Reap a Wicked Harvest

by Janis Harrison

  Jacob brushed by me. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”

  “But I want to know why—” I stopped in midsentence. Jacob was gone. I shook my head. He might be new to the Parker payroll, but he’d already learned that when Jess spoke everyone snapped to attention.

  I wandered toward the back of the garden where boulders formed the outer boundary. On the far side of them was the road Dad and I’d taken up to the greenhouse. In front of the rocks was a bridge that arched over a stream. A man-made pool contained a circulating pump that pushed water uphill, where it cascaded over the limestone boulders. After a tumultuous rush, the water flowed back under the bridge and into the lagoon, where it languished in the sun until its next surge over the falls. Crags and crevices were home to rock-hugging sedum. My gaze traveled over the green leaves of the deciduous trees, touched gently on the blue-green needles of some junipers, but lingered on the lime-colored hosta lilies with their rounded, puckered leaves.

  I moved to the center of the bridge and leaned against the railing. Cleome, Jacob’s mother, was a staunch Amish woman. She would be frantic with worry over her son. Evan would be upset, too, but he’d keep his concerns to himself. I thought about those gentle people and wondered what they would do if Jacob decided not to take his Amish vow.

  I crossed the bridge and walked beside the pool. A school of Japanese koi, a colorful species of carp, swirled the water in hope of a treat. Since I had nothing to feed them, I moved on, following the stepping-stone path. At my leisure, I enjoyed the plants and when a particular specimen caught my eye, I pulled the copper identification tag from the ground so I could accurately copy the botanical as well as the common name of the plant into a small notebook I’d brought with me.

  As I pushed the sharp prongs of the marker back into the dirt, I heard voices off to my left. Still on my haunches, I swiveled around and saw Irma Todd wrapped in Harley Sizemore’s embrace.

  I scuttled over to a patch of shade and watched with unabashed interest. Irma was stoop-shouldered, round-faced, and had a tangle of shoulder-length brown hair. Her bangs had been teased into a crested wave. She was in her late forties and had been the Parkers’ bookkeeper for several years. I’d considered her a dull, tedious woman, but there was nothing boring in the way she caressed Harley’s brawny back.

  Harley was maintenance man for these gardens. He was in his early forties with a classic Fu Manchu mustache. He’d elected to wear blue jeans instead of shorts, but his jade green T-shirt fit his muscular torso like it had been painted on his skin.

  Unobtrusively, I left the garden, wondering if Natalie knew that Irma and Harley had a romance going. Feeling guilty that I’d left my father alone, I went back to the lodge. I found him on the front porch, entertaining a group of people. With a pad of paper on his knee and a pencil in his hand, he was sketching and talking. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, so I walked closer. My lips thinned into a grim line at his words.

  “From an acorn a mighty oak tree can grow,” he said. “That’s the way I feel about investigations. A tiny clue can bring a criminal to justice. The smallest slip-up and BAM!” He slapped the paper with the palm of his hand, making his audience jump.

  My father smiled. “When a culprit is apprehended he has that reaction—total surprise that his scheme has been exposed. My daughter, Bretta Solomon, has experience rousting worms out of the woodwork, but she’s often busy with her flower-shop business. I, on the other hand, am footloose and fancy-free. I have cards with me. Take one and if I can be of service, please give me a call.”

  My accomplishments as an amateur detective had been played up in our local newspaper, which I’d learned my father had subscribed to during the years he was away. Dad had come back to River City with the idea of us partnering a detective agency. I’d quickly put the kibosh to that idea—or so I’d thought.

  Amazed, I watched interested people pick up the cards and tuck them into pockets or wallets. While the others moved on, one woman lingered. I gave her a hard study. It took ten seconds before I recognized Allison Thorpe. She owned a flower shop and was my biggest competitor. But this was a new and improved Allison. Her tanned legs were displayed in a pair of white shorts. Her blue T-shirt was neatly tucked under the waistband. Her eyebrows, which were usually as bushy as a squirrel’s tail, had been plucked and shaped into gentle arches.

