Garden of Death

by Chrystle Fiedler

  The local paper, the Suffolk Times, had written up the menu for the Land and Sea Ball that morning. The “sea” portion of the feast would be seafood dishes from local restaurants and a clam and oyster bar. The “land” would be represented by favorite dishes from local eateries. Local wines would be served from Lieb Cellars and beer from the Greenport Harbor Brewing Company. Nature’s Way had contributed three organic desserts: berry parfaits with whipped cashew cream, gluten-free almond cookies, and plum-raspberry-peach crisp with vanilla ice cream and a dash of cinnamon.

  “This place looks really beautiful,” I said, taking Jackson’s hand. “I’m glad we came.”

  “Me, too. Would you like a drink?” Jackson had been sober for ten years, but he didn’t mind if I had one or two.

  “A white wine spritzer sounds great.”

  He kissed me on the cheek. “Be right back.”

  When he headed to the bar, I took a look around the outdoor area and spotted Merrily and Nate on the dance floor. Her dress was typical Merrily, crafty and funky, made out of black denim with metal stars embossed all over it. Nate wore a black vest, black tie, and black jeans. They looked good together.

  Merrily spotted me and said, “Just taking a break.”

  “No problem. Have fun!”

  I glanced at the serving area, where Wallace was busily getting ready for the dessert course. With his silver ponytail and small Ben Franklin specs, he almost looked as if he were in historical costume. The green suede Birkenstocks, though, which you could see beneath the white tablecloth, gave him away.

  I took Jackson’s arm and led him over to Wallace. “How is everything going?” I asked.

  Wallace pulled out parfait glasses and lined them up. “We’re doing okay. I think everyone is going to love what Merrily prepared.”

  “I really appreciate you helping out here,” I said. “Don’t forget to note the extra time on your sheet.”

  “I will, no worries.”

  Mayor Hobson went to the bandstand and took the microphone. “Thanks, everyone, for turning out tonight. This event kicks off our week of festivities that will delight locals and visitors alike. Tomorrow, as you know, we start the Maritime Festival with the opening day parade and the traditional blessing of the oyster fleet at the Railroad Dock.”

  I felt an arm slip around my waist and turned to find Simon Lewis smiling at me. Simon was a TV producer and writer, not to mention my ex-boyfriend. He had followed me from L.A. to Greenport a year ago, failed to win me back, but fell in love with and purchased a second home here.

  Last September I helped him out of a jam when he was suspected of murdering another TV producer. This had earned me his undying gratitude and cemented my place in his life, whether I liked it or not.

  I pulled his hand away. “What are you doing here?”

  He gave me a boyish grin. Simon wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he had an undeniable, irresistible charm. He also had a steady named Carly, a producer whom I’d met last September when she was here filming on location at the Bixby estate in Southold, just a few minutes east of Greenport. Now she was in the UK, busy working on a new movie.

  “I can’t just sit at home, and wait until Vision starts up,” he explained. Simon’s previous show, Fast Forward, had been canceled, but now he had a new one about a psychic who solves cases, inspired by the star of Carly’s show, who investigated the haunted mansion on the estate. In the meantime, he was trying to write a novel, without much success. He came in to the café each morning with his laptop and mostly stared at the screen. “Besides, you know I’m into maritime history, especially pirates, so I had to come. And, Willow, I need to ask you for a favor.”

  Someone shushed us. “Later,” I said, wondering what favor Simon needed this time.

  Simon, ever impatient, proceeded to text me. My phone pinged. I glared at him, plucked it out of my purse, and without looking at the message, turned

  it off.

  “Okay,” Simon said, sounding defeated. “I’ll wait.”

  The same someone shushed us again.

  “Now, as for the prizes,” the mayor went on, “we’ve got some great gifts that have been donated by our local merchants for a raffle. All of the money that we raise each year goes to the museum’s children’s program along with maintaining the Maritime Museum and Bug Light lighthouse in Peconic Bay. But this year, we’re doing something new, providing a twenty-five-hundred-dollar scholarship for a Greenport High School student who plans to study marine biology.”

