“But I didn’t kill him. Maybe someone else saw me.”
“We can do some checking. I wouldn’t put a lot of faith in the search. You moved around a lot. It will be hard to find anyone who can provide an alibi that covers a long enough time span. Then, we have another problem. What, exactly, did you tell Lawson about going home after cleaning up the alley?”
“Just that I went home before going back to the park.”
“And he didn’t ask why?” Adam’s eyes narrowed.
“No.” I peered at his tightening expression. “You’re starting to scare me with the way you’re looking at me.”
“Sorry, but obviously you haven’t realized that Lawson will think you washed your shirt to get rid of any evidence of killing Bud.”
I jumped up. “I had a reason for washing it. A good one.”
“I know you did, but think about this from the police chief’s point of view. You fight with Picklemann, no one sees you for a few hours, and when someone does, you’ve changed your clothes. While your dirty clothes are spinning away in the washer, Picklemann is found dead.”
“So we don’t tell him about it.”
“By tomorrow, he’ll have had time to think about what you’ve already told him, so he’ll be certain to ask about it. You can’t lie to him.”
“But it makes me look guilty and I’m innocent!”
“I believe you, Paige, but the police aren’t going to take your word at face value. You’ll need proof of your innocence.”
“How about the e-mail you sent?” Lisa came around the counter and laid her hand on my shoulder. “We can get your laptop. That’ll prove you were in your office.”
Adam held up a hand. “Don’t bother. Even if the e-mail is on your hard drive—might not be depending on the type of account you have—it’ll only prove you were there for the few minutes it took to send the message.” Adam looked at Lisa. “How long would it take Paige to get from her shop to the park and back?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes at most,” Lisa said.
“Wait, are you saying I went back to the park and killed Bud?”
“I’m saying we have two hours to account for and a five minute e-mail won’t cover it all.” He looked at his notes. “How about the phone call for the fencing? Did you use the landline?”
“No, I have free long-distance on my cell.”
“A call you could have made from anywhere,” Adam said, letting his tone fall off as if he was thinking.
“I was at The Garden Gate then.” My frustration over not being able to prove where I was spilled out, and I pounded on the counter. “They have to believe me.”
“Wait,” Lisa shouted. “I talked to you, remember?”
“I used my cell again.”
“Like I said,” Adam’s brow furrowed, “the only time you have a concrete alibi is when you talked to Hazel, roughly one o’clock. You better hope Picklemann was killed around that time.”
As if God sent down an answer, Perry returned. “I struck out with Lawson. He told me it was none of my business.”
“Technically, he’s right,” Adam said. “This isn’t the sort of information the police release early on in an investigation.”
“Oh, they released it,” Perry said with a coy smile. “I called a buddy of mine on the force. This is off the record, and he’ll deny saying it if we go public, but according to him the body temp indicates Picklemann had been dead for an hour or two when Paige found him. Looks like they’ll place the time of death between eleven and twelve.”
I looked from one person to another. The very thing I was thinking lay on their faces like a case of black spot invading my prize roses. I was cleaning up the alley during that time. No one could vouch for my whereabouts. I had no alibi.
Chapter Six
“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”
“Paige, this is Solitary. I was wondering if you stood behind your advice.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your question, Solitary.”
“Well, say you gave a caller advice about using native plants—”
“Oh, I hope they listen. Native plants do so much better in the climate and soil conditions they were meant to grow in. Even though they might become aggressive and you’d have to dig them up and pry them apart later, often that’s the only work they require.”
“Right, well, say the caller agreed with your advice and went out to dig up native plants at the Grand Ronde Reservation. Would you provide legal representation if the person was then apprehended for theft and trespassing?”
At eight o’clock Tuesday morning, I approached the park entrance, pondering Adam’s words from last night. Not the sweet little bit where he admitted I wasn’t bad to look at, but the nasty, ugly parting words he uttered as we climbed into our respective cars—to be prepared in case I was arrested today at my appointment with Mitch.
