The Gardener of Aria Manor

by A. L. Duncan

  Slowly, Ilene returned to her father. She knelt to him and he fell into her arms. It was an embrace that should have healed the heavens themselves from all anguish.

  JANIE AND FRICKY were on their way to the Forensic Science Department, a small lab purposely set up at the local police department for the investigation of the newly acquired skeleton. The retired Chief Inspector had called to tell her there was something she needed to see, and she had immediately complied. As they walked down the hallway, Janie noted the spring in the old man’s step and the sparkle in his eyes. He was practically skipping with excitement.

  “So, are you going to tell me, or just look at me with that damn grin on your face?”

  “You were absolutely right,” he said. “The Yard called in a pathologist from Oxford University to investigate the skeleton from the cave. For one thing, he was to determine whether it was lying in that cave thirty years or three hundred years. For almost two weeks now, the skeleton has been picked at and pored over like some newly discovered ancient mummy.”

  Janie stopped walking and faced him squarely.

  “Yes,” he crowed. “The skeleton you found is indisputably Mrs. Miriam Vanderholt’s woman friend, the one who disappeared the night of the murder.”

  “After what happened at Aria Manor the other day, I don’t know whether to be excited or feel spooked.”

  “Another episode?”

  “It’s killing me to watch Ilene go through this.”

  “Yes. It is a difficult thing to watch a loved one be stricken so.” Fricky spotted a lanky figure lingering near the door just ahead and pushed Janie in that direction. “Here. Come on. Let me introduce you to someone. I’m hoping the closer we get to the truth, the quicker we’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  The middle-aged man straightened at their approach. With hands clasped behind him, he rocked on his heels in anticipation. “Well, Fricky, this had better be good.”

  “It won’t take long,” Fricky promised. “I’ll be sending you back to your pasties and the Missus quick as a wink.” Fricky gestured to Janie. “Chief Inspector Higgins, this is Miss Carolyn Vaughn.”

  Higgins held himself with an air of confidence typical of those in high office. Trim and neatly suited, his average height seemed to allude to someone taller, perhaps from the starched poise. Undoubtedly, he was a man of calculating intelligence and keen persuasion. The large, hawk nose sat boldly above a pencil-thin mustache of gray that matched the wings of hair on his balding head

  “She’s visiting our little harbor from America,” Fricky added with a hint of humor.

  The Chief Inspector politely accepted Janie’s hand. “I do hope you’re enjoying your stay. Our hamlet hasn’t much in the way of big city fare and entertainments, but the market certainly prides itself on being the best this side of Hastings.”

  “I’m quite enjoying the natural beauty of the English countryside, Inspector,” Janie assured him.

  “Indeed. Good show.”

  “And Aria Manor has a dandy cook.”

  Higgins nodded politely and laughed. “Yes, well. So, you went searching for treasure, eh, Miss Vaughn?”

  “Actually, I was just exploring a cave.”

  “Yes, right. Well, however you came by the evidence, Scotland Yard can finally resolve an old case,” Chief Inspector Higgins murmured.

  A little man wearing a white lab coat and thick spectacles stepped out of the door, precluding further exchanges. Surprised at the immediate presence of figures hovering about, the man staggered back a step. “Chief Inspector Higgins.”

  “Is she ready, Dr. Avery?” asked Higgins.

  “Oh, yes. She’s—” The pathologist caught sight of Janie and about jumped out of his skin, nearly crawling up the door behind him. Taken aback, he removed his glasses and nervously wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Geez, and I thought I was a nervous wreck,” Janie said wryly.

  “I say, old boy,” said Fricky to the scientist. “Better ease up on the old java, eh?”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Higgins urged.

  Fricky put out an arm and blocked Janie from entering the room. “Mind you, you ought to brace yourself.”

  “I’ve seen the skeleton, Fricky. I’m the one who told you about it.”

  “Well...there’s more to it than just some bones. You see, Dr. Avery is a well known forensic pathologist. His skills allow him to take what he is given and...um...manipulate it.”

  “So, what are you telling me? The skeleton is clutching a pint and pantomiming a drunk?”

