Garden of Death

by Chrystle Fiedler

  “What happened? Why didn’t you call us?”

  “He didn’t want me to,” Merrily said, crying. “But I can’t get him up by myself.”

  I leaned over Nate. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

  His eyes fluttered open. “I don’t know . . .” His eyes closed.

  “Nate, what happened to you?”

  He opened his eyes, and said, “I—I was moving another paver over and I lost my footing and landed face first on the patio.”

  I went over to the patio. “Where did it happen?”

  “Over there. I don’t know.” He closed his eyes again. Chances were good that he had suffered a concussion. If so, we needed to stop him from going to sleep.

  “Merrily, keep talking to him. Keep him awake!” Quickly, I examined the immediate area but didn’t see any blood or signs of an accident. The fact that there were freshly dug holes and a shovel, though, made me question his story. Was he lying? Had he been looking for artifacts now, too? Did the man in black attack him?

  “Nate, wake up!” Merrily yelled.

  “He needs to be seen at the emergency room. Help me get him to his feet,” I said as I went over to him and grabbed his right arm. Merrily took his left arm, and slowly we got him to his feet. But he was as wobbly as a newly born fawn.

  I worried that he might have a severe concussion and maybe even brain damage. I sucked in a breath. I hated the thought of an employee of mine being injured. After all, it was my fault he had been in the garden in the first place.

  “Nate, we’re going to walk you over to the bench by the entrance and I’ll stay with you while Merrily gets her car.”

  So for the second time in as many days, I helped and injured man out of the garden. I’d have to put firing Nate on hold, for now.

  • • •

  After a restless night’s sleep, I woke up Thursday morning just before seven and headed down to the yoga studio for my daily practice. With everything that had happened, I really needed to clear my mind.

  The night before, Merrily had called from the ER to say that Nate had suffered a concussion and needed several stiches in his forehead. The doctor had released him with the caveat that he not be alone, so she was taking him home and staying the night.

  The situation in the garden had gone from bad to worse. I didn’t know whether to believe Nate or not, but my gut told me that something untoward had happened to him in the garden. Perhaps whoever was looking for pirate treasure had become bolder, or maybe more desperate, since he or she was searching the garden and attacking people in broad daylight instead of waiting until dark. I could see no other solution but to close the garden until this person was caught and the case was closed. I didn’t want to open myself to a lawsuit.

  How did such a good idea become such a nightmare? I could feel my stomach churning with sadness, fear, and flat-out dread. It was definitely time for yoga. I took a deep breath and began a series of sun salutations. I was just about to move on to the warrior pose when my cell phone buzzed.

  It was an e-mail from Professor Russell:

  Good morning, Willow—I’m planning on coming over to Greenport for the yard sale and antique show today. Are you free? No word on the sword yet, but I have some books about pirates on the East End you might find interesting, which I can bring along.

  After what Juliette had said, I definitely wanted to question him further about Dr. White, so I quickly e-mailed back.

  Sure, how about 11? I’ll meet you at the entrance. Bring the books! Thanks!

  He replied:

  I’ll see you then!

  Twenty minutes later, I’d finished my practice and gone back upstairs, where I found Jackson getting dressed.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Better.”

  “I was thinking that we needed to close the garden, at least for now, after what happened to Nate.”

  “That would be admitting defeat, don’t you think?” He grabbed his work boots and went over to the bed to put them on.

  “Maybe. But I’m worried about someone suing us if something else happens. I can’t afford to have anyone else injured in the garden.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Jackson said. “But I still think we need to finish what we’ve started—and I definitely want to finish that teahouse.”

  “That’s the last thing we have to worry about right now. There’s no way it’s going to be completed by the end of the festival. Too much stuff has come up this week. The real question is, how do we keep the garden safe?”

  Jackson didn’t hesitate. “I say we put a twenty-four-hour guard on it to keep any interested parties out.” He laced up his boots, but not without difficulty, and then slowly got to his feet.

