Roses, Wine & Murder: In the City of Steeples

by Rose Young

  They stood on the concrete sidewalk, across from the large shade tree she had been admiring earlier, Morrison inquired in a low-key friendly tone, “Roxanne, I need to know exactly what you did when you arrived here this morning.”

  “It was 8:00 am when I pulled up in my truck and parked it where you see it,” she said, pointing at the parking area by the bistro in the Harlow Towers building. “I took my hose and hooked it up there,” she explained and showed him the green access box that was flush with the lawn.

  “I pulled the hose across the bed behind the Columbus statue and noticed some flowers were trampled. I walked between the hostas to lay down the hose. It was then I saw him, in the hedge just two feet away. We were eye to eye, Dan! Ohh, it gives me the shivers!” she shuddered. “Good gosh, almighty! What a dreadful way to start a day.”

  “Yes,” the detective agreed, nodding thoughtfully, “but Roxanne, what if you had not come by? Who knows when he would have been found if it wasn’t for you. He’s completely hidden by these hedges.”

  “Yeah, better now than later,” she said dryly, then wrinkled her nose and added, “excuse me but, he’s not good fertilizer.” Morrison knew full well she had a sense of humor which she used to deflect her true feelings in tense situations.

  “Do you know who he is?” she asked, becoming serious again.

  “There is no ID,” Morrison answered, “so he was probably robbed. He’s clean shaven and wearing an expensive suit and shoes. So right now, he’s a John Doe.”

  “Oh my,” she murmured and offered an idea, “Maybe his family is looking for him and they’ll call you.”

  “We’ll see, Roxanne. I’ll be in touch with you as needed. Thank you, and have a better day.”

  “I will,” she assured him, “I’ve decided to go to the Ocean Beach garden site and let the sea breeze blow these images away.” She waved her hat over her head and grimaced, “Detective, this is too much for me. Do you get used to this?”

  “You never become use to it, Roxanne,” he shook his head, “I’ll see you later.” Detective Morrison moved on to join his forensic team.

  Roxanne approached her husband and stood by him watching the scene. Sam spoke softly to her and stated the obvious, “Aren’t we a pair? Instead of having a relaxing vacation, we are knee deep in a murder.”

  “Are you sure it’s a murder?” she whispered. “Maybe he was drunk and choked on something or had a heart attack. Too often there are homeless people around here. Maybe one of them robbed him after he was dead.”

  Sam glanced at his wife swiftly. “Good thought process, and in most cases, that would be a correct assumption, but probably not in this case.”

  Gasping her hand moved up to her mouth in disbelief, “Are you sure it’s a murder?”

  “I believe so dear,” he answered, “since it appears that someone has beaten him up and stuffed his mouth with a plant.”

  “What?” stunned by the comment, she gave him a disturbed look. “If the beating didn’t kill him maybe the plant did.”

  “Yeah, he probably suffocated,” Sam replied.

  “Oh no,” Roxanne said quietly. “What I mean is that the shrub he’s lying in is poisonous, and if eaten it is absolutely fatal.”

  “What?” Sam exclaimed under his breath, “Come with me, we have to report this to Detective Morrison.”

  Chapter 2

  The area around Columbus Circle was crowded with police cars, fire trucks, ambulance and several SUVs. Roxanne trailed after her husband toward the detective. Sam’s height was six-feet-two, and appeared even taller dressed in his Chief’s uniform and cap. He was a robust man who enjoyed cooking and eating and had hosted many a firehouse barbecue and special fundraisers. Sam was good natured, yet commanding and direct when the job required it. He’d been a fire fighter for over 25 years and wasn’t planning on retiring soon.

  With Sam by her side, Roxanne found herself feeling less nervous among the mayhem at the crime scene. They approached Detective Morrison.

  “Detective, something else has come up.”

  “Yes sir,” Morrison turned from the two cops he was working with on the site.

  “Roxanne, tell him what you told me,” her husband invited.

  “Well, Sam told me the man had his mouth stuffed with a plant,” she offered. “Do you know which one it was?”

  “Roxanne, I’m not sure it matters. Why are you missing some?” A glint of whimsy shone in his eyes.