  The mayor checked his notes and continued speaking, “This scholarship is thanks to the generosity of the late Frank Fox, who also donated a tract of land in the heart of Greenport to the village when he died. The competition for the space was keen, but the Village Board and I chose to give this piece of land to Willow McQuade, the owner of Nature’s Way Market & Café.”

  There was more applause but I also heard a few dissenting voices. The decision to award me the parcel of land was not without controversy. Most of the competing applicants were here tonight, I realized as I scanned the room. But there were also quite a few friends of mine and Aunt Claire’s who waved to me, smiled, or gave me a thumbs-up. It felt good to have their support.

  However, Kylie Ramsey, the head of the local farmer’s market, who had also applied for the lot gave me a cool look. Harold Spitz, who organized flea markets and who also wanted the space, did not return my gaze. Maggie Stone, head of Advocates for Animals, who had wanted the land for a dog park, gave me a dismissive glance and whispered something to the man to her right.

  Over at the bar, I spotted Charles White, M.D., an orthopedic surgeon, who along with his investors had wanted to build a high-end boutique hotel on the lot to cater to rich out-of-towners. White was talking to his friend Joe Larson, a local builder and village trustee who had championed White’s plan and openly disliked me and what he called Aunt Claire’s “wacky New Age ideas.”

  White’s wife, Arlene, a sixty-something woman who looked ten years younger, thanks to an obvious face-lift, stood next to them, looking bored. Dressed in a fancy taffeta gown, she sipped what looked like a Bloody Mary. Arlene was not one of my favorite people. She had come into Nature’s Way several times to try and convince me to give the land to her husband. Basically, her point seemed to be that they were entitled to it because they had more money than I did.

  All of them seemed oblivious to the fact that they were standing next to Jackson, my boyfriend, who was clearly listening to what they were saying. Just seeing them brought back the stress of those weeks when we were all petitioning the Village Board with our ideas. I might never have created the garden if I’d known how many enemies I was going to make. Jackson must have seen the tension in my face from across the room. He gave me the peace sign, and I smiled.

  Martin Bennett and his wife Sandra, who ran an organic dairy in Aquebogue, thirty minutes west of Greenport, came up to me. Sandra, a petite, energetic woman in her forties, had also applied for the lot so she could put in a creamery to make and sell artisanal cheeses, using the milk from her cows and goats.

  I braced myself for more conflict. “Martin, Sandra, how are you?”

  Sandra smiled. “We’re doing fine. We just wanted to come over and show our support.”

  “We noticed that the other applicants were not exactly being friendly,” Martin added. He was a trim, fit man, an amateur bike racer.

  “No, they aren’t,” I said. “They still seem to resent the garden.”

  “Well, we all wanted the land,” Sandra admitted. “So you’ve got to expect that everyone else would be disappointed. But honestly, I think the garden is a great idea. I knew Claire, and she would be ecstatic about what you’re doing. We can’t wait to visit.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate that.”

  “Actually, we’re going to be vendors in a spot on Front Street across fro
m your store all weekend long,” Martin said. “We could do it then, hon, you know, take turns taking the tour.”

  “That’s a good idea, love,” Sandra said, taking his hand.

  Jackson walked back over with an iced tea and my wine spritzer. He handed it to me, and said hello to Martin and Sandra.

  When they stepped away, Simon said, “That guy has had some work done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I see it all the time in L.A. Didn’t you notice how tight the skin was on his face? And his nose looks like George Clooney’s.”

  “Maybe he wanted to improve his looks.” I hadn’t known Martin before so I didn’t have anything to compare it to.

  “They went too far,” Simon said, finishing his cosmopolitan. “I’m empty. Time to go to the bar.”

  As he walked off, I turned to Jackson. “What did Dr. White and Joe Larson say about me?”

