Reap a Wicked Harvest

by Janis Harrison

  “You have a birthday coming up in a few days, right?”

  I gave Natalie a hard stare. I wasn’t the only one capable of diverting attention. I said, “You know my birthday is tomorrow.”

  “What’s on your wish list?”

  “I can’t have what I want.”

  Natalie stopped at the door of the orchid house and cocked an eyebrow at me. “And what would that be?”

  “Bailey. He’s gone, and he hasn’t called me once.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting until tomorrow so he can give you his best wishes.”

  “He may not know it’s my birthday.”

  Natalie held open the door to the lab. As I walked past her, she said, “He’s a government agent. He knows.”

  Following her lead, I picked up a paper gown and shoved my arms into the sleeves. “Ex-agent, and he may very well exit my life.”

  She shook her head at my moroseness but didn’t comment until we’d finished covering our clothes and shoes. “We’ll discuss Bailey later,” she said. “Right now, I have to check the temperature and humidity in the nursery. While I’m here, Dan wants me to examine the seedpods on the Oncidium lanceanum.”

  I chuckled. “That sounds like a disease. What are you looking for?”

  “Dan says that by now the seedpods should be expanding if his hand pollination was a success.”

  “Where are these plants? I’d like to see them.”

  She waved toward a bench on the right. “They’re the ones in the middle.”

  Natalie hurried across the concrete floor to the back of the greenhouse. I stepped over to the bench of orchids. Everything was precisely labeled and it was easy to spot the specimen Dan was interested in.

  The O. lanceanum was a striking plant. The leaves were twenty inches long and four inches wide. They were stiff and erect and mottled with brown. The foot-tall flower stem had produced some small yellow flowers spotted with reddish brown and sporting a purplish rose lip. I leaned close and inspected the plants. I didn’t have a clue as to what I was looking for on this orchid.

  “Are they swollen?” asked Natalie, coming up behind me.

  I shrugged. “I could whip these few blossoms into a gorgeous bouquet, but I wouldn’t know an orchid seed pod if it reached out and nipped me on the nose.”

  Natalie pulled the plant closer. “See? This is the column.” With gentle fingers she touched what I’d have called the stem. “All the reproductive parts of the flower are located here,” she said. “The column contains the stigma, which receives the pollen, and the anther cap, which holds it.” Her fingers moved down the column. “This is the ovary.”

  “It’s called an ovary?”

  “Yes. It’s just below the flower and resembles a flower stalk. It contains the ovules, which contains the embryo sac. If Dan’s hand pollination has worked, the ovary will be plump with seeds.”

  I leaned my head close to hers so I could have a look. “Was he successful?”

  “I’m not an expert, but it looks like it’s expanding.”

  “How did he pollinate it?”

  “He uses an artist’s brush and tranfers the pollen—powdered male-sex cells—from the anther of the stamen of the flower to the upper tip of the pistil. If fertilization is completed, the ovary will develop seeds.” She took a step back from the plant and sighed. “When I talk to him later, I’ll tell him the seeds are forming.”

  Without thinking, I said, “He should be one proud papa.”

  Natalie’s smile was sad. “That’s exactly how he’ll feel.” She waved her hand to our surroundings. “Remember, I told you that I was jealous of this place. I said it was because Dan spends so much time here. Actually, I’m jealous of these plants because they have the capacity to reproduce. Dan and I have a wonderful marriage, but to create a child together is a lifelong link we’ll never have.”

  “At least you have each other,” I said quietly.

  “I know.” Natalie touched my hand. “When Carl died, I couldn’t begin to comprehend your pain. Don’t you ever wish you’d had a child with him?”

  My heart lurched painfully in my chest. I didn’t want to have this conversation, but Natalie expected a reply. “Of course,” I said, “but the time never seemed right. The years just slipped away.” Tears filled my eyes, and I whispered, “I didn’t know our life would be disrupted in the worst possible way.”

  Natalie shook my arm. “But it isn’t too late, Bretta. You could still have a baby.”

