African Violet Club Mystery Collection

by Elise M Stone

  “Anyway,” Frank continued, “you set it up as a scene, using bits of plants like bark and moss, as well as other material, to create a picture. Of course, you must have an African violet as part of it.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Sarah said. The club president wasn’t the best at growing the plants, and this might give her a chance to compete, thought Lilliana.

  Just as she was about to force herself to speak, the dining room went quiet. The rattle of dishes and utensils and the murmur of conversation ceased as all heads turned in the direction of the entrance. Lilliana twisted in her chair to see what everyone was staring at. Her mouth fell open and her hand went to her throat, fingers fluttering as if trying to pull off the invisible noose tightening around it.

  Her gaze followed Chief Cartwright as he strode toward their table and stopped behind Christopher’s chair.

  “Christopher MacAlistair, you’re under arrest for the murder of Fox Fordyce.”

  Christopher’s knife and fork clattered to his plate as he stared across the table at Lilliana, eyes wide, his complexion gone pale. His mouth opened, but no words came out before she averted her eyes from the hurt in his.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  LILLIANA carried two more African violets from the nearby lighted shelf to her potting bench. According to her label, these hadn’t been repotted for over a year. More than time. If you didn’t give the plants a fresh home, the soil tended to get compacted and the nutrients leeched out. It was also a good time to check for insects and, if needed, trim back the roots.

  She’d spent most of the morning on this relatively mindless task, avoiding thinking of the events of last night. Avoiding thinking of Christopher and what might have been. It was easier to blank out her thoughts and focus on eliminating a long neck or a dead blossom or choosing mature leaves from which to start new plants.

  Unfortunately, Younger Than Springtime had become an earworm, repeating itself over and over in her head. She’d even found herself humming it one time and had to force herself to stop. How was she going to replace the joy that spending time with Christopher had brought her? Going to lunch or the weekly movies with Nancy or Mary wasn’t the same. Hardly the same. Christopher loved conversing about literature, was interested in art, and had reopened her heart and voice to music.

  Stop it! she told herself. She’d misjudged the man, which just proved she was too old for romance. She should have known better. How many times had she shook her head at the foolishness of couples at the retirement home, comparing them to teenagers? Enough that she should have recognized the same symptoms in herself.

  The last two plants were now happily repotted and ready to go back on the plant stand. She’d root the leaves later today. Adding water to the African violets had reminded her of the fairy garden sitting in the hot, dry air on her patio, and she thought she’d better water that before she forgot.

  “About time you got here,” Tam Lin complained as she stepped out of her air conditioned apartment into the hot, dry desert air of the patio. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

  Weighed down by sadness and wanting to avoid the stifling heat of July, Lilliana hadn’t bothered with her customary cup of Earl Grey on the patio this morning. She quickly looked around for any prying eyes. Fortunately, the heat had kept everyone else indoors as well.

  “You really need a bigger bench.” Tam Lin shifted his bottom. Taller than the flower fairies like Uaine, his bent knees came close to his chin, and with his arms stretched out to either side, his hands dangled off the back of the bench.

  “I’m sorry, your majesty,” Lilliana said. “I didn’t expect you to be waiting here.” As if she needed to worry about a cranky fairy. With the watering can in her hand, she was tempted to go ahead with her task and, accidentally of course, give Tam Lin a shower in the process. It almost made her smile. Almost, but not quite.

  Tam Lin leapt up and paced as he spoke. “I’m bored.” He bent over and picked a leaf from one of the plants, sniffed at it, then threw it away. “I was wondering if you had another mission for me.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m afraid you found what I needed. Not what I wanted, but what I needed.” She sniffed as her eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, no! Did I do something wrong?” Tam Lin jumped to his feet. “Can I fix it?”

  “It’s not your fault,” Lilliana said.

  “But you’re not happy. Can I get you something to make you happy? I’m good at that. Perhaps a crystal from the cave. Or a bird to come sing to you.” He did a little dance step. “I’m not sure what you like, other than your African violets, of course. Now, that man you sent me to...”