  My father offered Allison his arm and the two of them strolled off, gazing into each other’s eyes. Not once had he looked in my direction. “There must be something in the air,” I muttered. I stepped to the end of the buffet line and filled my plate. Searching for a place to sit, I saw the size of the crowd had dwindled from when Dad and I’d first arrived. I made myself comfortable at a table with some out-of-town visitors.

  Natalie was everywhere, making everyone feel welcome. On one of her trips past me, she stopped and gave me a brief hug. “Emily said she told you about Dan’s mother.”

  “Are you flying to Oregon?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to call the airlines about a flight.” She gave me a tired smile. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow and tell you my plans.” She hurried off.

  The shadows lengthened. Plates were discarded and a sudden quiet fell over the gathering. It had been a nice afternoon, a pleasant change of pace from my structured life. I get so wrapped up in my flower-shop business that I sometimes forget how to relax. I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the sky, waiting for the first burst of pyrotechnics.

  It wasn’t long until the air was bombarded with sparkling stars, flashes of bright light and loud explosions. Comets streaked across the night sky and detonated into shapes that resembled large allium blossoms. The crowd was appreciative with frequent and enthusiastic applause. When the display came to a loud, riotous conclusion, yard lights were switched on and people headed for their vehicles.

  I was ready to leave, too, but I hadn’t seen my father. To make myself useful, I folded some chairs and carried them to a storage shed. I was on my way back for another load when Allison Thorpe burst out of the garden entrance. My father tottered after her. Allison rushed for the lodge, but my father came to a standstill, frantically searching the yard. I waved. When he caught sight of me, he limped forward.

  I braced myself. His face was pale, his gait unsteady. I figured we were in for a trip to the Emergency Room because he’d eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him.

  Before I could speak, he grabbed my arm and gasped. “There’s a body in the garden, blood everywhere. There’s a killer on the loose.”

  Chapter Two

  My father’s words brought immediate action. All around us cell phones were drawn like six-shooters. Electronic crickets chirruped as 911 was punched in.

  “Wait! Wait!” I said. These people didn’t know my father. They didn’t know that his imagination could be as rampant as hen bit on fertile soil. He might have seen something, but then again, it might be nothing at all.

  “Don’t call—” I started to say, but the deed was done. Turning to the man next to me, I said, “Wouldn’t it have been better to check his story before placing that call?”

  “Not if a killer is out there.” He gestured to a woman who was huddled with four kids. “Let’s go.”

  “You made one of the calls,” I said. “You have to stay until the authorities arrive.”

  The man brushed past me. He picked up the smallest child, grabbed the woman’s arm, and they jogged down the drive with the rest of the kids in tow. Others were making a hasty exit as word spread. I heard snatches of conversation as people hurried past.

  “—bloodbath in the garden.”

  “—several are dead.”

  “—there’s an eyewitness, but he got away to warn us.”

  I studied my father—the eyewitness. He seemed to have aged ten years. His shoulders were hunched, his face pale and drawn. “Dad,” I said gently. “Are you sure about the body? Could it have been a shadow? A trick of the light?”
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  “All the lights were shut off, but it isn’t a matter of having seen the body, Bretta. I touched the leg. I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman. I don’t know who it is, but there’s definitely a body in the garden.”

  I couldn’t hide my skepticism. I’d just spent a relaxing few hours. I was ready for a good night’s sleep, not the horrors that faced us if what my father said was true.

  He stared at me, then sadly shook his head. Pointing to his trousers, he said, “If you need further evidence, daughter, there it is.” The white material was streaked with what could have been blood, but in this light it was hard to tell. “I stumbled over something in the dark. When I reached down to see what it was, I touched a leg. It was still warm. The air was heavy with an acrid odor.” He gulped. “I’m a farm boy. I know the scent of freshly spilled blood.”

  I couldn’t dispute that claim. If my father said he’d smelled blood, then I had to believe him. I touched his sleeve. “Are you all right?”

