Garden of Death

by Chrystle Fiedler

  We arrived back at the doctors’ offices and headed inside to talk to Juliette, but we didn’t get that far. That’s because Arlene White and Joe Larson were on their way out. They took one look at us and stood directly in front of the door, blocking our way.

  “The happy couple,” Simon whispered.

  Arlene wore a tightly fitted aqua-blue suit that accentuated all of her assets and a gold statement necklace. She held a slender Gucci clutch in one manicured hand. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  I started to say something, but Simon interrupted me. “I came to see Juliette. We’re dating. You know, like you and Joe here.”

  Joe’s face turned a bright red.

  “So it is true,” I said.

  “Don’t talk to her, Joe,” Arlene snapped.

  “Why not tell her? It’s no secret. Yes, we’re dating. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “That gives you both a motive for wanting Dr. White dead,” Simon noted in a triumphant tone.

  Joe rolled his eyes. “If we conspired to kill Charles—and may I remind you he was my best friend—we’d hardly be openly dating.”

  “Willow’s just trying to shift the blame,” Arlene said. “Because her boyfriend killed my husband.”

  “Jackson didn’t kill anyone,” I told her.

  “Then why is he in jail?”

  “Because the police don’t have anyone else for it,” I said.

  “She’s right and we’re going to prove it,” Simon said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going in.” We moved toward the door, and Arlene and Joe stepped aside.

  But as Simon opened the door, Arlene said, “I’m going to shut you and that garden of yours down, Ms. McQuade. Rest assured, I’m not done with you yet.”

  I turned to face her. “I know all about your power grabs in this town—you and your late husband’s. But you don’t scare me and you won’t shut down my garden.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “That’s enough, Arlene. Let’s go,” Joe said, taking his keys from his pocket. One of them was an old-fashioned brass skeleton key with the number fifteen on it.

  “That’s an unusual key,” I said, pointing to it.

  Joe glanced down at it. “That’s just the key to my locker at the men’s club.”

  “I didn’t get a locker,” Simon said.

  “The lockers are for members only, Mr. Lewis. We use them for our softball gear and other items. Maybe if you show your commitment to our club, you’ll get one of your own someday.”

  “Oh goody, I can’t wait.”

  “You’re a real jerk, Lewis.” Joe took Arlene by the arm. “We’re going.”

  Simon flashed him a perfect white grin. “I do believe you’re jealous.”

  “Of what?” Joe asked.

  “Oh, maybe of the fact that I’m a Hollywood producer and I probably earn more in a year than you’ve made in your entire life.”

  Joe turned around to confront him, but this time Arlene said, “Joe, enough. Car. Now.”

  “Simon, stop taunting him,” I said, pushing the door open. “We need to focus.”

  • • •

  Inside, we found Juliette behind the reception desk, working on a computer. She looked up when we came in, then went back to what she was doing. “Be right with you two. Just have to finish this insurance form.”

  She hit a few more keys and said, “Done.” Then she came around the desk and we sat together in the reception area, a small room with uncomfortable chairs, a worn carpet, and dog-eared copies of WebMD and People magazine.

  “I’m glad you came by, Simon,” Juliette said. “It’s great to see you again.”

  He turned on his thousand-watt smile and said. “You, too, Juliette. We really appreciate your help. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know if it’s really anything, but you said to call if I thought of something that was unusual or out of place and that maybe could help you solve the case. Have you two been up to Seaside Skilled Nursing, on North Road in Greenport?”

  “No,” Simon said. “Is there a reason we should go there?”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Fred Monsell, the artist who painted the cigar store, told us that Frank Fox was in a nursing home before he died. Do you think it’s the same place?”

  “I don’t know Fred Monsell,” Juliette said. “But last summer, Dr. White spent a lot of time at that nursing home, and as far as I know he only had one patient there, and that was Mr. Fox.”

  “And Frank Fox is the one who donated the lot that became the garden,” Simon filled in for Juliette.

  “What happened to Mr. Fox?” I said. “Why was he seeing an orthopedist like Dr. White?”

  “He’d broken his leg in a fall and Dr. White had operated on him. But he recovered well. There weren’t any complications or anything, so I began to wonder why Dr. White was going up there so often.” She smiled tentatively. “I guess I read too many mysteries.”

  Simon took her hand. “You’re doing great, Juliette. Is there anything else?”

  “At first, I thought that maybe he was using the time to have an affair, but I never found any kind of indication of that.” She made a face. “Really, who would want to date him?”

  “But his wife was having an affair with Joe Larson, right?” Simon asked.

  Juliette shook her head. “Those three had been friends for a really long time. But I think Arlene and Joe only started dating after Dr. White was dead.”

  “So they may or may not have wanted him dead,” Simon concluded.

  She took her hand away from Simon’s. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Why were they here this morning?” I asked.

  Juliette shrugged. “Arlene never has enough money and wanted the new corporate credit card. I hope we can pay it.” She put her hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “The practice was having money problems?” I said.