  Lilliana perked up. “What about him?”

  “I didn’t think I should take something from him without giving him something in return. I saw him looking at that picture on his wall. He seemed to like it well enough, but I remembered I’d seen one quite similar, only much nicer, somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere else?” There was only one place where Tam Lin could have seen the painting. “When were you in Fox Fordyce’s house?”

  Tam Lin shuffled his feet and averted his eyes. “Once or twice.”

  “Wait,” she cried. “Are you saying you’re the one who switched Christopher’s print for the original painting?”

  “Well, Miss Fox certainly wasn’t going to look at it any more. It didn’t take much effort on my part. Just a wee bit of magic, you know, and, clink, clank, clunk, they swapped places. Is there something like that I could get for you?”

  Lilliana’s head was spinning. She sank into her chair, dropping the watering can with a clatter as she did so, ignoring her wet feet as the water splashed out of it.

  “Och, no!” Tam Lin hopped from one foot to the other, clearly agitated, before leaping into the air and fanning her face with the beating of his wings. “Shall I get Esmeralda?”

  She started to shake her head, but the landscape tilted, so she forced herself to speak instead. “No. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  Christopher hadn’t stolen the painting. He might have stolen the gun from Rebecca, but there was no evidence of that. Maybe he hadn’t murdered Fox Fordyce after all. But there was still the life insurance policy. Why hadn’t she asked him about that?

  Because she didn’t want to admit she knew about it.

  “Lilliana?”

  She’d forgotten Tam Lin was there. “It’s all right, Tam Lin. You’d better get back to Fairyland before someone sees you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It looked as if she had more investigating to do. “I’m sure. I’ll signal if I have anything else for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LATER that day, after a meager breakfast of cheese and crackers, a succession of three quick taps sounded on Lilliana’s door. Curious as to who would come visiting, she opened it to find Dan, the UPS driver, with a package for her.

  He held out the box in one hand and the electronic pad in the other. “Please sign in the blank area, Mrs. Wentworth.”

  “What is it?” After signing her name in an ugly scrawl on the glass screen, she looked at the return address. “But I didn’t order any African violets,” she said, recognizing the name of a hybridizer she’d ordered from before.

  “Maybe someone sent you a present,” Dan said.

  “Perhaps.” She detached the packing slip from the carton and examined it. Heartache squeezed her chest at the thought that Christopher, her not-so-secret admirer, cared enough to buy her this thoughtful gift.

  “Busy delivery day here. And a heavy one, too. These boxes,”—Dan pointed to the two-wheeler with three identical boxes stacked on it—“for Mr. Joncker weigh a ton.”

  “Oh, he must be getting his clay. Let me go with you.” Glad for something to distract her from the reminder of what might have been, Lilliana put the box of African violets on the kitchen counter and grabbed her keys.

  “Clay?” Dan asked as the walked down the hall together.

 
“Pieter’s making pots for my African violets. He’s quite good at it.”

  “I hope making pots doesn’t become a popular hobby. I don’t want to throw my back out again.”

  Lilliana was concerned, then realized Dan was joking. By this time, they’d reached Pieter’s apartment, and Dan knocked on the door with the same distinctive three quick taps as he’d used on Lilliana’s. It took a few minutes before Pieter opened it. When he did, his eyes widened at the sight of her, then quickly darted to Dan.

  “I have three boxes for you,” Dan said. “Mrs. Wentworth tells me you’re a potter.”

  “Ah! Yah, I like to make pottery. I didn’t expect the clay would come so fast. Come in, come in.” Pieter stood back and opened the door so Dan could roll the two-wheeler inside.

  “Where do you want it?”

  Pieter looked over his shoulder, then said, “Put it in the living room, please.” He led the way down the short hall, then gestured toward the half wall that separated the tiny kitchen from the living area. From what Lilliana could see, Pieter had a small one-bedroom apartment identical to Sarah’s.

  After unloading the cartons, Dan presented Pieter with the electronic pad to sign. “Take care, Mr. Joncker. Don’t hurt yourself carrying those cartons,” he said on his way out.

