African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A few days later, Lilliana entered the library carrying her best Royal Purple African violet plant for the monthly club meeting. She was happy to see a good turnout, whether it was because of the ad she’d taken out in the paper or interest in the topic. With any luck the group might soon become large enough to consider becoming a chapter of the African Violet Society of America.

  Speaking of which, just as Lilliana set her plant down on the table, Beverly, the receptionist, stuck her head in the door. “Joan MacLeod is here for you.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Joan MacLeod was a petite, perky sixty-year old accredited by the African Violet Society of America as a master judge. “Joan, thanks so much for coming today.”

  The judge from Tucson wasn’t the only one in the lobby when Lilliana went to greet her. Penny Cameron was standing just inside the entrance as well.

  “Good morning, Penny,” Lilliana said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I thought I’d come to the African Violet Club meeting today, see what it’s about,” Penny said.

  “Then you’re just in time. This is Joan MacLeod.” She pointed to Joan, even though the gesture wasn’t necessary. “Joan, this is Penny Cameron. Penny has just opened a new flower shop in Rainbow Ranch.”

  After brief greetings, the three of them headed to the library, which had gained a few more occupants.

  “Lily!” Lenny called out.

  “Good morning, Leonard,” Lilliana said, purposefully using his full name, not that it would be noticed by Lenny. She did wish he would stop calling her Lily.

  Sarah had taken her place as president at the head of the table. She’d brought a fancy wooden gavel this time, which she rapped on its sound block. “Order, order.”

  Those who hadn’t already claimed a chair did so now. Lilliana scanned the faces and the plants. Frank had brought his latest cultivar, a pretty yellow one, while Mary had somehow managed to bring three of her miniatures. Pieter Joncker hadn’t brought any plants; neither had Rebecca or Nancy. She was surprised to see the two women there, since as far as she knew, neither one of them owned an African violet, much less raised them, although Nancy attended on occasion for the companionship. And to share her baking. Lilliana mentally grimaced. Then she thought of a reason that had nothing to do with plants to explain why they’d decided to come. If Lilliana were a betting woman, she would have given long odds that they were hoping Christopher would show up.

  That wasn’t going to happen, and she hoped the ladies wouldn’t run out the door as soon as they realized that. She had told Christopher about the meeting at dinner last night, just as information, not because she expected him to come. He considered it for a moment, then declined, saying he wasn’t good with plants and needed to go into town anyway.

  “I call this meeting of the Rainbow Ranch African Violet Club to order,” Sarah said firmly.

  Lilliana was proud of her. When Sarah had first been elected president of the club, she’d been somewhat timid, deferring to Lilliana constantly for how to run the meeting and announcements and such. Only recently had the elderly woman developed more self-confidence, to the point where Lilliana could settle back in her role as Programs Director.

  “I see we have some new attendees today. Welcome. Why don’t you introduce yourselves before we get on with the topic of the day.”

  Rebecca went first, although it was hardly necessary since she lived in the retirement home and most people knew her already. Then Penny Cameron got to her feet.

  “Good morning. My name is Penny Cameron, and I own Cameron’s Flowers and Gifts. We’ve just opened a store on Main Street, we being my husband Geoff and myself, and we sell flowers and plants and pots, as well as knickknacks and other little items you might be interested in.” She paused and smiled at Lilliana. “I’ve also taken a few African violets from Mrs. Wentworth on consignment to sell. I sold one yesterday, as a matter of fact.”

  That cheered Lilliana considerably. She’d been afraid none of her plants would sell, and she’d ignominiously have to retrieve them from the shop.

  “Would you be willing to take plants from other members of the club?” Frank asked.

  Penny Cameron eyed the gorgeous specimen sitting in front of Frank. “Certainly,” she said. “Why don’t you talk to me after the meeting?”

  The lift Lilliana had gotten from the thought of a sale sank like a stone. Frank’s plants were all prime specimens, and he had so many African violets growing in his plant room. The idea of his plants competing with hers in the shop... well, she had a feeling she’d lose her market unless Penny Cameron sold lots of African violets.

  “Lilliana?”

  She realized Sarah Higgins had already asked her to introduce the speaker for today once. Just as she was about to do that, Pieter Joncker spoke up.

  “Is anyone else going to the pottery class this afternoon?”

  “Pottery class?” Nancy said, perking up.

  It made sense that Nancy would be interested, since she considered herself artistic. Lilliana thought it might be interesting, although she already had plenty to keep herself busy.

  “It’s starting today,” Pieter explained. “I signed up for it, but not too many others have. If we don’t get ten people, they’re going to cancel the class. It’s free, but you have to pay ten dollars for supplies. They’re holding it in the craft room upstairs at two o’clock this afternoon.”

  At the mention of the ten dollar fee, several interested faces turned disinterested, including Nancy’s. Most of the residents didn’t have money to spare. A lot of the classes were free, but Lilliana could understand charging for supplies. Ten dollars seemed reasonable for clay and paint and glaze and whatever else one needed to make pottery.