  My tears were forgotten. “Are you nuts? I’m too old, too cranky, and too alone.”

  Natalie sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She swiveled around on her toes. “Everywhere I look I see phases of reproduction.” She turned and pointed across the greenhouse. “Dan calls that bench of plants his virgins in waiting. They haven’t been pollinated.” She pointed again. “That bench he’s labeled menopausal because they’re past their prime.” She turned back to the bench next to us. “This one is the maternity ward.” She jerked her head. “Back there is the nursery.”

  I knew what Natalie was getting at. Unable to conceive, she found it painful and frustrating to be in here among plants that were capable of achieving what she could not. I also knew that if I prolonged this conversation, we’d both become depressed. I pretended to miss her point. “They’re just plants,” I said. Immediately, I saw I’d made a wrong decision to treat this conversation lightly.

  A spasm of irritation crossed Natalie’s face. “You don’t understand. Let’s get out of here,” she said as she led the way to the door. She jerked the paper covering from her clothes. “I need comfort food. I wish now I’d made beef stroganoff with lots of sour cream and Parmesan cheese.” She removed the footies from her sneakers and added, “But I’ve got that cheesecake. I think I’ll start with dessert and forget the chef salad. It’s too damned healthy.”

  I took a final look around the greenhouse. An uneasy feeling had settled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t put my finger on the reason, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with Natalie’s exasperation with me.

  Annoyed with myself, I followed Natalie up the driveway. How in heaven’s name did I think I could possibly comprehend a killer’s motives, when I couldn’t interpret my own body’s signal that something wasn’t right?

  Was it the plants? Did Dan’s orchids play a part in Marnie’s death?

  A glimmer of a concept flickered in my mind. Natalie had said a baby was a lifelong link. I’m giving away the last link I have to you, Dixie had said to Jacob. Unbidden Carl’s face flashed into my mind. His expression was sad. His lips turned down. Was he disappointed? Why? Did he know about—

  I recoiled from the image and my thoughts. Stepping up my pace, I caught up to Natalie and said the first thing that popped into my mind. “I’m thinking about having a swimming pool put in my garden.”

  She turned her head and stared at me. “I’m thinking cheesecake.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Natalie was as good as her word. She lit into the blueberry cheesecake, cutting a huge wedge for herself. She was in a mood. I tried to introduce a variety of topics to discuss, but nothing seemed to improve her disposition.

  After picking and poking at a second helping of cheesecake, Natalie pushed the saucer aside and dished up a bowl of chef’s salad. In a whiny tone, she said, “I detest black olives. Why did I put them in here?” She glared across the table at me. “It’s because you like them. Now I’m going to have to pick them out.”

  I made a face. “Jeez, Natalie. If you want me to leave just say so. It’s a good thing Dan is coming home tomorrow. Another day together under the same roof and you and I won’t be speaking.”

  “That isn’t true,” she snapped. “I just don’t like black olives. I was trying to make something that would please you.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, her voice was calmer. “I’m being ridiculous. Dan’s laboratory does that to me. It brings out feelings I can’t always handle. I
wish you could—”

  The phone rang. “Maybe that’s Dan,” said Natalie. She jumped up and scurried out of the room. There was a phone on the wall by the refrigerator, but apparently, Natalie wanted privacy. A few minutes later, she stepped to the door. She seemed flustered. “I’m going to be awhile. Why don’t you go ahead and finish eating?”

  “Is it Dan?”

  She frowned. “Uh … no, it isn’t Dan.” She turned and walked back to the study.

  “That’s odd,” I said under my breath. But then Natalie had been acting strangely since we’d visited Dan’s orchid house. She’d said that his greenhouse brought out feelings she couldn’t always handle.

  I hoped when Natalie got off the phone, she’d be in a better mood. I had finished reading Paige’s letters. I wanted to make a trip into River City to give them back to Mrs. Cooper, if she didn’t mind the company. While I was there I thought I might ask her a few more questions.

  While Natalie was in the study, I put the food in the refrigerator, loaded the dishwasher, and spiffed up the kitchen. When I finished, Natalie was still on the phone.