  “Jackson, do you really think it’s a good idea to work in the garden today? You look like you’re still recovering.”

  “I think I can get Bob to help out in the garden. Since he retired, he works part-time with his son’s construction company, so he knows what he’s doing. I’ll ask him to find someone else to help guard the garden while he’s at it.”

  “But what do we do about Nate?”

  “We wait until he’s better then talk to him. Maybe give him a second chance, considering what’s happened.”

  “Okay.” My phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

  “This is Michael Yard. You may remember me from Dr. White’s wake?”

  “I remember you.” Why was Arlene White’s attorney calling me? I quickly put the phone on speaker so Jackson could hear him.

  “I’m calling on behalf of my client Nate Marshall.”

  I stared at Jackson. “Your client?”

  “Yes, Mr. Marshall sustained serious injuries yesterday when he was in your employ, and he’s suing you for damages.”

  “I don’t want to minimize what happened, but I was told that it was a concussion and he had a few stiches on his forehead.”

  “It was a severe concussion, Ms. McQuade, and he’s likely to suffer long-term neurologic damage. He’s dizzy and disoriented. You’re his employer, you’re responsible.”

  “Believe me, I feel bad about what happened, but a lawsuit isn’t the answer.”

  “We think it is. I suggest you contact Mr. Lewis, Ms. McQuade, and ask him to find you a good personal injury lawyer.” I could hear him shuffling papers around on his desk. “One more thing. I’ll be bringing suit on Mrs. White’s behalf as well.” He hung up.

  I looked at Jackson. “What are we going to do?”

  He came over and gave me a hug. “It’s going to be all right. Knowing Nate, he’s exaggerating his injuries. We’ll get our own doctor to examine him to confirm what he’s saying. For now, call Simon immediately.”

  “What about Mrs. White?”

  “Let’s solve the murder first. If she’s guilty, she won’t be suing anyone.”

  • • •

  At eleven o’clock, Jackson and I crossed Front Street to meet Professor Russell in Mitchell Park. But I left Nature’s Way feeling uneasy. Merrily had texted me to say she needed to stay home and take care of Nate. She said nothing about Michael Yard and the fact that Nate was suing me.

  The fact that Merrily was again not available meant that Wallace would have to handle the store and the café on his own. He told me that he’d call his niece, Lily, who worked at another café in town, to see if she could fill in.

  Jackson had been able to reach his friend Bob, our nighttime guard, and told him the situation. Bob had arrived before we left. The plan was that he would watch the garden until a friend of his, Tony, another retired cop with time on his hands, came in at seven that evening to take over. Until things returned to normal, they would switch off every twelve hours. When Jackson was working in the garden, Bob could help him out, too.

  Because we needed a guard on duty before
I could give tours, I told Wallace the situation and that we hoped to have the tours running again on Friday. To compensate for any inconvenience, I decided that anyone who bought a ticket for a garden tour could bring a friend along for free.

  When Jackson and I got to the entrance of Mitchell Park, Professor Russell was waiting for us. He wore a black backpack, which reminded me of the one the intruder wore, but this one probably held the books he’d mentioned.

  “Morning, Professor,” I said. “How was your ride across?”

  “Lovely,” he said. “I always enjoy the view of Greenport when I’m on the ferry.”

  “Has there been any word about the sword?” Jackson asked.

  “No, not yet, I’m afraid. Dr. Gillian did tell me that it could take some time. We’ll just have to be patient. In the meantime—” He took off his pack and pulled out several books. “All of these focus on pirates who frequented the East End in the seventeenth century. Their indices make no mention of Greenport. Still, you may find some helpful information.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the books as we started toward the green. “So, are you looking for anything specific today? There’s going to be a huge amount of stuff at the yard sale and antique show.”

  “That’s what Harold said.”

  “Harold?”