  “Yes, because of all the lawsuits and bad word of mouth. Also, Arlene is a compulsive spender. Dr. White was always complaining about that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Simon said. “If White didn’t have the money, how did he plan to build that hotel if they got the lot?”

  “Joe Larson put together a group of investors, but when Dr. White didn’t get the lot, the deal was off.”

  “How did Dr. White react?” I asked.

  “He freaked out. It was awful around here. We were all glad when he started to leave early in the afternoons, although the other doctors complained about it.”

  “Where did he go when he left?” Simon asked.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “So what do you think we might find at the nursing home?” Simon said.

  “Maybe you could find out what Dr. White was up to, and find out more about his relationship was with Mr. Fox. Maybe it had something to do with Dr. White’s murder. It’s a long shot, I know, but I thought it was strange and wanted to try and help you if I could.”

  “You’re the best, Juliette,” Simon said, smiling at her. “I owe you a dinner.”

  She beamed. “Simon, I’d love to.”

  As we walked back to the car, I said, “I thought you had a girlfriend, Simon. Remember Carly?”

  “Just trying to get the answers we need,” Simon said breezily. “It doesn’t mean that I’ll actually go out with Juliette.”

  I stared at him, outraged. “No, you owe Juliette a dinner, and it better be a nice one. But you’d also better explain everything to her once this is over. You can’t just lead her on and use her for information.”

  Simon looked at me sheepishly. “Okay. I’ll make it up to her, I promise.” He thought for a moment and then said, “You know, Willow, I do believe that you’re making me into a better human being.�
��

  “I try, Simon. I try,” I said, and squeezed his arm.

  • • •

  Seaside Skilled Nursing was located about ten minutes east of Greenport. Ironically, the nursing home faced the cemetery across the road, but it did have a water view.

  Simon found a parking spot in front and we went in to the reception desk. The lobby looked like it had recently been refurbished, with a fresh paint job, new floors, and potted ferns. To the left of the reception desk, I noticed a hallway that probably led to the patients’ rooms in the back.

  I let Simon take the lead again, and he asked to speak to the manager, a woman named Nancy Harrison. She came out of her office behind the reception desk a few minutes later. “How can I help you?” she asked.

  Simon introduced us, then said, “We’re looking for information about Dr. Charles White.”

  “Is one of your relatives in our care?”

  “No, well sort of,” he lied. “I knew Frank Fox and I know he stayed here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t confirm that. We can’t discuss any of our patients or the doctors who treat them unless you’re family, Mr. Lewis. However, you can call Dr. White’s office.” She turned to the receptionist, a bored-looking twenty-something, and said. “Please give them Dr. White’s office number.” She turned back to us. “Talk to Juliette, his office manager.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Simon took the number and we walked back toward the entrance. “Now what do we do, Sherlock?”

  “We sneak in, Watson. When you were parking, I noticed other doors on the outside. Maybe we can get in through one of them. We need to talk to a nurse—preferably the one who took care of Frank Fox—and find out what his relationship was to Dr. White.”

  We exited and circled the red brick building until we came to the doors I’d spotted, which were adjacent to several beds of healthy, well-tended roses and a fountain with a cherub on top. I tried the doorknob and felt my heart speed up. “We’re in luck,” I whispered. “It’s open.”

  Slowly, I opened the door and stuck my head in, checking for Ms. Harrison. “It’s clear. Let’s go. Act like you’re here to visit someone.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Act casual, you know, relaxed but concerned.”

  We headed toward the nursing station, which was situated in the middle of a large atrium with rooms to the left and right. The nurse on duty was a pretty, petite blonde who wore green scrubs and was scribbling on a chart. “You take the lead again. Use your charm.”

  I watched as Simon went up to the desk, flashed her a smile, and began chatting her up. He really was ridiculously good at that. Sure enough, she smiled back and they talked for a few minutes, then he waved me over to them.

  “Emily here was the nurse who usually looked after Frank Fox. His room was right there.” He pointed to a room behind the nurse’s desk. “Emily says that Dr. White was here often, and spent most of his time visiting Frank.”

  “What did they do?” I asked.

  “Mostly, they talked,” Emily said, “but sometimes they played board games.”

  “A doctor playing games with a patient?” I said.

  “I know. It was unusual. Dr. White had operated on Mr. Fox when he broke his leg. It healed well and at first, none of us could figure out why Dr. White kept coming back to see him so often. I mean it was nice, but they weren’t related or anything, and Frank was at least twenty years older than Dr. White. They weren’t exactly friends, but they liked to talk about the history of the East End and about Frank’s hobby. Dr. White seemed really interested in that.”

  “What kind of a hobby did Frank Fox have?” I asked, curious.

  “He referred to himself as ‘a digger,’ and told me that years ago, he used to spend every weekend on the beaches and other places around the East End with his metal detector.”

  I looked at Simon and said, “Did he ever say he found anything?”