  When … if … she ever got off the line, I wanted to call Mrs. Cooper. I glanced at the clock. Natalie had been on the phone for over thirty minutes. I slammed a cabinet door. Why didn’t she hang up? Who was she talking to? And why was it necessary to gab this long?

  I stared at the cabinet door I’d slammed. What was wrong with me? Was it anxiety? About what? I could pass this time in a productive manner. I tried to sort out the facts of the case but my brain refused to focus on Dixie, Shannon, Paige, or Marnie. Maybe I should call Sid and see if he’d learned anything about Shannon’s murder. Why couldn’t I concentrate? Why was I restless?

  I was pacing the floor when Natalie breezed into the kitchen. “What a wonderful, wonderful day.” She whirled around the room. “I think I’ll make cinnamon rolls to celebrate.”

  “What are you celebrating?”

  She giggled. “Life, and my husband’s homecoming.” She assembled the ingredients she would need for the cinnamon rolls. She opened the upper cabinet doors and gazed at a top shelf. “Would you hand me that crock, Bretta? A double batch is called for, and I need that big bowl.”

  Several inches taller, I rose up on my tiptoes and hauled the container down. I set it on the counter and turned to watch Natalie.

  She floated around the kitchen as if on winged feet. “I’ll need raisins, pecans, and lots of brown sugar.” She glanced at me. “Do you want to help me—”

  I shook my head emphatically. “Nope. I’m calling home to see if everything’s all right.”

  She nodded and studied the pantry shelves. “Where are those raisins? I know I had—”

  I hurried from the kitchen. I was never in the mood to cook, least of all tonight. I went into Dan’s study and sat down behind his desk. I reached for the phone, but it rang before I could pick it up.

  “I’ve got it,” I shouted to Natalie.

  She yelled back, “Unless that’s Dan, I’m too busy to talk. Take a message, and I’ll call back later.”

  “Okay,” I bellowed. A house this size gave the old vocal cords a workout. I picked up the receiver. “Hello,” I said. “This is Bretta.”

  “Hi, Bretta,” said Donovan. “Dinner over?”

  “Yes, and the dirty dishes are washing.”

  “I tried to call earlier, but the line was busy.”

  “Natalie was talking to someone. She won’t say who it was but apparently it was good news.”

  “Maybe it was Dan.”

  “No. It wasn’t him. I don’t know what’s going on, but her mood is so much better than it was before the call, I’m leaving it at that.”

  “Dan’s still coming home tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Natalie’s in the process of making cinnamon rolls for his homecoming.”

  Donovan chuckled. “That’s a good sign. Do you think she’d mind if Emily and I came out?”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t. You want me to ask her?”

  Donovan paused. “No. I think we’ll drive on out.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Actually, I need to catch up on some paperwork, and I thought I’d get more done if Emily was visiting with Natalie instead of waiting impatiently for me at home.”

  “Come ahead. There’s blueberry cheesecake left from dinner.”

  “That’s incentive enough right there,” he said. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  Since I didn’t plan on being here when Donovan arrived, I decided now might be my only opportunity to make an inquiry or two. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Before you hang up, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know you heard everything that Natalie said in the greenhouses this afternoon, but I want to clear up a couple of questions.” Quickly, I outlined what I’d found in the personnel files and gave him a more in-depth account of my information on Dixie. I also told him about meeting Mrs. Cooper, Paige’s mother.

  As I talked, I spun my chair around and spotted a Rand McNally road atlas on the bookcase. I pulled it out and flipped the pages to the back section where it listed United States counties, cities, and towns.

  In my ear Donovan chuckled. “You’ve been busy. So now that I have the background, I assume you’re ready to pick my brain.”

  “What I want to know is, why do these young women go to work at Parker Greenhouse for two weeks and then tell their family they’ve been ‘transferred’ up north?”

  “I don’t know, Bretta. We don’t have a facility anywhere but here.”

  “But why would they each tell the same story?”