  “Yes, Harold Spitz. The two of us chatted a bit after my lecture at the Maritime Museum, and then he called me the next day—when I was on my way over on the ferry to see you, in fact. He wanted to know if I might be interested in one-of-a-kind items from the seventeenth century, since that’s my field of interest. He also suggested that I come over for his yard sale.”

  “What kind of items? Like pirate treasure?”

  He laughed. “No, Ms. McQuade, of course not. More like antique furniture and interesting objets d’art. I’ve just moved into a new house with a lot more space, and I need to fill it. Anyway, I told him yes, and he said to find him when I came over for the sale today.” He looked around the green.

  “Do you see him?”

  While he kept looking around, I glanced at Jackson and I could see that he was also thinking about what this might mean. Were Professor Russell and Harold working together? Was Professor Russell helping him find treasure, specifically whatever might be in my lot? Had the whole trip to East Hampton to see Dr. Gillian been just a ruse to get us out of town?

  I looked around the green and spotted Harold at a table near the docks. “He’s over there.”

  “Oh, good, I’ll go over and say hello. Do you want to come?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Jackson said. “Let’s go.”

  We began to walk across the green, but Martin Bennett intercepted us, and he looked angry. “I need to talk to you, Willow. Alone.”

  Professor Russell gave us a quizzical look.

  “Why don’t you go ahead, Professor?” Jackson said. “We’ll be right there.”

  “If you say so.” He walked off, but not without giving us a puzzled backward glance.

  “I need to talk to her, not you,” Martin told Jackson.

  “I’m staying,” Jackson said. “Get on with it.”

  “I want you to stop bothering my wife. She was very upset when she got home yesterday. She said you and your friend Simon bullied her into talking to you—demanding answers to questions about who her doctor was, and the pending lawsuit, and even her relationship with her friends. What makes you think that this is any of your business?”

  “Because we’re trying to figure out who murdered Dr. White,” Jackson said.

  “That’s what the cops are for,” Martin said, pointing his finger at me. “You need to back off.”

  “It happened on my property, Martin,” I said. “And it’s causing me a lot of trouble. I can’t afford to wait until the police catch the killer.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re the amateur detective who can’t resist a new case. Are you having fun investigating?”

  I tried to hold my temper. “This isn’t a game

  for me.”

  “Or for Sandra,” Martin said. “You can do as you like, but leave my wife alone. Understand?”

  “Why don’t you just hold off on the threats,” Jackson said. “We’re going to do what we need to in order to solve this, but we’ll try not to involve your wife, if we can.”

  “You’ll do more than try. I’m warning you.”

  I was getting really tired of this. “Martin,” I said. “Your wife had a motive for wanting Dr. White dead. She’s a legitimate suspect. The cops may want to talk to her as well. You won’t be able to stop it.”

  “The cops?” Martin looked so upset by that idea that I actually felt sorry for him. “This is crazy. Sandra is the kindest, gentlest person I know. She did not kill White.”

  “Then she’s got nothing to worry about,” I said, even though I knew it wasn’t strictly true. Jackson definitely did not kill White, and he had plenty to worry about.

  Martin shook his head, then raised his eyes to meet mine. “Okay, no threats. I’m just telling you the truth. If anyone comes after Sandra, I guarantee that they’ll be very, very sorry.”

  • • •

  “Lovely guy,” Jackson said as Martin walked off toward a taxidermist’s booth where pink salmon, blue marlin, and yellowfin tuna specimens were on display. They weren’t local fish, but I guessed it was true to the theme of the day.

  We continued on our way over to Harold and Professor Russell. “Look who’s with them,” I said, slowing.

  “It’s Maggie of the almost dog park,” Jackson said. “And their discussion looks pretty heated.”

  They hadn’t noticed us yet, so I said, “Let’s hang back a bit and see if we can overhear what they’re saying.”

  So we headed over to a table about three feet behind and pretended to browse a truly extensive collection of miniature sailboats, yachts, and pleasure craft. The day was calm, so their voices carried easily.

  “I don’t understand,” Professor Russell said. “I thought you were going to bring the item with you. It’s why I came over.”

