by Gin Jones
Helen really needed to talk to Lily and see what could be turned up about Wharton Meadows' financial condition. Of course, Dale's theories about Quattrone having mob backing could be as much a delusion as Marty's conspiracy theory.
"If some mobster killed Sheryl for potentially getting in the way of Wharton Meadows' expansion, aren't you worried that they'll target you for your efforts to block the sale of the community garden?"
"I wish they'd try," Dale said. "I can defend myself, and when I handed them over to the cops, everyone would know who had killed Sheryl and why."
"Still, it's risky," Helen said. "Why is the garden so important to you? Not just that there's a place for people to grow things, but this specific location? I've heard that there's another site that's bigger and more convenient."
"You must have been talking to Annie," Dale said dismissively. "She didn't think I knew, but I hear everything in this town. Annie thought she could convince Sheryl to donate some unbuildable land for use as a community garden, complete with permanent easements preventing it from ever being sold."
"It seems like a reasonable compromise to me."
"That's because you're not a veteran gardener," Dale said. "We've spent years improving the soil here, keeping it organic, studying the microclimate. No two pieces of land have identical growing conditions, you know, not within an agricultural zone and not even within a single town."
"But is the current garden really so much better that it's worth a person's life?"
"If you're asking whether I might have killed Sheryl to protect the garden, the answer is no." Dale was surprisingly calm about the idea that she might be a suspect. "I'm not saying Sheryl didn't get under my skin. She could be a jerk sometimes. Did you know she continued to include a no laundry lines covenant in all her homeowners association bylaws, even though she knew no one wanted the restriction? I think she did it just to annoy me. But I didn't have to kill her to get that restriction deleted any more than I had to kill her to keep the garden where it belongs. Developers may have money on their side, but we've got right on our side."
"In my experience, being right doesn't always carry the day."
"Oh, trust me. I know." Dale finally let some emotion seep through her calm exterior, huffing in frustration. "It shouldn't have come to this. I had everything lined up to designate the land exclusively for recreational use, but then the selectmen got cold feet and insisted on additional time to consider it. That opened the way to Sheryl's death and people thinking the land should be sold in case one of the gardeners killed her."
"Don't you think the selectmen might have been tempted to sell it anyway?" Over the years, Helen had seen her husband struggling with budgets for both the state and its municipalities as the expenses of its employees' health care and pensions were outstripping the ability to pay for them. "Most municipalities have pretty tight budgets these days and wouldn't turn down any reasonable source of revenue. It's not just the immediate proceeds from the sale of the land that they'd be getting but also the future stream of tax revenue once the property is privately owned."
"Perhaps," Dale said. "All I know is that bickering among ourselves won't help. We need to work together. I mean, I'm sorry Sheryl's dead and all, but why couldn't it have happened somewhere else?"
"It is a bit ironic that the garden killed her."
"Poetic justice," Dale corrected. "Now Fred can rest in peace."
Helen had forgotten about Fred Lawson. There had actually been two deaths related to the one piece of land in just a few months. "People are going to think the land is jinxed, what with two owners dying within a few weeks of each other."
"According to the death certificate, Fred died of old age, nothing unnatural," Dale said.
Death certificates could be wrong, Helen thought. Especially if the town's homicide detective was someone like Hank Peterson. After all, if it had been up to him alone, everyone would still think Sheryl's death had been an accident.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Helen checked her phone on the way out of town hall, but her nieces still hadn't returned her calls and texts. She tried Adam to see if he'd heard from Lily yet, but his new receptionist said he was in a closing and would be tied up for another hour or so.
With the garden still off-limits and no new suspects to consider, Helen would have liked to discuss her options with Tate. On the other hand, she wasn't sure exactly what she'd do if he hadn't gotten over his fit of jealousy. She was hoping he'd have become his usual rational self by lunchtime, and she could pretend yesterday's little disagreement had never happened. If she showed up early, he might get the wrong idea, thinking she was coming to apologize when she had nothing to be sorry for.
She still had about an hour until their usual lunchtime, plenty of time to see if Cory O'Keefe knew anything about the barricading of the garden. As the chair of the board of selectmen, he would be among the first to hear if the police had found the bulldozer's key and if it had led to any useful evidence.
Jack dropped her off in front of the real estate agency. On her way to the front door, she heard the buzz of a table saw from behind the building. She turned to follow the sound, reasonably certain it meant that Cory wasn't in his office. She found him installing trim on the reproduction of the Wharton Meadows administrative building.
Cory wore ear and eye protection much like Tate's, and she knew from past experience that it wasn't a good idea to startle someone working with power tools.
Helen waited until the table saw was safely shut off and Cory's ear and eye protection had been removed before saying hello.
"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon, Helen. Have you figured out what happened to Sheryl already?"