  “I wonder how heavy they are.” Pieter grasped the top one and gave it a test lift of a couple of inches. “Not too bad. I hope I can carry it all the way to the craft room.”

  “Maybe you should have asked Dan to bring them up there.”

  “No. I’d be afraid someone else would use my clay. I’ll take the boxes up one at a time.” That decided, Pieter turned to Lilliana. “Was there something you wanted?”

  “Penny Cameron told me she was sure the African violets in your beautiful pots would sell quickly. When Dan told me he was delivering your clay, I wondered how soon you could have more pots ready for me.”

  Pieter scratched his chin. “I could start tomorrow, I think. Perhaps next week I could have a half dozen pots for you.”

  “So long?” Lilliana had hoped he could make them faster.

  “Yah. The drying takes time. The firing takes time. You can’t do it any faster or you’ll ruin the pots. Haste makes waste as my Anna used to say.” His eyes filled with sadness.

  “It’s hard to lose a spouse,” Lilliana said, thinking back to Charles.

  “Yah.” Pieter walked over to an end table beside the sofa and picked up a picture. Lilliana followed, and when she joined him, he held the photo so she could see it. A woman with gray hair and one of the warmest smiles she’d ever seen stared out from the frame. The woman was the perfect image of a Midwestern farmer’s wife.

  “My Anna,” Pieter said by way of explanation. “We got married right out of high school, and she came to live with me on my family’s dairy farm.”

  “Where was that?” Lilliana asked, not remembering what she was sure she’d heard at one time.

  “Wisconsin. My boys run the dairy farm now.” He gave her a weak smile. “Wisconsin winters are too cold for these old bones.”

  “She never lived here, did she?” Lilliana couldn’t remember ever seeing her at the retirement home. Of course, she hadn’t been aware of the other residents until recently, but she was sure she would have noticed Anna.

  “No. She didn’t live long enough to retire. Life is hard for a woman, and Anna always insisted on helping with the livestock.” His lower lip started to tremble. “There was an ice storm. Anna had been coughing for days, but she didn’t want us to lose any animals. Out so long in that weather... She got pneumonia and died.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lilliana said. No wonder Pieter had moved to Arizona. She imagined the memories were too poignant in Wisconsin.

  “Anyway, we go on, don’t we?” Pieter asked.

  “Yes, we do.”

  JACLYN was already seated at a booth near the back of Cathy’s Café when Lilliana entered. The owner of Pulaski’s Gourmet Grocery had called her to ask about her welfare since Lilliana hadn’t been into the store recently. After reassuring Ted’s great-granddaughter that she was fine, Jaclyn had told her about a new shipment of chocolates that had arrived. Feeling guilty for neglecting her, Lilliana had suggested lunch together.

  “How are you doing?” Jaclyn asked once Lilliana was seated across from her.

  “I’m fine, just like I told you over the phone. I have the constitution of a grizzly bear.” Lilliana smiled to reassure her.

  “But not the temperament, I hope.” Jaclyn smiled in return, then her face turned serious. “I heard about Christopher MacAlistair.”

  “Oh, that.” She picked up her napkin from the table, unfolded it, and put it in her lap, busied herself with pleating and unpleating the paper until it started to shred.

  “Yes, that.”

  Cathy came over and took their orders, saving Lilliana from any immediate discussion of Christopher’s arrest.

  “He didn’t strike me as a murderer,” Jaclyn said. “In fact, quite the opposite.”

  “I know.” The words came out in a whisper that choked off at the end. She swallowed hard, trying to loosen the tightness in her throat. “It just goes to show you, you can’t trust first impressions.”

  An awkward pause stretched between them. The restaurant filled up with customers as the noon hour approached. It wasn’t usually this crowded.

  “How are your African violets doing?” Jaclyn asked.

  Lilliana brightened at the change of topic, smothered the image of the new box of plants sent by Christopher before it could dampen her mood. “They’re doing wonderfully. In fact, I just repotted a whole shelf-full this morning. Buying those lighted plant stands was a very good idea.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Sam Horn’s voice said from the aisle. “All the tables seem to be taken today.”