  “That wasn’t possible,” Harold said. “Not here.”

  “I’d like to see it for myself,” Maggie said. “I think you’re making it up.”

  “Shut up, Maggie,” Harold said. “It’s real, believe me.”

  “I hope so,” Professor Russell said. “We’re running out of time.”

  “He’s right. Even you can’t keep this up much longer,” Maggie said. “You’ve been lucky so far, but that only lasts so long.”

  “When you have a goal, you work toward it,” Harold said. “That is what I’m doing.”

  “Work faster, please,” Professor Russell told him.

  “Fine, I understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my duties. I’ll be in touch, Professor. Enjoy the sale.”

  I grabbed Jackson’s arm and we walked away from the table, back toward the entrance to the park. “It sounds like Harold found something,” I said.

  Jackson nodded. “Yeah, and it’s probably from the garden. Harold is about the same size as the intruder was. He could be the guy.”

  chapter twenty-three

  Willow McQuade’s

  Favorite Medicinal Plants

  LAVENDER

  Botanical name: Lavandula angustifolia

  Medicinal uses: Lovely, purple-hued lavender is appealing to people, bees, and butterflies. It’s certainly one of my favorite herbs. Not only does it look beautiful and smell wonderful, it’s a very versatile medicinal plant. Lavender’s name comes from the Latin lavare, which means “to wash.” Historically, lavender was used as an antiseptic and for mental health purposes. Today, lavender is popular as a spirit-lifting, nerve-relaxing, calming fragrance. You can use lavender for conditions such as anxiety, tension headaches, irritability, nervousness,
restlessness, upset stomach, and insomnia.

  Taking eight to ten sniffs of lavender essential oil from the bottle will help to calm your emotions and relieve stress and mild depression. You’ll find lavender in bath salts, soaps, sachets, potpourris, sleep pillows, creams, lotions, essential oils and other aromatic products. Try one, try them all!

  Back at Nature’s Way, I looked at the books Professor Russell had lent me on East End pirate lore. They all looked well worn and much used, and I had to figure he’d already pored over them himself looking for clues to undiscovered pirate treasure, so I didn’t expect much. But for my own peace of mind, I’d have to do my due diligence and scan them, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

  I wasn’t sure why he’d brought the books over; probably to continue the “I’m a nice guy” routine. But now Jackson and I knew that he was up to something with Harold and Maggie. More than likely he had pointed Harold in the right direction for digging, and Harold did the work and they shared the prize. He must have been flabbergasted when he saw the sword, and goblet that we’d already found. More than that, he wanted them for himself.

  I left the books in my office then checked in on Wallace and Lily, his niece. Lily was intelligent, motivated, and a hard worker, much like her uncle, and planned to go to culinary college when she graduated from high school. To thank them for all their help, I invited them to come with us and Allie, as our guests, to the Maritime Festival’s annual old-fashioned fish fry that night. Wallace declined, explaining that he was busy helping out with the sets for The Tempest. Lily, however, said she’d meet us there.

  A little before seven, I tucked a flashlight into my purse—I’d been meaning to do that ever since I got locked in the camera obscura—and Jackson, Allie, and I headed over to meet Lily at the fish fry. We all dressed casually, me in a pink Life Is Good T-shirt and jeans, Jackson in a white tee and jeans, and Allie in an azure-blue sundress, her red hair in a ponytail. When we arrived Lily was already there, having gone home first to take a shower and change into a pink shirt, navy shorts, and sandals.

  We presented our tickets and got in line. The smell of frying flounder and french fries filled the air, along with roasting veggies and macaroni and cheese. Other side dishes included coleslaw, German potato salad, pasta salad, barbecued baked beans, and corn bread. Dessert consisted of blueberry, apple, and peach pies. Okay, it wasn’t organic, but it sure looked and smelled great. We grabbed trays and set to work filling our plates with goodies. Luckily, we found a table with a view of Main Street and sat down to enjoy the meal.