Garden of Death

by Chrystle Fiedler

  “Did the other stuff come in?” Jackson popped a strawberry into his mouth. The dogs sat at our feet waiting for small bites of French toast. He slipped them each a snack.

  “The gardening aprons, hats, tool belts, and plant stakes with the Nature’s Way logo came in yesterday.” I’d recently had the logo designed and was pleased with the result, which was the name, and an illustration of the store with the garden next door.

  “If the clothes sell, you might want to think about carrying other items.”

  “I don’t think I have room, although I’d love to carry Life Is Good, Good Karma T-shirts.”

  “You just need a rack to display them,” Jackson said. “I’ll build you one if you want.”

  “You are the best boyfriend,” I said, and leaned over to kiss him.

  As I did, Simon walked up the steps. “Ah, the lovebirds.” He took the seat next to me and squeezed my hand. “I need to talk to you, Willow.”

  I suddenly remembered the text I’d ignored the night before.

  “I can help you and me,” Simon began.

  “What is it?” I asked suspiciously. I finished up my French toast, giving another treat to the dogs. “You said, you could help you and me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “This should be good,” Jackson said, sitting back. Simon was a friend, but he was not known for his altruism.

  “Okay, you know I have writer’s block, right?”

  “Yeah, I sort of guessed.” I had noticed that Simon spent more time looking at his laptop screen than typing when he came in for breakfast.

  Simon flashed me his very white Hollywood smile. “I came up with the perfect solution.”

  “Really? Do I have a problem?”

  “The summer season is upon us and you need more help in the store and the café. I need to do something menial to free up my mind so I can get creative. You know, like Albert Einstein when he worked in the patent office and discovered relativity?”

  I knew where this was going. “You want to work here?”

  “Yeah, you know, being a waiter and stuff, something brainless to rest my mind. Two birds with one stone. Am I a genius or what?” Simon looked exceptionally pleased with his solution.

  “That’s great, Simon,” Jackson said, knowing what I was in for. Simon could be helpful. He could also be selfish, self-absorbed, and unavailable. “It’s also really nice that you think that Willow’s work here is menial.”

  Simon clapped Jackson on the shoulder. “That’s not what I mean, big guy. She’s the boss. I mean the people who work for her.” He turned to me, giving me a puppy dog look. “So, what do you say, Willow? I can start right now.”

  He was dressed in khakis and a white Izod shirt. He’d just have to put on a green apron. But could he be a waiter?

  “Wait a minute, Simon,” I said. “Have you ever done this type of work before?”

  “In college, sure, for a month or so, until . . .” He paused and looked at us.

  “You got fired,” Jackson guessed.

  “I’m a writer, I can’t do work like this forever. But a week or so might help my creative process.”

  I did need the help, especially during festival week. I looked at Jackson, who gave the idea a thumbs-down. But Simon was a friend and really, how much trouble could he get into? So I said, “We’ll do a trial period and see how you do. How’s that sound?”

  “Put me to work, boss,” Simon said, grinning.

  • • •

  The first thing we needed to do to get our booth ready for the festival was to bring out the tables and chairs. While Jackson and Simon went inside, I decided where to set up everything. Minutes later, Jackson came out by himself, with a folding table under each arm.

  I knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Are you crazy, letting him work here?”

  “I have to give him a chance,” I explained as we set up the first table. “I don’t know if it will really help his writing or not, but Simon is a friend. Besides, I could use the help.”

  “You just hit on the million-dollar question,” Jackson said. “Do you think Simon is actually capable of helping anyone besides himself?”

  “He’s got potential,” I said carefully.

  Jackson started setting up the second table, adjacent to the first one. “Willow, you need to think about what’s best for you and your business. Simon’s just going to get in the way. He’s already going on about how working here is going to free up his mind and make him really Zen. He said he could already feel it already ‘altering the vibration of his brain waves.’ Talk about New Age blather . . .”