  “Or mention pirate treasure?” Simon added.

  Emily smiled. “It’s funny that you should mention that. Frank had all kinds of books about Captain Kidd and other pirates. He told me that he was convinced that there was buried treasure out here somewhere, and it was his dream to find something like that. But I don’t think he ever did.”

  “And Dr. White?” I said. “Was he interested in pirate treasure, too?”

  “Maybe that’s what they had in common,” Simon said.

  “You’re right, he was. In fact, he used to ask Frank where he thought it might be buried, but Frank didn’t tell him much. I think he wanted to keep that to himself. It got to the point where he didn’t want Dr. White to visit because he kept bugging him about it.”

  “Did Frank ever mention anything about pirate treasure in Greenport?”

  Emily hesitated. “I couldn’t say for sure. He mentioned a lot of places. I honestly don’t know if they were real, or if he was just trying to get Dr. White off of his back.”

  “Did anyone else come to visit Frank and ask about this kind of stuff? Like, maybe a guy named Joe Larson?” Simon said.

  “Yes, Joe was another pretty regular visitor. But he and Frank just talked about the men’s club and sports, that’s all. I got the sense that Joe was a good friend to Frank.”

  “Did Frank have any relatives or any other friends?” I asked.

  Emily squinted for a moment, thinking. “Frank told me that his wife died years ago. He had a stepson, but he moved away a long time ago, and both of Frank’s brothers are gone.”

  “So it was mostly Joe and Dr. White who visited,” Simon said. “Was there anyone else?”

  The phone rang at the station and Emily said, “I have to get this.” She answered the call then turned back to us. “I just thought of something. There was this young guy here that Frank became friendly with. He came to put in new rose beds as part of his course work at the Horticultural College in Riverhead.”

  “What was his name?” I got a funny feeling in my gut, as if I already knew what she was going to say next.

  “I think it was Nate, Nate Marshall. Frank had been an avid gardener when he was younger so they talked about plants and stuff like that. It was really sweet to see them together.” Another nurse, with a chart in her hand, approached the desk. “I have to go now,” Emily said. “I hope I helped.”

  “You have,” I said. “More than you know.” We started to walk away and got halfway down the hall when Emily called to us. By the time we got back to the nursing station, the other nurse was gone, and Emily had placed a tattered cardboard carton on the desk.

  “These are Frank’s things. We tried to send them to the stepson but could never find an address or phone number for him. Dr. White wanted them, but I didn’t think that was right because Frank didn’t really like him. So I’ve been saving them, I don’t know for what. There isn’t anything of value inside—it’s mostly old books—but maybe they’ll mean something to you.”

  I could feel my heart begin to hammer with excitement. “Thank you,” I said. “We’ll take good care of them.” I hoped they would help us solve this mystery.

  chapter thirty

  Willow McQuade’s

  Favorite Medicinal Plants

  ST. JOHN’S WORT

  Botanical name: Hypericum perforatum

  Medicinal uses: For over a thousand years, from the time of the ancient Greeks through the Middle Ages, St. John’s wort has been used to treat mild to moderate depression. This hardy, sun-loving perennial is easy to grow and is traditionally gathered on a sunny afternoon, when the buds on the flowers are just about to open. You can make your own oil, salves, and liniment from these flowers, but when it comes to using St. John’s wort to treat your depression, purchase standardized products from a health food store. This herb is also helpful in treating anxiety, stress, tension, and nerve damage, along with seasonal affective disorder (SAD). The o
il when applied to the skin can help relieve pain, and speed healing from bruises, sprains, and burns.

  Note: Do not take St. John’s wort with prescription antidepressants. Remember, if depression is not adequately treated, it can become severe. See your health-care provider to get the help you need. There are many effective proven therapies available.

  Simon and I headed back to Greenport and Nature’s Way. For a while we were silent, mulling over what we had just learned. Finally, Simon said, “You know, when Emily first started talking about Frank and Dr. White, I thought the two of them might have been working together to find pirate treasure out here.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “But after what she said, it’s pretty clear that Frank didn’t want Dr. White to know what he knew.”

  “Right, but White was too greedy—or dense—to catch on to what Frank was doing. So when Frank died last summer and White found out that he’d left a lot he owned in Greenport to the village, he must have figured that the most likely place to find something of value was right there,” Simon said. “So he puts in a bid for the lot, to build the hotel and find the treasure, and Joe puts together investors for him.”

  “Between the hotel and the treasure, he must have thought it was his ticket to financial freedom,” I said.

  “But then you’re awarded the lot. White must have been furious; first, because he didn’t get the lot and the hotel deal fell through; and second, because now he had to work around you to get to the pirate treasure.”

  “There’s something about all that that’s not quite right,” I said. “The sword was stolen, remember? And the earring is Victorian and no one got all that excited about the bronze goblet. So, though we’ve uncovered stuff in the garden, I don’t think any of it was actually hidden there by pirates.”