Be prepared! What did that mean? It wasn’t as if after the birds and the bees talk, my mother ticked off a lengthy go-to-jail list. The only thing I knew about jail preparation was what I learned playing Monopoly. At least there, you could get out for free.
Jail.
I couldn’t fathom it. A scary place filled with guards toting guns much like the uniformed cops swarming the park. Any one of them could haul me in and make sure I stayed behind bars. Would that stocky, balding officer carrying a plastic bag to the trunk of his car make the arrest? Or would the conspicuously absent Mitch do the honors himself? I voted for Mitch and his eagerness to prove my guilt.
Not that he was the only one whose face displayed disdain. The growing group of onlookers milling outside the yellow tape gave me harsh glares that screamed their belief in my guilt. I resisted the urge to put my head down while I rushed toward the earthy smell of my shop that always brought comfort. On the toughest of days, when I was unable to bolster a positive attitude on my own, I just had to step across that threshold, and my problems melted away.
Today was different. The gaping faces at the park made me feel like an outsider in my own town. Their guilty verdict was likely only the beginning of what I would face from the other residents. Would I get over this? Stay out of jail? Get the death penalty?
Stop it, Paige. Pity is not allowed here. I gave myself a mental slap. If I couldn’t come to grips for myself, I had to put on a good front for Hazel.
I found her stuffing seed packets into a rack beside the front counter. Her braids flopped as she bent over a box of reserve stock. She was dressed in the shop uniform of polo shirt and khakis, but I couldn’t help remembering the day she came in for an interview wearing worn, but clean jeans and a well patched blouse. This wasn’t the look I wanted my shop staff to have, but I knew about her past, and my compassion for the underdog urged me to give her a chance.
Her father had been in and out of jail for various crimes when she was young, and the family subsisted on welfare and handouts. Even when her father finally cleaned up his act, no one would hire him and they lived in squalor.
Hazel had been teased as a child, and as an adult the stigma lingered. She married a man who abused her, and people couldn’t understand why she stayed with him. It wasn’t until he got drunk and drove his truck into a lake that she’d gotten a break. That was when she met her current husband, who’d moved to town when the pickle factory opened. He didn’t care about her past, but others weren’t so willing to open their arms to her.
I didn’t want to be guilty of the same treatment. I interviewed her and found a woman knowledgeable about gardening and plants in general. I hired her on the spot and from that day on, she’d proven herself a capable and loyal worker.
I often had other business to take care of, and Hazel worked hard even when unsupervised. Like today, she was already at work replenishing stock by carefully picking through packets and then hanging the seeds on the display pegs. I watched as she found one of my favorite bean varieties. I could almost feel the snappy texture and taste
the nutty flavor of the beans. Would I be a free woman to plant them this year?
I let out a long sigh at my inability to get a handle on my emotions and walked toward Hazel.
“Who is Paige Turner?” Mr. T called from his daytime cage behind the checkout counter.
“Who is Mr. T?” I yelled back in his Jeopardy format.
“Don’t give me no back talk,” he said, mimicking the real Mr. T. Freer to move about in the larger cage, he hopped from his swing to a limb and bobbed his head.
“Crazy bird. Don’t know why I bring you up here with me,” Hazel said with affection then dropped the packets and came forward in a rush of energy. She flung out one arm.
What was she doing?
Awkwardly, she slipped the taut arm around my shoulders and squeezed hard. “I can’t believe what people are saying. How could they think you killed that man?”
Her hug sent tears pricking at my eyes. If Hazel Grimes thought I needed a hug and was willing to step out of her comfort zone to give me one, I was in trouble. I extricated myself before I moved on to crying like an infant and went to the register to set down my bag.