  I shrugged, unsurprised. “So when he’s unblocked, he’ll leave. Hopefully, it won’t take long.” I spotted the Nature’s Way van take a left at the light, which meant that Nate would arrive at any minute. “I see Nate, good timing.”

  “Don’t change the subject. And if you have any illusions about Simon being a hard worker, he’s only carrying one chair at a time.” Jackson motioned to Simon, who was making his way down the stairs, a folding chair in one hand, a muffin in the other.

  Simon put down the chair and took a bite of the blueberry muffin. “Merrily is an amazing baker. She even let me taste a sample of the peach pie that she’s making for the contest in Mitchell Park this afternoon. Delicious!”

  “Yes, she’s very talented,” I said. “Can you please get the other chair?”

  It was already eight forty-five and the parade would start at eleven, which meant people would be congregating in front of the store soon.

  “In a minute. I want to finish my muffin.” Simon took another bite. “You know what? Coffee would go great with this. Want anything?” he asked as he headed back down the walkway.

  “No, we’re okay, but come back soon.”

  Simon, oblivious, waved and took another bite.

  “Oh, yeah, he’s going to work out just fine,” Jackson said sarcastically, his eyes still on Simon. “Please tell me you’re not paying him for this.”

  “Jackson, just accept him the way he is. Be Zen.”

  “No one is that Zen,” Jackson informed me. “Not even you.” He shook his head. “I’m going to check out the garden one more time.” As he spoke, Nate parked the van, then took a flat of medicinal plants from the back.

  “I’ll meet you there after Nate and I set up,” I told Jackson. “We need to put up the ribbon.” I’d bought bright yellow ribbon from the hobby store and a new pair of oversize scissors to cut it with. “After that, I want to watch the parade at eleven.”

  “Sounds good,” Jackson said, giving me a kiss.

  So while Nate and I set out the plants, seeds, and merchandise, Jackson looked over the garden and Simon had coffee.

  • • •

  After we set up the tables, I got the ribbon and scissors from my office and went over to the entrance of the garden. I could see the procession for the parade lining up on First Street by the ferry and the Maritime Museum. The local high school band, horses, ponies, and rescues from the local animal shelter who always marched in the parade were already in place. Behind them, I glimpsed giant floats and after them, the first of the classic cars pulling into place.

  I noticed Sandra and Martin’s booth near the movie theater. I hoped that they would take a tour of the garden later. Other vendors, closer to Nature’s Way, were selling everything from T-shirts to nautical crafts to hot dogs and lemonade.

  Jackson walked over to me, brushing dirt from his jeans.

  “Everything okay in the garden?” I asked, wanting things to be perfect. “Should I take a walk-through?”

  “No need,” he said. “I just had to replace a plant that some critter ate. But don’t worry. Now it all looks great. We’re ready.”

  • • •

  Visitors crowded the sidewalk as the parade made its way dow
n Front Street to Main Street. Kids shouted with delight as tractors pulling carts drove past with those onboard throwing candy to the crowd.

  “Don’t you just love mermaids?” Simon asked, as a colorful float with six mermaids rolled past.

  “I guess so,” I said. “I never really thought about it.”

  But I couldn’t help being charmed by the parade. The local high school band had never sounded better, and even the dogs looked like they were having fun, wagging their tails, barking at their owners’ sides. Everyone was having a good time.

  “Looks like our old friend is here,” Jackson said to me. He nodded toward a man in the crowd, standing beside his young wife and toddler son.

  “Oh, great. My favorite person.” It was Detective Koren, my nemesis in all things murder. Even though I solved my Aunt Claire’s murder and the mystery of who had killed a Hollywood producer last fall, he still resented my amateur sleuthing skills and my success rate. As always, he was dressed impeccably, but today he went for the casual look, khaki shorts and a polo shirt. Just to bug him, I threw him a wave. He pretended not to see me.