  Donovan heaved a sigh. “Can’t this wait until I get out there?”

  “I suppose, but if you have an opinion, I’d like to hear it now.

  “I don’t. In fact, I’m sorry to say I don’t remember these young women. The names are familiar, but I can’t put a face to any of them. That makes it impossible to guess why they’d do or say anything.”

  “But doesn’t it seem odd that they’d come here and work two weeks then leave?”

  “Not at all. We have a large turnover of employees. Greenhouse work is hot and dirty. We rarely take time to smell the flowers.”

  While Donovan elaborated on the preconceived notion people had about working at a greenhouse, I ran my finger down the listing of cities and towns for a place called Frankfurt, Minnesota. I found it—population 3,000. I searched for the thin blue line that would denote the river Dixie had mentioned in her letter to Jacob.

  Using my fingernail I measured off the mileage scale and saw the nearest river was eighty miles away from Frankfurt. But Dixie had written Jacob that she was in a cabin by the river. If she was in a cabin in Frankfurt, Minnesota, where was the river?

  At the end of Donovan’s spiel, he said, “I’m concerned with this ‘transferred up north’ story. Seems like Jess mentioned something about being questioned by a deputy a few months ago, but I can’t remember what it was about. If need be we can call him.”

  I mumbled something, said good-bye, and hung up.

  Before the phone could ring again, I picked it up and quickly touched my home phone numbers. It rang three times before DeeDee answered.

  “Hi,” I said. “I guess you know why I’ve called.”

  “You s-said you w-would.”

  “You can’t come to work out here tomorrow, DeeDee. It’s too dangerous.”

  “It doesn’t seem r-right that t-two of us n-not s-show up for work.”

  I didn’t understand. “Two of you?”

  “Alicia j-just called. She’s b-been transferred up n-north.”

  I stiffened. “How long has she worked at the greenhouse?”

  “Only a week. She k-knew this advance w-was c-coming, but she t-thought it wouldn’t be for a-another week.”

  “Did she say who told her she was being transferred?”

  “No. We d-didn’t talk long. S-she had to p-pack, but s-she wanted
to t-tell m-me good-bye.”

  My heart leaped with excitement. “When is she leaving?”

  “S-she’s being p-picked up at n-nine o’clock. Why a-all the q-questions?”

  I glanced at my watch. It was almost eight-thirty. “DeeDee, what’s Alicia’s address?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Impatiently, I demanded, “What’s her phone number?”

  Paper rustled, and DeeDee said, “555-2833. Bretta, you’re s-scaring me. What’s g-going on?”

  “I gotta go,” I said and hit the disconnect button. When I got a dial tone, I punched in the numbers DeeDee had given me. It rang several times before a man answered. I asked for Alicia.

  Without covering the receiver, he roared, “Alicia! Get your butt down here. Someone wants to talk to you. I ain’t your damned answering service, girl. My beer’s getting hot, and I’ve missed the first part of the news.”

  I cringed at the man’s malicious tone. A minute passed, and then two before I heard a breathless “Hello” in my ear.

  “Alicia? This is Bretta Solomon. I met you today at the greenhouse.”

  “Yes, ma‘am. I can’t talk now, I’m—”

  I forced myself to speak calmly. “Alicia, I’ve heard you’re leaving. Please, don’t go until I’ve talked to you.”

  “Don’t go?” she said in surprise. “But why?”

  “When your ride comes, stall for time until I get there. What’s your address?”

  “I can’t—”

  Almost sure she would respond to a blustery command, I said, “Alicia, what is your address?”

  I heard her gulp. “8112 East Florence.”

  I softened my tone. “Please stay there until I arrive, honey. This is very important.”

  I hung up the phone and started out of Dan’s study. As I reached for the light switch, I saw the aerial photo of the Parker estate hanging by the door. A thin line like a vein traced a path across the corner of the picture. Leaning close I saw that it was the Osage River. The photo was only twelve by fourteen and sturdily framed in oak. On impulse, I reached up and took it down. Tucking it under my arm, I raced down the hall.