  “Dan,” she whispered, “we’ve known each other long enough for me to say I’m not kidding around right now.”

  His face became completely serious.

  “Yes, Roxanne, it was the same as the shrub he was found in.”

  “That, my friend,” she asserted, “is Taxus baccata.”

  “Which is?” he probed tentatively.

  Roxanne excitedly added, “It’s extremely poisonous, detective. Assuming the person who killed him knew how toxic it was, they really wanted him dead.”

  Morrison’s interest changed, “Well, I’ll be! Please come with me. I’d like you to identify a sample we took from his mouth.” From the back of one of the forensic team vehicles, Morrison retrieved a baggie and showed her the contents.

  “Yes, that’s it, that’s the yew,” she affirmed.

  “Can you tell me the botanical name again?” he asked.

  “Sure, it’s Taxus baccata.”

  A little sheepishly, the detective asked, “Look would you write that down for me here? Your Latin is better than mine.”

  As she wrote he commended her, “Roxanne, you just saved me a step. This isn’t just a brawl gone wrong. It appears we may have criminal intent to murder. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. And Chief, I’ll see you this afternoon at our meeting with Homeland.”

  Detective Morrison moved toward his team to give them further instructions regarding the plant material.

  Roxanne looked up at Sam as he leaned down and whispered, “Well dear, after all these years… welcome to your first day on my job!”

  She gave him a wry sideways look from her five-foot-two small frame and countered in a low tone, “Let’s get this straight, Sam, this is your first day on my job!” He chuckled momentarily, and then stopped suddenly aware of his team and the leftover onlookers.

  ***

  Strategically positioned away from the crime scene, the hawkeyed killer observed the commotion through a pair of binoculars. Chepreca! Grande scarola! (What a shame! Big money!)

  Chapter 3

  Day 1 – 9:30 am

  On the way to her next garden project, Roxanne took the scenic route along Pequot Avenue. She drove along the shore of the Thames River and Long Island Sound passing large lovely homes built after the hurricane of 1938. They lined the shoreline approaching Neptune Beach. She turned into Ocean Beach Park which recently celebrated its 75th anniversary as a historic waterfront destination. She loved the beauty of this multi-use park.

  The half-mile long, crescent-shaped sandy shore faced the Sound. Its boardwalk's broad view included the popular red brick Ledge Lighthouse. Beach goers could watch a constant parade of sailboats, tugboats, and ships pass in and out of the Thames River, some ferrying folks to Block Island, Rhode Island and Fisher and Long Island, New York.

  Roxanne occasionally had seen the fabulous black Navy submarines glide by. These nuclear whales skimmed through dark silent waters gathering data in the great oceans of the world. Arriving in Long Island Sound from a six-month mission, only then did Roxanne or anyone see the submarine’s large black sail emerge twenty feet or more above the water.

  With fanfare, several bright red tugboats and the Navy’s Coastal Riverine Force escorted the great submarine. Often, she saw the naval crew on the hull deck waving proudly to people on the shore. This unannounced parade continued toward their families waiting at the Groton Naval Base.

  Grabbing her tool bag and bucket, Roxanne strolled past huge potted concrete containers that her gardening buddies had planted
. They were brimming with yellow flowering bidens, trailing heart-shaped potato vines, and magenta petunias. A tall canna lily, with tropical burgundy-leaves, was the centerpiece. These colorful cheerleaders welcomed Roxanne and helped to erase the finality of death she witnessed at Columbus Circle.

  Once at the edge of the boardwalk she gazed out to the water, noticing the chop formed by the stiff breeze. The rhythm of the white foam rising and falling encouraged her to take in a deep breath of salty air. Her body responded and relaxed. She moved again toward the garden plot she planned to maintain.

  Roxanne approached the garden by the large multi-purpose banquet hall. Concession stands and arcades were on the ground floor, while the second level housed a few offices, the bar, and grand meeting rooms for weddings, dances and parties. Roxanne had texted Tessa, the gardening leader of the NLBC, and expected her to arrive soon.

  Determined to distract herself, Roxanne pulled a few tools from her bag and went to work dead-heading, pruning and weeding. She barely noticed the board-walkers, sunbathers, shell collectors and family outings gathering in numbers. She trimmed daylilies called Happy Returns, appreciating their sunny yellow cups and the irony of their name.