  Sarah looked a little annoyed at having been interrupted. Maybe next time she should ask for announcements before starting the program. Lilliana decided to do that before introducing Joan. “Does anyone else have any announcements?”

  When no one responded, Lilliana said, “In that case, I’d like to introduce Joan MacLeod. Joan is an accredited judge for the African Violet Society of America. You’ll remember she came out to judge our show in the spring, even though we aren’t a chapter. After the show, some members asked how the winners were chosen, and, rather than try to explain that ourselves, I asked Joan to come for our meeting today. Please welcome Joan MacLeod.”

  “Good morning,” Joan said cheerily. “I’m happy to be here today. Please hold your questions until I finish each topic. You’ll find most of them will be answered by what I am prepared to say, and we can save some time in the long run.

  “First of all, the maximum point value for a plant is one hundred. We divide the points into categories and judge each of the categories separately.”

  She looked around the table. “I’m glad to see that several of you have brought plants to the meeting. Frank, could you pass that lovely yellow specimen up to me?”

  Joan waited while the plant made its way to the head of the table. “The first thing we look at while judging is symmetry.” She tilted the pot forward so the members could see the plant head-on. “Ideally, the leaves should form a perfect circle. Leaves of one level should all be of the same size and there shouldn’t be any spaces where you can see the soil or table below. The space might indicate a missing leaf.”

  Seeing the looks of dismay on the faces of her audience, Joan added, “Perfect symmetry is very difficult to achieve. Plants are individuals, and growing conditions can affect symmetry dramatically.”

  Lilliana could vouch for that. While she grew all her plants under artificial lighting, which did make the plants more symmetrical because the light came evenly from all directions, her leaves tended to be of different sizes, and grooming damaged leaves from them would often leave those gaps Joan spoke about.

  As if reading her mind, Joan continued, “The next category is condition. This includes removing any leaves that are faded and
tired, snipping off nubs from pinched off leaves or faded blossoms, and keeping the remaining leaves dust free. Oh, yes, faded blossoms are considered a condition problem, so you need to remove those.”

  Mary looked down at the three small plants in front of her. After a furtive glance around the table, she moved one back behind the other two.

  “Symmetry and condition each count for twenty-five points, so you can see how important they are. That’s half of the entire score. Frank’s plant has lovely symmetry and he’s groomed it very well, so it doesn’t display any condition issues.” She picked up the plant and passed it down the row. “Lilliana, could I have your plant next?”

  Lilliana nervously handed the Royal Purple to Joan. There were a few oohs and ahhs as members caught site of her hybrid.

  “Quantity of bloom is also worth twenty-five points. There should be a minimum of twenty-five fresh blossoms on a plant you’re having judged. As you can see, this lovely plant has many more blossoms than that. I’d estimate there are seventy-five to one hundred flowers on this single plant. It wouldn’t get more points because it has more blossoms, but it certainly does show better than one with the minimum.

  “Fifteen points are allocated to size and type of bloom. Each variety of African violet has its own usual size and type of blossom. If the plant being judged doesn’t conform to the size and type, points are deducted.”

  “Excuse me.” Nancy was waving her hand in the air. “What do you mean by type?”

  “Ah. That’s a very good question. An African violet can have single, semi-double, or double layers of petals. As you can see, Lilliana’s is a double.” She indicated the two layers of petals on one of the flowers. “Frank, could you hold yours up so the group can see the difference?”

  Frank obliged.

  “Frank’s plant has semi-double blossoms. Both his African violet and Lilliana’s have star blossoms, meaning they have five leaves per row. The other kind would be a pansy type, which would have two small lobes at the center.”

  “It sounds very complicated,” Nancy said.

  “Sounds silly to me,” Rebecca said. “I mean, the flowers are either pretty or they’re not pretty. All this semi-double pansy stuff seems like a lot of hooey.”

  “Perhaps,” Joan said pleasantly. “But those of us who raise African violets for show consider the differences very important.”

  Rebecca sniffed. Lilliana assumed neither Nancy nor Rebecca would be attending any more club meetings, even though she could sympathize. There were days she herself wondered why she had chosen a hobby with such extensive rules.

  “The last judging category is color,” Joan said. “Again, each variety has its own true color, but often specimens produce blooms that don’t match it. There are lots of reasons for that, including a problem with light, fertilizer, or temperature. These are all things that can be controlled by the grower.”

  Joan handed Lilliana’s plant back to her. She sighed softly in relief. She’d been so afraid Joan would find a flaw in her plant. If she had, at least she’d kept quiet about it.

  “Last, but certainly not least, your African violet must be free of insects and disease. A plant that shows any evidence of infestation won’t be allowed to be judged. It’s important to employ good practices, including isolating any new plants before exposing your current ones to them. Once you’ve determined the new plants don’t have any diseases or insects, you can safely remove them from quarantine.

  “Are there any more questions?” Joan asked.

  Pieter raised his hand. “What about pots? Is one kind better than another?”

  “For a show, the pot has to be plain, with no markings or designs on it,” Joan said. “As far as growing“—she shrugged her shoulders—“everyone has their own preferences. You’ll need to experiment with different kinds and see which works best with your growing conditions and watering and fertilizing practices.