  He whispered brokenly, “I’ll recover, but I might not ever be the same. It’s one thing to smell an animal’s blood, but quite another to smell a human’s.”

  Natalie rushed up. Her eyes were enormous in her round, pale face. “Bretta, Allison says your father found a body in the garden. What are we going to do?”

  I stared at the matte of foliage that had been welcoming in the sunlight but looked threatening by night. Shivering, I said, “Wait for the authorities.”

  Natalie’s fingers gripped my arm. “Who is it? Shouldn’t we do something?”

  “Dad didn’t see who it was. I think the safest place for us is right here.” I swept the area with a worried gaze. “People are leaving. The authorities will want to question everyone. You should try to keep them on the property. Those gates at the bottom of the hill need to be closed.”

  My father hobbled to a golf cart parked in the driveway and slid behind the wheel. I thought he’d taken the closest seat available because his legs ached. I should have known better.

  “Don’t give those gates another thought,” said Dad. “The bastard isn’t getting away.”

  “No! Dad! No!” But he didn’t stop. My father headed down the drive. His gray hair shone in the headlights as he recklessly drove between cars, cutting them off. Gravel rolled under tires as brake lights flared red.

  “Your father is a brave man,” said Natalie.

  “Brave?” I heaved a sigh. “He’s nuts. What was he doing in the garden, anyway? Why wasn’t he watching the fireworks with the rest of us?”

  Natalie smiled shakily. “From what Allison said, she and your father were having a clandestine meeting.”

  “Clandestine? Why? They’re both way beyond the age of consent.”

  I hadn’t noticed Allison standing nearby. At my words she stormed over and set me straight. “I’ll have you know, Bretta, we had your best interests at heart. I told your father you don’t like me, and we’d best keep our friendship a secret.”

  I spluttered. “I don’t like you? What about how you feel about me?”

  Allison’s tone was haughty. “That’s immaterial at the moment.”

  Natalie held up her hands. “This is all immaterial. I want to know who is in my garden. Who’s dead?”

  Allison shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see the body. Bertie and I didn’t have a flashlight.”

  I gasped. “Bertie?” Not by any stretch of the imagination was my father a Bertie.

  Allison tossed her head. “Bertie stumbled in the dark. I grabbed him around the waist to help steady him. He put his arm around me and we—” She stopped and shot me a quick glance.

  I kept my face impassive, but inside I cringed. Of all the women my father could have chosen, why had he picked Allison? I motioned for her to continue. “Go on,” I said. “We get the picture.”

  Knowing that it would annoy me, Allison said, “Once Bertie and I came up for air, he told me he’d tripped over something. He reached down and touched a leg. That’s when he hustled me out of there.”

  “Dad says there’s blood.”

  Allison lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t see it, but the grass was slick under my feet.”

  Natalie and I looked at her shoes. My stomach lurched. The white leather was heavily discolored. This time there was no doubt. It was fresh blood.

  Allison bent over to get a better view of her feet. Her voice held an incredulous note. “How much blood does a human body hold? It looks like I waded in it.” She stood up and the realization of what she’d said sank in. She screeched. “I want these shoes off. I want—” She gagged. And gagged again. “I’m gonna be sick,” she mumbled, her hand clasped over her mouth.

  I never thought I’d have anything in common with Allison Thorpe, but at that moment I was in total agreement. Bile burned my throat and made my eyes water. Natalie grabbed Allison’s arm and guided her to the privacy of a gangly forsythia bush. As I listened to Allison eject the contents of her stomach, I wondered if I’d have to join her behind the shrub. Waves of nausea rolled over me. I shut out the sounds of Allison’s retching and focused on the people.

  They stood in tight groups, watching and waiting. I wished for more light so I could study the faces, but the glow from the yard and porch lights didn’t extend to where most had congregated. Donovan had arrived. His arm was wrapped around Emily. I thought I saw Harley, but in the dark I couldn’t be sure. I searched for Jacob, but didn’t see him. Jess, however, caught my eye and started toward me. I shook my head at him. I didn’t feel like talking.”