  I turned my attention to the next float, which featured a plywood pirate ship, with a skull-and-­crossbones flag and several menacing-looking pirates. They circled the ship and growled at the crowd as they sang “A Pirate’s Life for Me.”

  Next up were antique cars of every size, shape, and color. Riding in the cars were the mayor and the Village Board, but I didn’t see Joe Larson, who had championed White. I hoped this meant that he wouldn’t be at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the garden.

  The parade ended at noon, and soon after that we all gathered in front of the garden gate. Merrily closed the store temporarily and came out, along with Hector and Allie, my in-house acupuncturist and masseuse, who took a break from their appointments to attend. Aunt Claire’s boyfriend, Nick, our beloved yoga teacher, was there as well. Nick had encouraged me to fight for my garden project and ignore the naysayers. He’d become a good friend, especially now that Claire was gone.

  It seemed everyone who had worked with and loved my aunt—from her pet-rescue efforts to her Scrabble club—turned out, and so did others who shopped at Nature’s Way and considered her a friend. I knew she would have been very touched.

  On the left side of the trellised garden gate, there was a brass plaque that read: Claire Hagen Memorial Physic Garden: Forever in Our Hearts. Peace, Light, Love and Blessings to All Who Enter Here. The mayor and the trustees, except for Joe Larson, stood to the right.

  “Thank you all so much for taking time out of your busy Maritime Festival weekend to remember a truly wonderful citizen of our beloved village,” Mayor Hobson began. “Claire Hagen always had a kind word for everyone and never said no to a request for help, be it for people or our four-legged friends. So it is my great honor to introduce her niece, Willow McQuade, who is carrying on her work at Nature’s Way and in the community.”

  The crowd clapped, and this time there were no dissenting voices.

  I stepped toward the gate. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Thank you, everyone. I am very touched and moved by your show of support today. I know that it would have made Claire deeply happy. What would make her even happier is the fact that you’ll learn so much by visiting this garden and hopefully take this knowledge and put it to use in your own lives.

  “This garden is modeled after the Chelsea Physic Garden in London, which both my aunt and I visited. The Chelsea Garden was founded in 1673 by the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries so that their apprentices could study the medicinal qualities of plants. Today it is one of the most important centers of botany and plant exchange in the world. With the help of my team, especially Jackson Spade and Nate Marshall, I’ve modeled this garden on their vision. I hope you enjoy it!”

  Jackson handed me the scissors, and I cut the ribbon as a photographer from the local paper snapped a shot. “I now proclaim the Claire Hagen Memorial Physic Garden open!”

  The crowd cheered and Jackson pulled me into a hug. “Congratulations, Willow. You did it!”

  “We did it,” I said, taking his hand, feeling happy and proud. “Now everyone, let’s take the tour of Greenport’s new garden of medicinal plants!”

  I walked under the arch and entered the garden, the crowd trailing behind me. The lot was generous, a little over two acres, and I’d designed it in a grid pattern and packed it with plants. There were two main pathways, one on the left and one on the right, with the entrance on Front Street and the teahouse at the north end. The entire garden was surrounded by a six-foot fence. It felt safe and secluded, an oasis from daily life.

  “Here you’ll find a wide array of plants that contain proven therapeutic compounds,” I explained. “The beds are arranged according to area of treatment, from dermatology to cardiology.”

  I pointed to the first section on the left. “These plants produce compounds that have anesthetic or pain-relieving properties.” I touch a long-stemmed herb with small, creamy-white flowers that bloomed from June to August. “For example, this is Filipendual ulmaria, or meadowsweet, which contains small quantities of salicylic acid, the active ingredient that is used in aspirin.”

  The crowd moved in and inspected the plants and the plaques in front of them, each with information about the Latin name, where the plant originated, and its properties.

  Next, I moved on to the plant collection with anticancer properties, like Catharanthus roseus, or Madagascar periwinkle, which contains alkaloids used in anticancer drugs. I continued with my tour, introducing medicinal plants that had benefits for the skin, including aloe, which was for sale at our booth, as well as plants for lung disease, neurology and rheumatology, psychiatry, ophthalmology, and gastroenterology.