  “Anyone else?”

  When no one spoke up, she said, “Thank you for having me today. I hope my talk has been informative.”

  There was a light smattering of applause. “Thank you for coming, Joan. Now we’ll take a short break before resuming with regular club business. I believe Lenny has supplied some cookies and lemonade for us,” Lilliana said.

  Most of the members made for the side table and the snack. Frank made for Penny Cameron. The two of them huddled at the side of the room, probably discussing the consignment arrangement. Lilliana bit her lower lip. She hoped Frank wouldn’t steal the customers who might otherwise have bought her plants at the Camerons’ shop.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE last time Lilliana had been in the craft room, it had been repurposed as an interrogation room. Chief Cartwright decided bringing the witnesses up to the second floor would keep them from wandering away. Or perhaps sneaking away. She tried to remember if she’d ever been in any other of the rooms in the common area on this floor before, but she didn’t believe she had.

  The craft room occupied part of the same location as the dining room on the first floor, a section to the rear of the elevator. Waist-high shelves circled three walls. On one side, cubbies reminiscent of a kindergarten classroom filled the area below the shelves. Locked cabinets occupied the space beneath the shelves on the other two sides. Several folding tables, the same ones that had been used for the African violet show a couple of months ago, were set up in the center of the room, with three folding chairs on each side.

  A petite blonde woman was unpacking things from a cardboard box on a table set at right angles to the others. Beside her, on a platform of bricks, sat a stainless steel contraption with a large blue panel on the front.

  Lilliana joined Pieter at one of the tables.

  “Good to see you,” he said. “I think we’ll have enough people to keep the class going, don’t you?”

  Lilliana perused the room. Nancy sat at the other table with Bernadine Meade and Harlan Taft, one of the retirement home’s nastier residents. With his Parkinson’s, Lilliana wondered how he’d be able to form clay pots, much less paint them. Sarah entered the room, trailing a reluctant Bob, and joined them.

  The clump of Mary’s walker drew Lilliana’s attention to the door. Mary smiled at her and headed toward the table she shared with Pieter. Immediately afterwards, Willie’s bulk filled the entrance. He looked around, spied an empty chair at Lilliana’s table, and headed toward it, his walking stick making a softer clump than Mary’s walker.

  “Hello, Willie,” Lilliana said. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in making pottery.”

  “Gotta do something other than read all day,” Willie said. “I can’t grow pretty flowers like you, so I thought I’d give this a try.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Pieter said. “Nice to see lots of men in this class.”

  Willie lowered his bulk to the chair. “I wonder what we’ll be making?”

  “Probably not a tea service,” Lilliana said.

  Willie chuckled.

  The woman at the front of the room put her empty carton on the floor and ambled toward a door in the corner. She opened it, revealing a closet, and took a pink smock off a hanger from inside. She put the smock on and now, ready to address the class, stood behind the table at the front and gazed around the room with a smile. “If I could have your attention please?”

  Conversation stopped as the class turned toward the instructor.

  “My name is Grace Dalton. I’m the art teacher at Rainbow Ranch Elementary School and will be leading this beginning pottery class. It’s good to see so many here today.”

  “I’ve never made pottery before,” Nancy interrupted. “Is it very hard?”

  “That depends,” Grace Dalton said. “You used to play with clay, right?”

  Nancy nodded. “A long time ago.”

  “What we’ll be doing today, and for a good part of this class, won’t be so different from that. We’re going to use the coil and scrape method to create some simple pots. Then we’ll decorate
them with paints and fire them in the kiln.” She pointed at the blue and stainless steel device Lilliana had noticed earlier. “That will be our first project.”

  “Will there be more than one?” Pieter asked.

  “That depends,” the teacher said. “If enough people are interested, we’ll try a second one. That will be your choice of another simple pot, or if you feel you’re up to it, you might try something a little more challenging.”

  Grace picked up a pot from the collection on the table in front of her and held it up so all could see. The base color was a creamy gray, with a delicate design of flowers and vines painted on over that. “This is a pot I made from clay I collected in the desert and prepared myself. It takes a lot of work to dig up the clay and blend it with water and sand in the proper proportions, so we’ll be using commercial clay in this class.”

  She picked up a photograph from the table and showed it to the seniors, most of whom appeared to be fascinated by the prospect of making their own pots. “You’ll have your choice of six different colors of pugged clay.”

  The colors ranged from pale beige, through tan and brown, ending with a dark brown with a hint of red in it. Lilliana rather liked the red, but painting designs on it that would contrast with the dark color might be difficult.

  Grace put the picture down and picked up a couple of books next. “I’m going to pass these out so you can look at different shapes and designs and get ideas for what kind of pot you’d like to make. I’d recommend something simple to start with.” She gave each table a book, and the senior citizens huddled over the glossy pictures.

  A half hour later, the class was rolling long ropes of clay on the tables before them. Grace had illustrated the technique of coiling the ropes into a circular form, then using a flat tool to scrape both the inside and outside to smooth the surface, fill in the spaces between coils, and force out the air bubbles hiding in the clay.