. This afternoon, I released Mr. Draycott’s last piece of toast.”

  Gave it a proper burial, Pru hoped. “Well, good for you.”

  “Thank you. I hope the chickens are as happy about it.” Mrs. Draycott handed Pru a large brown packet. “This is for you from Lizzy—I believe she told you to expect it. You may open it.”