  Time crawled as tension mounted. The greenhouses were twenty minutes from River City. Help would be at least that far away unless a patrol car happened to be cruising in this part of the county. That didn’t seem to be the case, as more minutes passed. My heart’s rhythm settled into a wait-and-see pattern. Then I caught the unmistakable sound of sirens in the distance.

  The cacophony increased as the cars got closer. My pulse thudded with dread at what was coming—the disclosure of the body’s identity, the questions, the piecing together of information. I hadn’t used the word murder even in my thoughts, but that was the logical conclusion.

  Tires squealed at the bottom of the bluff, but the sirens didn’t cease. We traced their route up the hill by the flashing lights that shone against the treetops. As the entourage rolled toward us, I swallowed uneasily. The third car in the parade of emergency vehicles belonged to Sidney Hancock, sheriff of Spencer County.

  From the moment Sid stepped from his patrol car he made it known that he was in charge. He issued orders to his deputies. They fanned out along the driveway, facing the fortress of foliage.

  A paramedic shouted, “Where we going, Sheriff?”

  “I’m about to find out,” said Sid. He went around his car and opened the passenger door. Only then did I see my father sitting on the front seat. He tried to get out, but his movements were stiff and painful. Sid reached in to assist, but my father quickly shrugged away his offer of help.

  Once my father was standing, Sid said something I couldn’t hear. My father replied, “I think I remember.”

  From his answer and given the circumstances, I figured Sid had asked my father to take him to the body. I was pretty sure what my reception would be, but I didn’t want my father to face that task without moral support. I walked toward them, my shoes crunching on the gravel.

  Sid spun around. He proves the adage that redheads have fiery tempers. His was in control at the moment, but he was as volatile as a keg of TNT. My husband had been one of Sid’s deputies and a good friend. I couldn’t make that claim. Sid didn’t approve of my amateur sleuthing, even though I’d had favorable results.

  He faced me with his hands on his gun belt and his shoulders bowed in an aggressive manner. In a fairly pleasant tone, he said, “I assumed you’d be here when I saw your father. Whose idea was it to station him at the gate?”

  “His.”

  Sid nodded. “Let’s hope he can be just as resourceful when
it comes to leading us to the body. He’s told me the story, but he’s a little hazy on the location. From his general directions, I’ve sent two officers into the garden, but we may need him to narrow the search. Since you’re here, you can come with us.”

  “What do you mean hazy?”

  “He says he found the body near a piece of statuary.”

  My heart sank. “I can think of at least six different statues in this garden.”

  Dad said, “It was a big piece of marble.”

  “That’s helpful,” muttered Sid. “Let’s get started.” He motioned for my father and me to follow him.

  When Natalie, Allison, and several others fell into step behind us, Sid roared, “Holy crap! This ain’t no sideshow. You all stay put. Deputy, I don’t want anyone in these gardens except authorized personnel. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the deputy. “Let’s go, folks. Everyone up on the porch where I can keep an eye on you.”

  As we entered the garden, I glanced back. About thirty people were being herded toward the lodge. I wanted to see who was present and who was missing, but Sid nudged me. “Keep walking,” he said. “Stay next to me. Don’t go off on any of your wild tangents.”

  I had no intention of doing anything except making sure my father was all right. He was shakier than usual, unsteady on his feet. I realized he didn’t have his walking stick.

  Sid had his head turned, talking into his walkie-talkie. In an undertone, I asked Dad, “Where’s your walking stick?”

  He cast a swift look ahead of us. I had no doubt that he’d dropped it when he’d stumbled over the body. I decided it would be in my father’s best interests if I explained before Sid put his own spin on the situation.

  “Uh … Sid,” I began. “My father—”

  “Shh!” he hissed at me. Into the radio, he said, “Yeah. Go ahead.” He listened intently, but all I heard was gibberish and static.