  Under the canopy of the boardwalk’s shade, a few folks read their favorite book, newspaper, or e-book. Little did Roxanne know, someone was watching.

  Once he knew she would be occupied for a while, he pursued his mission. The parking lot had filled up fast, and Roxanne’s extended-cab truck was now surrounded by cars and vans. The mystery man slipped the slim-jim tool down the window of her truck door and quickly unlocked it.

  Once in the truck, the man’s gloved hands slid along the seats crevices and into the compartments. He looked behind the seat and in the extended cab area. No purse, no little thing to hold what he was looking for. Disgruntled, he quickly left the cab of the truck, without being noticed, and knew what he had to do next.

  Roxanne feeling hot and sweaty, stepped back to assess her gardening work while lifting her water bottle to her mouth. She observed the backdrop of tall zebra grasses swaying in the wind making a hissing sound. In front of them were shrubs of dark burgundy-leaved weigelas called Wine & Roses and pink-flowering spireas called Anthony Waterer. They were accentuated by drifts of sweet flava daylilies, lemon-colored yarrow, pale pink poppies, blue-elf delphiniums, multi-colored lantanas and hot pink petunias.

  There were several eye-candy vignettes like these that combined foliage and flower delights. Finally, Tessa came along excited to ask Roxanne about the man found in the Columbus garden.

  Delicately, Tessa leaned in and looked over her glasses at Roxanne as she asked, “Do you think he was a homeless man? You remember the guy they found two years ago near the Gold Star Bridge? Poor soul was a skeleton, picked clean by the birds. It’s a shame no one knew he was in there. Only when the State crew came along to do the yearly mowing were those bones finally discovered.”

  Roxanne shook her head slightly, reassuring her friend, “No, this man was dressed very well, clean shaven and had good shoes. I thought he might have drunk too much and been mugged. But when they said he had a plant stuffed in his mouth, I thought right away, he was in the YEW!”

  Tessa gasped, as her hand went to her mouth, “You don’t say?” she whispered.

  “Can you believe it?” exclaimed Roxanne. “So, Detective Morrison has called it a homicide until the medical examiner tells him more.”

  “Oh, the yew is deadly,” Tessa agreed. “They say a victim never has the chance to describe their symptoms because it acts so fast.” She shifted in her gardening boots, kept her voice low, yet emphatically expressed with her hands, “So many plants we work with are poisonous; the lantana berries, the angel’s trumpet, the morning glory, the castor-oil plant. We are surrounded by a veritable garden of death! Harmless to handle but deadly if consumed!” Leaning toward Roxanne, she said, “It’s a good thing no one knows what we know.” Her eyes shifted from side to side to see if anyone had heard her.

  Roxanne beheld her excitable friend. She was always good-humored, with twinkly eyes and a get it done spirit. She was wearing her green fatigues, floral t-shirt, pink boots and a tool belt for her hand pruners, a sure sign of a serious gardener.

  Roxanne laughed and added, “You know that famous line of yours that you quoted to Betsy’s husband when she passed out in the heat? We work till we drop. Well now someone’s dead from a plant in our garden, dear me!”

  Tessa huffed, “Well, no one could have imagined that happening! Don’t tell Ed at the city! He’ll have us pulling out all the plants that are suspects.”

  “Oh, Ed doesn’t care,” Roxanne replied. “He hears so many wonderful praises about our beautification committee. He’ll plug his ears so not to hear that a man had a toxic plant from our garden in his mouth. Maybe there’s a chance some drunk mugged him and wanted to keep him quiet. You know a drunk will do pretty much anything stupid.”

  Tessa nodded, “Yes and let’s keep the poisonous plant list to ourselves. We don’t need to put a spotlight on all those plants I mentioned.”

  “No worries,” teased Roxanne, “I’ll put it in my next blog post on our NLBC garden site.” She watched Tessa’s face become horrified, then corrected herself. “Don’t worry Tessa, the secret life of plants is safe with me.”