  I headed to a sunny area of the garden next. When everyone gathered around, I said, “Here, we’ve planted a cardiology garden. I gestured to a tall plant with purplish flowers. “This is one of most well-known cardiac herbs. Digitalis lanata, or wooly foxglove, contains a cardiac glycoside known as digoxin that is extracted directly from the leaves and is used to control and prevent abnormal heart rhythms and strengthen the heartbeat.”

  I turned back to look at the plant and noticed that there was something on the ground behind it. I asked the crowd to wait a moment and stepped around the plant bed. It looked like a piece of pink cotton cloth, but when I knelt down and tried to pick it up, I found that it was attached to an arm. I started to scream.

  The arm belonged to Dr. Charles White. Burgundy-red blood dribbled from a gash in his forehead down into his sightless blue eyes. His rimless glasses lay next to him, broken and twisted. The not-so-good doctor was very, very dead.

  chapter four

  Willow McQuade’s Favorite

  Medicinal Plants

  BILBERRY

  Botanical name: Vaccinium myrtillus

  Medicinal uses: Bilberry, a close cousin to the blueberry, is a tasty plant with bright blue berries and verdant green shrubbery, used in jams, pies, and wines. But this antioxidant powerhouse also has many medicinal and healing purposes. Since the Middle Ages, it has been used to treat diarrhea, scurvy, and other conditions. Today, the fruit is also used to treat menstrual cramps, eye problems, varicose veins, venous insufficiency (poor blood flow to the heart), and other circulatory problems. The fruit and leaves of the bilberry plant can be eaten or made into extracts or used to make teas.

  It was a good thing that we were in the cardiac section of the garden, because my heart felt like it had just stopped. I looked at the body again, hoping it was just a bad dream. No such luck. “It’s Dr. White. He’s dead,” I said, feeling light-headed. I stumbled backward, wanting to get away. But the crowd moved closer, anxious to see what was going on. A low murmur of whispers filled the air.

  Jackson ran up to me, and I leaned on him as I pointed to the body. “You were just here,” I said, trembling. It suddenly seemed cold. Had
we really eaten breakfast outside on the porch this morning? “How . . . how did this happen?”

  He pulled me into a protective hug. “I don’t know. But obviously someone killed him, and it happened after I left, in the past hour or so. We’d better call Koren.”

  I tried to think clearly. “I just saw Koren at the parade.”

  Jackson pulled out his phone and quickly texted the detective. Within minutes, Detective Koren was pushing through the crowd, holding his badge high, a crime-scene tech behind him.

  “Police, coming through. Move aside, people, please!” He spotted us and walked over. “Don’t tell me that you’ve found another dead body, Ms. McQuade.” He drilled me with a look.

  I felt like crying and pressed my head into Jackson’s chest.

  “See for yourself, Koren,” Jackson said.

  Koren squatted next to the body and took a pulse. “He’s dead, all right.” His eyes scanned the body. “Looks like he was whacked over the head. That’s a nasty-looking wound.” He stood up and gazed around the area. “It could have been made with something like that.” He pointed to the shovel that leaned against the fence. “What exactly happened here?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Whoever did this must have done it during the parade, after Jackson left the garden.”

  “What do you mean? Give me a timeline, please.”

  But before I could answer, Simon pushed through the crowd and came over to us. “What’s going on? Are they hassling you again, Willow?”

  “Stay out of this, Lewis,” Detective Koren said. He had placed Simon under arrest last fall for the murder of a Hollywood producer. I had cleared Simon, but it didn’t mean that Koren liked him. “You want to get yourself back in it again?”

  “I just don’t want Willow to say anything she shouldn’t.” This was ironic, as Jackson and I had counseled him to do the same last year. Simon pulled me to the side. “I’ll call my lawyer. He’ll take care of this. I owe you one, Willow.”