  Dr. Avery laughed sheepishly. “That’s...that’s very, um...that’s very good.”

  Janie gestured impatiently toward the room. Fricky stepped aside and let her enter.

  Everyone gathered around a lighted table and Dr. Avery seated his round spectacles and rested his hand on a small draped object.

  “So, what’s that?” Janie asked.

  Avery glanced at Fricky and then said, “It’s your…um...her skull.”

  Janie lifted an eyebrow. At Chief Inspector Higgins’s nod, Avery removed the cloth and exposed a skull with features wrought in clay.

  Fricky nonchalantly scratched his chin, wide-eyed with anticipation.

  “Good heavens.” Higgins scrutinized Janie’s profile and then paged through the file for a photo of the missing woman.

  Janie was feeling nauseous. She jumped at Fricky’s close inspection. “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking for goose bumps and tiny little hairs standing on end.” When she didn’t answer, he prodded, “Feel like someone stepped on your grave?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Are you a relative?” asked Dr. Avery.

  “Not a drop,” Fricky said, his excitement clear.

  “The likeness is remarkable.” Higgins stepped up to the skull for a closer look.

  “I must say,” Avery added, with an eye to Janie, “I’m not too far off the mark, if what I heard is true.”

  Higgins mumbled, “Hmm? What’s that?”

  “If you believe in reincarnation, and what not.”

  The Chief Inspector scowled. “Jiggery pokery, that’s absolute rubbish. We’re looking for facts, gentlemen, not some mystical hogwash. This person is a suspect in a murder, not some freak in a side show. There’s certain to be some logical explanation to all this, I’m sure.”

  Fricky confidently stood toe-to-toe with the Chief Inspector. “What if I told you we have plausible reasons to reopen the murder case with Major Denys Vanderholt as our prime suspect?”

  “Preposterous idea, Fricky,” Higgins flipped through his file. “According to the Yard’s interview, the Major had an alibi. I don’t see why it wouldn’t still hold up. This was a clear cut case of a criminal reaching beyond her means. Obviously she ingratiated herself with the Vanderholts to gain their trust and, as with every other family with which she had ties, she robbed them. Only this time, she was caught red-handed, murdered Mrs. Vanderholt. Maybe she felt guilty, hid herself in a cave and ended it all.”

  Fricky changed his timbre and regarded Higgins calmly. “I did a bit of looking into the original investigation and found a flaw in someone’s fact checking.”

  Higgins grumbled impatiently, “Well, what is it?”

  “The Major’s alibi was being at hospital for a two day checkup during the time of the murder.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Denys Vanderholt was released from hospital on the morning of June 5, 1903.”

  Higgins slapped the pages of the file in agitation. “Fricky, it’s all right here. It clearly states, Saturday, June 5, 1903.”

  “Indeed. It states Saturday, June 5, 1903. June 5 actually fell on a Friday, the day before, putting the Major at home on Friday, the day of the murder.”

  Higgins hemmed and hawed as he searched through several pages. “I’ll get someone to look into it.”

  “Miriam Vanderholt failed to attend a party that night. If I’m not
mistaken, the party she was to attend was one of Lady Crutchfield’s infamous gatherings at Huet Hall.”

  Silence weighed heavily in the room as everyone stared at the Chief Inspector, waiting for him to concede that the case had been badly handled. Higgins raised an eyebrow. “The politics of such a contrived lack of investigation would likely still extend its undue influence, Fricky. I doubt either of us would be willing to lose our heads over challenging the original findings.”

  “There’s the matter of a cufflink that was found on the skeleton. It matches one that the Major still has in his possession.”

  Higgins cast a speculative glance at Janie. “It could have been planted.”

  “Higgins, just a short time ago the Major tried to shoot Miss Vaughn in his delirium,” Fricky reported. “It’s apparent that Denys Vanderholt believed he was looking at the very same woman whose skull lies on that table. You said it yourself, you can’t deny the likeness.” Fricky waved a hand in the direction of the skull. “We don’t have to track down witnesses or challenge old precepts at this stage of the investigation. All we have to do is to allow the Major’s mind to recreate the events that led up to the murder, as it has been doing. I’m certain that history will repeat itself, and we’ll have a confession.”