  Jaclyn slid over in the booth to make room. “Not at all. Any idea what’s going on?” She waved at the full tables.

  Cathy dropped off the women’s meals and took Sam’s lunch order. Lilliana’s enchilada with the sauce and melted cheese looked delicious, and the portions of refried beans and rice that accompanied it were large enough for a second meal. Jaclyn picked up a triangle of her turkey club sandwich. Apparently she’d decided on a change from her customary hamburger and fries.

  “The realtor is doing an open house on Fox Fordyce’s place,” Sam said, as if that explained everything.

  “Ah. The ghouls want to see where the murder victim lived.” Lilliana ate some of her enchilada.

  Sam nodded. “Most likely.”

  “We were just talking about Lilliana’s African violets,” Jaclyn said. “Penny told me she was selling them in her store.”

  “Mrs. Cameron was kind enough to take a few plants on consignment. I wonder if some of these people might find their way down there and buy some.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Jaclyn said. “Are they selling well?”

  “Much to my surprise, yes. I think they’ll sell better now that Pieter Joncker is making pots for them.”

  “Pieter Joncker?” Jaclyn asked. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. How do you know him?”

  “He’s a member of the African Violet Club,” Lilliana said. “It turns out he’s also a talented pottery maker.”

  “I didn’t know he lived at the retirement community,” Jaclyn said. “I thought he would have left Arizona by now.”

  “You know him?” Lilliana had started to lift a forkful of rice to her mouth, but now stopped it in mid-air.

  “Of course. He bought Ms. Fordyce’s cattle ranch when she sold it after her rodeo career.” Jaclyn had finished the quarter sandwich she’d started on and picked up the next piece. “He used to ask my Grandpa Ted for advice.”

  “He did?” Lilliana had discovered small town syndrome once again. Having spent most of her life in cities, she wasn’t used to the idea that in small towns everyone knew everyone else.

  “All the time. He was a dairy f
armer in Wisconsin and thought raising cattle in Arizona wouldn’t be all that different.” Jaclyn bit into her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “Needless to say, he was wrong.”

  Cathy brought Sam a plate of the meatloaf special. “Anything else I can get you folks?”

  “No, thanks,” Lilliana said while Jaclyn and Sam shook their heads. “How long ago was this?”

  Jaclyn stared into the distance as she searched her memory.

  “It had to be at least seven or eight years ago,” Sam said. “Before that big ice storm.”

  “That’s right.” Jaclyn’s face cleared. “My great-grandfather still owned Rainbow Ranch then.”

  “Ice storm?” Lilliana asked. Pieter had mentioned an ice storm.

  “Worst one in a hundred years,” Sam said. “Coated everything in an inch of ice. Knocked out the power for a week in some places.”

  “It was so sad,” Jaclyn said. “The Jonckers worked so hard to make a success of cattle ranching, but I don’t think they were ever cut out for it.”

  Lilliana shifted her gaze to Sam as he spoke. “Poor Pieter. Anna was dead for two days before anyone knew.”

  “You’re saying Anna got pneumonia and died on the ranch in Arizona?” Lilliana asked.

  “That’s right,” Sam said.

  “I thought Pieter was talking about the farm in Wisconsin when he told me about the ice storm.” Lilliana’s brain was busy rearranging the puzzle pieces in light of this new information. “What happened after that?”

  “Well, Mr. Joncker’s heart just wasn’t into ranching,” Jaclyn said. “And then there was the drought.”

  Lilliana knew all about the drought. Ted, Jaclyn’s great-grandfather, had told her that was what had forced him to sell his ranch to the developers who built the retirement home. “What about the drought?”

  Sam picked up the story. “The ice storm was a fluke. An aberration in the middle of a number of years with no rain. Like a lot of other ranchers, Pieter lost most of his cattle. Without cattle to sell, he wound up with a ton of debt. Bank foreclosed on the ranch a couple of years after that.”