Willing the tears to dry up, I stared at the auto shop counter-top with names engraved in the wood by previous customers. Hundreds of names decorated the stained oak from who knew how many years. On her first day at work, Hazel had whipped out a pocketknife, scratched her name in a tiny space in the corner, and offered to do mine as well. Shocked that I had hired a woman who carried a knife, I refused. Now as I looked at the concern in her eyes, I wished I had let her carve away and engrave my name next to hers for posterity.
“I appreciate your support.” I rubbed my finger over her name. “Means a lot to me.”
She tromped across the polished concrete. Her footfalls reverberated from the high ceiling, sounding like an advancing army. Cali, a stray calico cat that had adopted us, shot out from a favorite hiding place in the corner and ran for the side door.
Hazel opened the door and let her out. “Well, I’m not gonna stop there. The police chief called. Asked me to come in after work. I’m gonna tell him that you were here, with me, all day.”
My jaw dropped open from the offer. Much as I wanted to accept, I couldn’t let her do that. “You can’t lie for me, Hazel.”
“Shoot.” She waved a hand as if she lied under oath every day. “It’s the least I can do for you. People around here don’t have any idea what a great person you are. Not only did you give me a job when everybody else looked down on my clothes and manners, you pay me far more than you need to.”
Hoping to lighten the mood that was feeling oppressive, I laughed. “I guess I’ll have to cut your salary then.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m serious, Paige. You trust me. Leave me in charge. Let me help run the business. That’s more’n anyone else has done in my whole life. I won’t see you go to jail. Even if I have to lie.”
“I don’t want you to lie.”
Her eyes tightened, surprising me with the intensity I saw burning. “Fine. I’ll do what you say, but I have to help look for the real killer. Already told Zeke not to expect me to make his supper every night, in case something comes up. He didn’t like it, but I don’t care. He can get his own supper for once.”
I had no idea how to respond. In fact, I was a little unsettled by her unbridled display of devotion. Hazel wasn’t the brightest bulb in the garden when it came to detecting subtleties underlying many conversations, and I didn’t want her to get into trouble over me. I patted her shoulder. “Just be careful you don’t get Mitch mad at you. He has a nasty bite.”
“I pity the fool,” Mr. T said, and I laughed at his timing while pitying Mitch for his upcoming meeting with my defender.
Heading for my office, I wound through stacks of small clay pots and the newer lightweight containers. A smile tugged at my lips over the fierce independence Hazel demonstrated. Nearing sixty, she was blossoming like a third-year perennial. I strolled past the french doors leading to display gardens. In mini-beds, I’d planted every plant I sold, so my customers could see them in a real garden setting. Today, azaleas and rhododendrons swarmed with riotous color, and the perennials peeked their first greenery above the heavily composted soil from a winter sleep.
In the back of the first service bay used for teaching Saturday gardening classes, I’d set up a small café with wrought iron seating. My customers could relax, browse through catalogs and magazines, and sip the finest of coffee. Wrapped up in my own problems, I reached the coffee counter before I spotted Lisa sitting at one of the tables.
“Hey,” I said and pumped coffee into a mug. “Hazel didn’t tell me you were here.”
“She’s too worried about you to think straight. I don’t know what you did to earn her loyalty, but I’ll never cross you again for fear you’ll sic her on me.”
“She’s my new secret weapon.” Cup in hand, I crossed the room to join her. “I think I might have just sicced her on Mitch.”
She closed the Fine Gardening magazine and peered at me with tired eyes. “Speaking of Mitch, anything new since last night?”
I sat across from her. “No. Our meeting is still scheduled for ten thirty. If all goes well, I’ll be back here to give Hazel her lunch break.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? You think Mitch’ll be finished grilling you by lunchtime?”
I gawked at her. My best friend thought I was going to jail. She might be dressed like a debutante at a garden party, in her cute linen capris and sleeveless top, but she sure knew how to speak plainly when she wanted to. Her blunt assessment of the situation revived my stubborn thoughts of doom along with the beginning of tears. “I don’t know when I’ll get back. I better get Teri to relieve Hazel in case I end up in jail.”