  Tessa gave Roxanne’s arm a soft punch as they laughed. A group of women strolled by on the boardwalk. “Tess, I’m going to stretch my legs before I go home. I think the path by the tidal pool will be relaxing.”

  Tessa put one arm around her friend. “You’ve done enough today. Take the day off. Unwind and I’ll see you again soon.” Tessa moved on to care for another garden site at the beach.

  Roxanne placed her tools in the back of her truck, as families with armloads of beach supplies passed her in the parking lot. Children with sand toys were rushing toward the beach squealing with delight. She strolled toward the quiet area in the shade by the salt-marsh.

  A narrow path brought her behind the swimming pool and the children’s splash pad. She waved to the lifeguard. He knew Roxanne since she and her NLBC team had gardened there for years. Playful sounds of laughter trickled through the trees until she arrived at the wild conservation area.

  Along the walk were sweet scented rugosa roses, beach plums, elderberry and viburnum shrubs. A mocking bird sang out as she approached the lookout deck with a view of Long Island Sound. Again, Roxanne took a deep breath, relieved to have time and the beauty of her surroundings separate her from the dead man’s eyes. A Great Blue Heron caught her attention. He cocked his head ready to dart onto some fishy prey.

  Suddenly, Roxanne was pushed forward headlong into the reeds. She gasped and felt something give a quick tug on her waist. Stunned she found herself stuck in a hummock of eight-foot-tall marsh grasses, struggling she had nothing to push against to raise herself up.

  “Help!” she yelled hopefully, “Help! I need help!” Finally, she was able to turn around and clamber out of the tall reeds. The lifeguard from the swimming pool heard her cry and raced over to help.

  “What happened, Roxanne? Are you okay?” he looked her over to see if she was hurt.

  “No, I was pushed,” she felt around her waist. “I’ve been mugged! My fanny pack is gone.”

  He looked around then picked up her hat and water bottle, “I’ll call the manager, Joe.”

  He pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt, as she attempted to straighten herself out. “Joe, Roxanne has been mugged. Can you call the cops?”

  Roxanne gasped, “Oh no! Not again! I just want to go home.”

  “We have to, Roxanne, it’s our policy,” he said calmly.

  The young man looked so concerned, she felt bad for him. He led her to a nearby bench. Joe and a couple of other men arrived.

  “Roxanne! Are you alright?” Joe asked, exasperated as she was a friend.

  “Joe, I am having one of those days where a beach chair and a stiff Pina Colada would do me good.”
r />   “I can provide both but we have to talk to the police first,” Joe cautioned gently.

  Chapter 4

  Day 1 – 11 am

  “You again?” the officer asked Roxanne.

  “Yeah, I’m not happy to see you either,” she said, feeling a bit dejected.

  “It’s Roxanne Samson, right?” He was writing on a small notepad.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to call the chief?” the officer asked.

  “Goodness no!” she said, alarmed. “My husband is busy enough. I don’t want to bother him.”

  She reported the simple details of the mugging. “I didn’t see him. I don’t even know who pushed me, or if it was a guy.”

  The officers confirmed they were looking for a black fanny pack. Then he told her they would canvas the area and question people.

  “We’ll be back. Please wait with Joe, Mrs. Samson.”

  In the meantime, Joe led Roxanne to his office which had a wonderful view of the beach and Long Island Sound. The office was down the hall from the bar, lounge and banquet hall.

  “One Pina Colada coming up,” Joe said.

  “Oh, hold the alcohol Joe. I feel the need to stay clear headed right now.” Joe strolled to the bar and gave the order to the bartender, deaf to Roxanne’s request.

  Roxanne smiled at him, “I really appreciate you taking time with me Joe, it’s been quite a day.”

  He handed her the drink. “Don’t even think about it. We’re like family. We all care for this old place, like it’s our home.” He gave her a look of deep concern, “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Roxanne. It is so rare. Only the occasional missing bag or lost item is the usual around here. So, tell me, what was that officer talking about when he said, ‘you again?’”

  “Oh!” she raised her hands for emphasis, “Just this morning.”

  “What?” he asked quizzically.

  “I found a dead man in the Columbus Circle garden, Joe.”

  His mouth dropped open in horror. “Really?” he said aghast,