  Jackson took my arm and pulled me to a neutral spot, away from prying ears and eyes. “Don’t let those two get to you, Willow. You’re doing a good thing for Greenport. Claire would have been proud.”

  But I needed to know. “What did they say, Jackson?”

  He didn’t answer at first.

  “Jackson?”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Promise me that you won’t get upset.”

  I took a breath. “I’ll try to be calm. What is it?”

  “White was complaining that you had gotten the lot illegally, that you had cheated, did something to tilt the vote in your direction. Larson was telling him not to worry, that they would get the land for themselves eventually.”

  “Cheated? That’s crazy!”

  “I know that. You know that. They’re idiots.”

  “He’s right, Willow,” Simon said, reappearing at my side, holding a pink cosmo. “You’re doing an awesome job on the garden, and I can’t wait to have a cup of tea on that patio that you”—he turned to Jackson—“and that guy, what’s-his-name, are building.”

  “Nate, his name is Nate,” Jackson said. “But that’s nice of you to say, Simon.” Jackson tolerated my friendship with Simon because he knew I loved him, and also because he kind of liked my ex, too. After the case last fall, Jackson had softened toward Simon. They were almost friends now.

  The mayor, who had left the stage briefly to confer with an aide, now took the microphone again. “As I was saying, Ms. McQuade, uh, Dr. McQuade, that is, is in the final stages of completing the teaching garden and an open-air teahouse for everyone to enjoy. We’re sure that her Aunt Claire would be pleased, God rest her soul.”

  I had a strong suspicion that it was Aunt Claire’s influence that was the tipping point in the decision to award me the land. She had been incredibly well liked and did a lot for the community, especially when it came to helping homeless animals. I had used some of the proceeds from her bestselling Fresh Face Cream to set up the garden. To give back, I pledged 10 percent of all the profits from the garden and teahouse to the local animal shelter and to Jackson’s refuge. But just because Claire had helped me didn’t mean that I had cheated. I had gotten the lot, fair and square.

  “Tomorrow, the Claire Hagen Memorial Physic Garden will be open to the public,” the mayor announced. “If you can, please join us for the opening ceremony at noon.”

  There was more applause, but now, some loud grumbling, too.

  White pushed away from the bar and headed toward the stage, with Joe Larson trailing behind him. “Everyone needs to know that Willow McQuade got that lot from Frank Fox illegally,” White announced loudly.

  “He’s right,” Joe Larson said. “We’ve got people looking into it. But I think that’s all we should say for now.”

  “What is going on?” I felt my stomach knot. “What is he talking about?”

  Jackson took my hand and squeezed it. “Ignore him. We won’t let him take away the garden. Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll get my lawyers on it,” Simon said. “The big guns.”

  The knot in my stomach twisted. “I don’t want to get into a nasty battle over this.”

  “You have to protect your interests, Willow,” Simon said.

  Mayor Hobson cleared his throat, and said, “Joe, Dr. White, please keep your opinions to yourself. Now I know that there are others who also aren’t happy with our decision about this land, but I hope everyone in the community will support Willow in her new venture.”

  “That vote was fixed and we’re going to prove it!” Dr. White insisted.

  “That guy needs to shut up,” Jackson said.

  White pushed his way through the crowd and over to us. “You talking to me? You’re saying that I need to shut up?”

  “You heard right,” Jackson said, stepping in front of me. Simon stepped forward and shielded me as well.

  “Oh, it figures,” White said. “You’re sticking up for your little girlfriend. Did she lie to you, too?”

  “Dr. White, please! Control yourself!” The mayor checked his notes again, plastered on a fake smile, and said, “Enjoy the party, everyone, and thank you!”

  But Dr. White wasn’t done. He leaned around Jackson until he was just inches from my face. His hot breath smelled of beer and cigars. “Enjoy your little project, Ms. McQuade. You won’t have it for long.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re talking about?” I said as calmly as I could. “Because you’re wrong. I did not cheat to get that land. I would never do that.”

  “We have lawyers looking into the way that that vote came down. We know and you know that it wasn’t right. And we’re going to prove it. You’ll see.”