“Oh, wait. . .what jail? No, I didn’t mean that. Perry says it’ll probably take until Friday before they finish with the forensics. Mitch can’t do anything official until then. I just meant that Mitch probably won’t let you go quickly today.” She pulled a tissue from the large navy mom tote that accompanied her most places and handed it to me.
Whew, that was better—her explanation and not wiping my nose like she might with the twins. But what did she know? Did she really understand what was at stake? Unfortunately, I did. The tears really kicked in.
I sniffled and wiped. “Do you realize what we’re talking about? My freedom. I could go to jail for something I didn’t do, just because I can’t prove where I was.”
“Hey, stop or you’re gonna make me cry. Besides, you’ll get through this.”
I peered at the tin-covered ceiling and kept my head up until the tears stopped. Or maybe the force of gravity pushed them back in. “I don’t know, Lisa,” I said in a blubbery voice. “I don’t think I’m strong enough.”
“That’s what I thought when Ben died. But I made it, didn’t I? God got me through it.”
“Yeah, well, your faith has always been stronger than mine.”
“Not always. Not until Ben died. That’s when I figured out nothing in life was in my control. Nothing. I was in the same place you’re at right now. No way you can handle this alone. Don’t waste any energy trying. Let God take you through it.”
“Says you,” I snapped. She’d pushed my button. Control. I could control this. Adam was coming, and together we’d succeed. After a final swipe with the tissue, I pushed back my chair and stood. “I have the best attorney and a few ideas to follow up on. When I get back from the meeting, I’m going to investigate and find out who did this.”
Lisa rose, empty cup in hand. “Good for you. You need to think positively and move forward. All I’m saying is remember who’s in charge along the way.”
I peered at Lisa, her face open and vulnerable. She meant well, meant to help, but the last thing I could do now was sit back and let God take the wheel. I had to act.
“Paige,” Adam called from around the corner.
“What’s he doing here so early?” Lisa stifled a yawn.
I shrugged. “He was supposed to meet me at the studio after the show.”
She shoved me toward the back. “Well, go clean up. You don’t want him to see you with mascara running down your face.”
I laughed at her decorum. “He’s a criminal lawyer, Lisa. I’m sure he’s seen far worse.”
“Yeah, but as you so clearly pointed out last night, he’s an available man. And you’re still very much single, in case you forgot.”
I groaned. What was with this sudden attempt at match-making? No matter. I planned on cleaning up. Not to impress Adam. No, I needed to present a strong front when I walked down the street and met with Mitch later.
In the tiny bathroom, I called Teri to relieve Hazel then repaired my makeup and straightened my plain white blouse. Straightening out my life? That was something else altogether. I could survive the unfounded accusations and figure out who killed Bud, I just needed a break. One that Adam was most likely to aid me with.
When I returned to the fragrant bay and spotted him, he was huddled with Lisa at the table so deep in conversation they didn’t notice me cross the room. Today Adam wore khaki pants, polished loafers and an olive green dress shirt under a corduroy vest. One corner of his collar sat on top of the vest, the other was tucked under. My fingers itched to adjust one of them, but that was too forward, even for me. So I waited and stared at the pair until he looked up and grinned.
“Something wrong with me?” He sat up and preened like a showy hibiscus blossom.
He asked for it. I came forward, a playful grin in place, and slipped the hidden collar point free. “Not anymore.”
Lisa scowled. “Please, Paige, don’t start with this again today.”
I gave her a quizzical look. “Weren’t you the one who just reminded me that we’re both single?”
“Paige.” Lisa’s hand flew up. “Don’t you ever know when to keep what I tell you to yourself?”
“If I did, how long would it be before I found another opportunity to ask Adam if he was in a relationship?” Lisa freaked. Adam and I laughed. “Besides, when I came out here, you two couldn’t look any guiltier than if I actually caught you with your hands in the cookie jar.”
Nipped in the Bud Page 6