  “Or another murder,” Janie offered wryly.

  After a moment’s thought, Higgins’s features seemed to soften, and Fricky teetered on his toes with joy.

  “Mind you,” Higgins growled sternly, “we’ve no solid proof as yet. We’ll need to keep this under our hats, Fricky. It stays strictly unofficial unless we get a confession. Remember, that woman...” He pointed a finger at Janie, then puffed his mustache. He cleared his throat and his finger moved to the skull. “That woman is still a suspect in the murder of Miriam Vanderholt.”

  Everyone moved out into the hall. Over a lighted match, Janie watched Higgins and Dr. Avery in deep conversation. She took a draw on the cigarette, then exhaled the stream of smoke as she and Fricky moved toward the door.

  Fricky beamed. “What do you think of all this?”

  “I think I need a drink.” He wheezed a humorous reply, and Janie found that she was getting tired of his cheerfulness. “I’m so glad you find my warped life amusing, Fricky.”

  “Your nemesis, it seems, isn’t Denys after all. But, in fact, yourself.”

  “You don’t know how true that is.”

  Fricky escorted her out the building and gestured toward a little café not far up the street. “Join me for tea?” he asked. “I’ll buy.”

  NOT LONG INTO a casual conversation, Fricky was quietly sipping his tea. The little harbor was somewhat quiet with a light drizzle that pattered upon cobblestones and trickled down rainspouts. The market street was abuzz with shop owners and locals. She didn’t seem any more interested in the rhythm of the town than in the artistic drops of rain on the purple pansies just outside the window.

  Janie glanced at Fricky through rings of smoke, sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. “Have you ever been faced with the idea that you have no way to escape from yourself, and that the only thing staring back at you in the mirror is a past full of regret and false expectations?”

  Fricky grinned into his cup. “I was wondering when you’d get around to your confession.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You, my dear, have expressions too honest to be a thief.”

  Janie felt a pang of fear. “Then you know.”

  “I did some digging,” Fricky admitted.

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Don’t believe it is as injurious as all that, Miss Vaughn. If, indeed, you are Carolyn Vaughn. Let’s get down to the honest truth of the matter, shall we? This is Old Fricky, remember? You have my word, your secret is safe with me.”

  Janie swallowed her anxiety and sat back. If there was anyone on earth to make confession to other than a trusted priest, it was Fricky. Actually, she never trusted any priest. So, to Fricky she spoke. She found that she was relieved to share the burden that had weighed on her since her father’s death. Janie withheld nothing of her story, explaining the double life she had been leading, and the unexpected twists and turns on the road that her deception had taken her down.

  After an hour or so of intent listening, Fricky crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “One hell of a mess you’re in.”

  “I thought of running once or twice.”

  “Your chances would be better in an Irish peat bog, I’m afraid.”

  “Subtle.”

  “Thinner than the little vesting on the inside of an eggshell.”

  “I get the picture.”

  Fricky squinted and spoke on a serious note. “Connecting the odd assortment of elements in this puzzle involves a two-pronged solution. The first step is to find this ruby that is supposed to be at Aria Manor. It might provide the clue to what started this whole mess to begin with.”

  “And the second?”

  “You leave that up to me.”

  “I suppose you have some fancy method.”

  “There is no method to it, my dear Miss Vaughn.” Fricky sat back with confidence. “The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. Is there really a difference of what shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  **Review Copy Only -- Not For Sale Or Redistribution**

  ILENE STEPPED OUT onto the front step to see Oliver and Angela off. Oliver’s leg had mended well enough that he could go home. He was determined to return to his business in Bristol; he did not trust anyone to do a satisfactory job without his domineering presence.

  “I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow,” Ilene said, making conversation.

  Oliver allowed Angela to ease his leg into the motorcar. “And give Reginald Bartholomew another day to muck up my accounting? He can’t even balance his own bloody checkbook.” Oliver grimaced in pain. “Besides, I’m getting tired of looking like the other bookend to Father. One of us limping around here is enough.”