  “Time to go,” Jackson said, grabbing his arm. “Back away from her. Now.”

  “Yeah,” Simon added. “You don’t want to take us on, buddy.”

  White studied Simon carefully, and I had an awful feeling that he was seeing what I saw. While Jackson, an ex-cop, could hold his own in a fight, Simon had all the physical conditioning of a hamster. “Maybe I do want to take you on,” White said. With a sudden movement, he wrenched his arm from Jackson’s grasp and tried to punch Simon.

  But before he could make contact with Simon’s face, Jackson tackled him and pinned him to the ground. “That’s enough,” Jackson told him. “Like I said, time to go.”

  Merrily and Nate ran over. “Are you okay, Willow?” Merrily asked.

  “I’m okay, thanks,” I said, feeling anything but.

  “It’s all lies,” Dr. White yelled. “And we’re going to prove it!”

  Jackson got him to his feet and pushed White toward the exit. “Let’s go. You need to get out of here before you do something really stupid.”

  “Let me give him a good punch before he goes,” Simon said. “I owe him one.”

  “Forget it,” Jackson said, turning to look at Simon. “No way.”

  While Jackson was distracted, White seized the moment and pulled free. Jackson and Simon ran after him. This time, though, Dr. White lost his footing, and we watched as he tumbled over the low shrubs that edged the outdoor area and landed with a splash in the bay. A few people clapped. After a few moments, White sputtered to the surface, spewing expletives.

  “Now, that’s what I call a party,” Simon said, smiling.

  chapter three

  Willow McQuade’s

  Favorite Medicinal Plants

  ASTRAGALUS

  Botanical name: Astragalus membranaceus,

  Astragalus mongholicus

  Medicinal uses: A pretty plant with pastel flowers, this important herb is often used in traditional Chinese medicine to support and enhance better immune function. In fact, in Chinese this herb is known as huang qi or “yellow leader,” which refers to the root color and it’s go-to status as a healing tonic. Astragulus is commonly used to prevent and treat common colds and upper respiratory infections. The root of the a
stragalus plant is typically used in soups, teas, extracts, or capsules. Astragalus is generally used with other herbs, such as ginseng, angelica, and licorice.

  Jackson and I woke up early the next morning, surrounded by our menagerie, my dog, Qigong, Claire’s kitties, Ginger and Ginkgo, both tabbies, and Jackson’s long-haired doxies, Rockford and Columbo. After we’d played with them and scratched them all behind the ears, we showered, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

  When I stepped outside, I could feel the buzz in the air from all the Maritime Festival activities. On Front Street, vendors on both sides were getting wares ready to sell, artists competing in the Nautical Art Show were setting up in Mitchell Park, and the marina was full of sailboats, motorboats, and yachts. Soon the blessing of the oyster fleet would take place at the end of the Railroad Dock across the inlet. The sky was a crystal iris blue without a cloud in sight, the temperature, a balmy seventy-two degrees.

  It was so nice out that we decided to eat alfresco on the porch. We had a breakfast of Merrily’s French toast along with fresh strawberries and coffee while we reviewed what still needed to be done that morning.

  “You got the tables and chairs right?” I asked Jackson. We were borrowing them from his neighbor.

  “In my truck,” he said, sipping his coffee. “I’ll set them up after we eat.”

  The Nature’s Way booth would be right in front of the store, which would make things easier for us. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ve got some great stuff to put out.”

  Jackson nodded. “You do. It’s a smart idea to sell some of the plants that you have featured in the garden.”

  “I already texted Nate to remind him to pick up the medicinal plants from Ollie’s Organic Greenhouse on the way in. He’ll get seeds, too. Hopefully, after people take the tour, they’ll want to take plants and seeds home and start their own gardens. I’m going to offer paperback copies of Aunt Claire’s organic gardening books, too.” My aunt had been a prolific writer and author, and her gardening book Gardening, Naturally had been a national best seller.