"I'm afraid not," she said. "I've got a bunch of suspects, all with means, motive, and opportunity, but no smoking gun. Or bulldozer key, in this case. Do you know if the police found it?"
"It's not anywhere in the garden," Cory said. "They searched every inch with metal detectors and a bunch of advanced equipment that I didn't even know existed until Hank called to tell me they'd struck out."
"I was afraid of that."
"Don't be discouraged," he said. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Perhaps you just need a break to relax and not think about it. Isn't that when the best inspirations come along? When you're not trying too hard?"
That hadn't been her experience, but she didn't have any better options. At least not until she got the chance to discuss the case with Tate. He always helped her to see things in a different light.
"I've got just the thing to take your mind off the murder." Cory nodded at a life-sized drawing pinned to the back wall of the strip mall above from the table saw. "I've been making progress on the new hole. You can see how much closer it's getting to the drawings. I got a copy of the as-built drawings from the building department and scaled them down."
Helen glanced from the drawings to the almost complete miniature version at the end of the course and then back again.
"Well?" he said. "What do you think? They're accurate in every detail, from the overall dimensions to the size of the bricks and even the color of the paint on the trim. Everyone thinks it's white, but it's actually a really, really pale blue. They chose it to give a subliminal message of calm to the residents."
She stared at the scraps of the trim near the table saw. They looked white to her. She turned back to Cory to say so. She was always honest with Tate about his projects, and not all of them were as successful as his trenchers and chopsticks. But then she noticed that Cory was looking at her like her nieces used to back when they'd been in elementary school and had brought her a handmade Valentine's Day card and asked if she liked it. She'd quickly learned that the only acceptable response was that it was the "Best. Card. Ever."
Helen had a feeling that Cory had similarly high expectations. It made sense that a politician would need validation. And yet, she felt silly even thinking about saying that it was the "Best. Golf Course. Ever." She settled for the response t
hat her nieces had accepted when they were a little older. "It's perfect."
Judging by the relieved expression on Cory's face, she'd said the right thing. He probably got a lot of teasing about playing with toys instead of doing something important. She might not understand his fascination with miniature buildings herself, but she was in no position to judge anyone for his choice of hobby when she couldn't even decide on one for herself. If nothing else, she had to admire the passion he showed for his pastime.
"Come on over, and get a closer look." He led the way, carrying the little pieces of wood he'd just cut. "I had the trim boards custom-milled to match the profile on the original building. It's been a hassle mitering it in a few places, but I think it's worth it."
Helen followed him along the artificial turf to the end of the course. The morning's stiffness still hadn't gone away. Probably because of the unaccustomed rushing around she'd done to be ready before Rebecca arrived.
Cory was explaining all about the architectural elements of the building. She didn't recognize half of the terms he used, but she had to admit that even up close, the miniature administrative building looked exactly like the real thing. Except, of course, for its reduced size and the places where it had been modified to serve as a challenge for the players on the course. The main entrance's doors were propped open, and about six inches in front of them was a little figure in a wheelchair, accompanied by an assistant to push the chair, and two friends, one with a walker and one with a cane.
"Look what happens when I turn on the power." Cory flipped a switch, and the little group of figures rose about six inches into the air supported by a chunk of turf that matched their surroundings and then lowered to block the entrance to the administrative building. Only then did Helen notice that the base beneath the figures was attached to a see-through plastic bar that connected it with the flagpole where a motor was apparently concealed underneath. The figures rose and lowered again in a ten-second cycle, providing brief access to the building for the golf ball and then blocking it again.
It really was ingenious, Helen thought, even if it wasn't something she could imagine getting terribly excited about. "I bet no one else has anything like that on a miniature golf course."
Cory lit up. "That's it exactly. It's nice to find someone who understands. Sheryl always thought I was wasting my time and my talents. Of course, she had a personal interest in discouraging my work here. She wanted to hire me for an in-house position at her construction company. Probably figured it would be less expensive to have me on her payroll than to hire an independent architect for each of her projects. Besides, she always did love telling people what to do. In fact, leaving me her construction company was her way of controlling me from beyond the grave. She probably assumed I'd feel obliged to use my training on real projects once I had the resources to make full-sized buildings."
"Was she right?" Helen asked. "Are you going to take over Toth Construction?"
He shook his head. "No way. I'll keep it going until I can find someone to buy it. If no one's interested, I'll make sure her crew has new jobs first, and then I'll sell off the assets."
"Including the land that Annie wants to move the garden to?"
"Whether I keep the business or not, I'll give that land to the gardeners. Even as a licensed broker, it would be more trouble trying to sell it than it's worth."
If the gardeners had the alternative land, then the case for keeping the original property was weak. Dale might believe the two properties weren't interchangeable and could even offer some complicated explanations for why, but Helen doubted the selectmen would understand any better than she did as a novice gardener. "Does that mean you'll be voting in favor of selling the existing land?"