  Ilene couldn’t help but wonder whether the real reason for him leaving was that he detested the country as much as Angela did.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take some of Anna’s baking with you?” she offered.

  “Good heavens, no.” Angela fussed with tucking a blanket around Oliver’s legs, despite his look of disgust. “We’ve eaten enough while here to feed an entire brigade.”

  “Did you remember the scotch?” Oliver prodded.

  Angela pointed. “Right there in your bag.”

  Bartley finished loading the luggage in the back seat and departed without so much as an appreciative glance from either passenger. Ilene touched his sleeve as he passed by.

  “Thank you, Bartley.”

  “Madame,” he murmured, with polite bow of the head.

  “This flask is empty,” Oliver whined.

  “Oh for God’s sakes, Oliver!” Angela grabbed the flask from him. “That was to last the entire trip!”

  Snatching it back, he answered sharply, “Stop squawking, just go and get more!”

  Angela scowled and was at the door when Bartley returned with a full bottle of scotch.

  “Oh, Bartley.” Angela actually smiled. “You know him so well.” She reached for the bottle and turned for the car. “It was nice seeing you again, darling,” she said to Ilene. “Give my regards to Carolyn, won’t you?”

  “Certainly,” Ilene replied dryly.

  Ilene was quite certain Angela had only mentioned Carolyn to agitate her, so she stood in feigned disinterest, determined not to give Angela the satisfaction.

  Undaunted, Angela added, “See you in two months.”

  “Two months?”

  “Oh. Didn’t your father tell you, dear?”

  “Angela, now is not the time!” Oliver growled, a vein throbbing on his forehead.

  “We’re moving to Aria Manor,” Angela said airily. She took her place in the driver’s seat and started the engine.


  Oliver grabbed hold of the steering wheel. “Would you just start driving?”

  Ilene stood in shock as the motorcar sped away under the lime boughs, it was all she could do to murmur, “So soon.”

  JANIE WAS IN the front beds weeding when she heard Fricky’s poorly maintained convertible buggy spit and spew and sputter to a stop in the courtyard. Humming along optimistically he eyed her through his dingy goggles and gave a wave.

  Janie approached him as he pulled off his goggles and cap. “You must have something exciting to share with me today to come all the way over here, Mr. Fricky.”

  “Indeed I do, Miss Vaughn,” Fricky almost sung it. “Scotland Yard has left the unofficial investigation to me.”

  “Unofficial.”

  Fricky laid a finger on his lips. “Back in harness. Happy to oblige, nonetheless. And they are allowing me my curiosities as I see fit. For now. Thought I’d make the best of them before Old Crusty Higgins finds out. I have been trying to get an appointment with the Major for two weeks, but have been put off with the excuse that the Major was in no condition to have visitors.”

  “Sorry for the delay. It took some convincing. Ilene has been quite apprehensive about his condition. More days than not, he’s out of touch with reality. He suffers from constant headaches. Doesn’t eat much. Today’s the first day he’s left his room in a week.”

  “He’s in control of his faculties, is he?”

  Janie nodded. “This morning, so far.”

  “Right-Oh.” Fricky brushed off his wrinkled blazer and donned his hat. “Let’s give it a go, shall we?”

  Janie walked him through the front door and met Ilene’s smile as she was descending the stairs. Fricky smiled brightly and tipped his hat in greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Eldridge,” he said in a lilting voice. “I believe the Major is expecting me.”

  Ilene paused. “Oh. Why, Mr. Fricky. How nice of you to come.”

  “Well, what else is an old man to do in his lingering boredom and retirement aside from the occasional meddling in the affairs of tavern patrons?” Ilene approached him and laughed with him. “Monotony is a narrow bridge I wish to cross only once in my life. It is due time to get back to the true nature of my ways. To be, once again, a royal spur in the buttocks of those who wished me a permanent vacation in Bora Bora. More precisely, my dear, I’ve come to enchant your father with well wishes.”