"No." Cory applied glue to the back of one of the trim pieces. "Perhaps I should have stated my position earlier, but I am a politician after all. I figured it wouldn't hurt to let Dale rally the troops so I'd have clear support for my vote. I've always thought Fred's land should remain as a community garden. I'm sure that's what he intended. I've even been talking to RJ about getting an option to buy his father's property if he ever wants to sell it so we could expand the garden. A few of the local teachers have wanted to start a sustainability project that includes growing food, but there isn't anywhere to put it on existing school property. The Averys' land would be a great location. It's walking distance from the middle school, and the kids could learn, not just from their own plots, but from what's growing in the community garden."
"Wes Quattrone has his eye on the Avery property too," Helen said. "It's part of his expansion plan."
Cory looked up from attaching the tiny pieces of pale-blue-not-white trim to one of the windows. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely," Helen said. "He's got a scale model—nowhere near as nice as the golf course, of course—for his plans, and it covers both the community garden and the Averys' lot."
"That's odd," Cory said. "RJ definitely seemed amenable to selling the property to the town. Said he couldn't do it during his father's lifetime, but after that, we could talk numbers. He didn't say anything about another offer, just that he wasn't planning to stay in Wharton after his father was gone. Although he did seem a bit nervous yesterday when I ran into him at the pharmacy. Probably thought I'd heard he'd made a deal with Quattrone."
"Quattrone must be awfully sure the town is going to sell the garden land if he's making other deals to go with it," Helen said. "Has he tried to pressure you to vote in favor of the sale?"
Cory shook his head. "I haven't talked to Quattrone in weeks. He knows I'm not too happy with him at the moment. I had to have a chat with him awhile back about the parking and traffic issues on the street because I've been getting complaints from the local residents. Including RJ, in fact, who's always having trouble with his driveway getting blocked. Quattrone insisted there was no parking problem, but I put him on notice that he needed to do something about it."
"Did anyone else try to sway your vote? In favor of selling, I mean?"
Cory glued up another piece of trim. "Marty yelled at me a bit after he started managing the construction company. You heard the tail end of that. And there were a few other loud calls from residents whose pet projects could have used the money from selling the land, but I've heard worse. All part of the job."
"Nothing more serious than usual?"
"No." He stuck the trim in place and then frowned. "Why? It's not that big a deal. Not really. I mean, Wharton is a small town, and people get all wound up about little things, but the money we'd get from selling the land wouldn't make much difference to our overall budget."
"It's just that I've heard rumors about less-than-savory investors in Wharton Meadows. They might use strong-arm tactics to make sure the expansion could go forward."
"I've heard those rumors," Cory said. "There's always someone who wants to be the first to tell me the latest gossip. But I don't have any reason to believe they're true. Then again, I didn't have any reason to research the owners of the retirement community, and Quattrone wouldn't exactly volunteer that information if it was true."
Too bad Helen hadn't paid more attention to what was going on here in town when Wharton Meadows was originally built. Back then, she'd only been a summer resident here, so she hadn't paid attention to new construction, but she would have had the contacts to get all the dirt on the owners within minutes. Now she was dependent on her niece's skills and contacts. And, for once, Lily wasn't hovering over her aunt, asking if Helen needed anything.
"I've got a call in to someone who can tell me more about the financial status of Wharton Meadows."
"Do you really think someone connected to the retirement community might have killed Sheryl in order to keep her from buying the garden land out from under them?"
"I don't know," Helen said. "It's just a theory."
Cory shook his head. "I should never have played politics with the garden. If I'd made it clear earlier that I'd never vote to sell the land, Sheryl might sti
ll be alive."
"Even if that's why she was killed, you can't blame yourself," Helen said. "Besides, there's no real evidence to suggest it's true. I mean, why kill her before they'd convinced the board of selectmen to sell the land? Quattrone had to have known that you were the deciding vote, so the first thing for them to do would have been to make sure you were voting in their favor. Otherwise, it wouldn't matter whether Sheryl was alive or dead."
"Unless Quattrone knew that I was her heir and assumed that I'd want to go forward with Sheryl's plan to buy the land for the company since I now owned it and would benefit from it. I'd have had to recuse myself, and in that case, the vote would be tied, and the mayor would have had to break the tie."
"What's his stance on the sale of the land?"
Cory grimaced. "He doesn't have a stance. He's a typical small-town politician. Much worse than me. He always waits until he sees how the wind is blowing before he takes a position."
"What if Quattrone bribed him or threatened him to convince him to take a stance?"
"The mayor doesn't have an opinion of his own, but he's basically honest," Cory said. "I can't see him taking a bribe. Giving in to a threat against him or his family, though—everyone's susceptible to that kind of pressure. But really, I think that's the sort of thing that only happens in the movies. I think there has to be some simpler explanation for what happened to Sheryl."