I nodded my head. “Food Summit.”
“Did someone say food?” Miss Vivee said and looked around questioningly. “I’m hungry.”
Marigold and I laughed at Miss Vivee’s comment. “It’s given by the Nutrition Studies Research Group,” Marigold finished her explanation. “That’s a part of the Stanford Prevention Research Center.”
“Oh, I see,” I said.
“Well, you have a degree in nutrition,” Miss Vivee said. “You must can cook.”
That brought another round of laughter from the two of us.
“Doesn’t mean I can cook,” Marigold said. “Nutrition is the study of food. I may study how it’s done, but definitely can’t do it myself.”
“Where did you go?” I asked. “To get your degree?”
“University of California,” she said. “I just stayed close to home, too.”
“Home?” Miss Vivee said. She didn’t seem to really be following our conversation, she just hopped in to comment when she heard something that piqued her interest.
“Yup.” Marigold nodded.
“Didn’t you grow up in Lincoln?”
“Where?” Marigold asked.
“Nebraska?” Miss Vivee said. “Lincoln, Nebraska?”
“No!” Marigold chuckled. “We are California girls,” she said. “‘West coast. The cutest girls in the world.’ At least according to the Beach Boys, and my dad.”
“Your Nana too?” Miss Vivee asked. “She lived in California?”
“Yes. Oh, but now that you mentioned it, she had a close friend that lived in Nebraska. I don’t think it was Lincoln though. But I don’t remember if she ever visited her, I just remember her talking about her.”
“Do tell,” Miss Vivee said and smiled.
Chapter Fourteen
“Where to, Miss Vivee?” I hopped in my side of the car after pushing her into the passenger seat. I reached over and buckled her seat belt.
“I hate this car,” she said.
“Yes, Miss Vivee, I know.”
“Why can’t you have a sensible car? I don’t understand why you have to sit up so high.” She looked over at me. “Does it make you feel better than others? Being able to look down on them?”
“No,” I shook my head and chuckled. “Lots of people have trucks. SUVs. They’re very popular.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give a wooden nickel for one.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen your style of vehicles,” I said and glanced over at her. Miss Vivee owned a boat for a car, a 1994, gas guzzling, “Mow-Your-Man-Down, Lincoln Town Car.” It was the reason that Mac walked with a limp.
“Let’s go over Mac’s house,” she said. “We’ll sit a spell, then we can go to Jellybean’s and have lunch. Maybe Viola knows something about this Camren Wagner.”
“Go to Mac’s house?” I turned and stared at her. A surprise look on my face. “Do you mean like on the inside of it?”
“Yes. To his house,” she said adjusting her seatbelt, like she didn’t understand my surprise. “Inside. Sit down. Visit. Chew the fat.” She glanced at me. “Please don’t start acting weird again.”
“I’m not acting weird. I’m just wondering about you and your vow.”
“What in the world are you talking about? We’ve been to Mac’s house plenty of times.”
“We” hadn’t ever been to Mac’s house, let alone “plenty of times.”
Miss Vivee, twenty years earlier, had thought that Mac cheated on her with a woman that lived near him. That “floosy,” as Miss Vivee called her, would visit Mac and bring him food. So she had vowed after that that she would never go inside of Mac’s house again. But as of late, she’d eased her way back in. First, she’d have me to take her to his house to pick him up, graduating to “sitting for a spell” on his front porch for a glass of iced tea to finally going inside. Sure she’d spent time with him, but never with me. I only got to be the chauffeur.
“Does Mac know we’re coming?” I asked.
“No.”
“You want me to call first?” I said reaching for my phone.
“Why in the world would you need to call him?”
I put the car in drive and went to Mac’s and didn’t say another word about it.
Mac’s house was large for just him and his dog. I’d known that from sitting outside of it when I went over to pick him up. But it was even larger than I thought once I finally got to see the inside of it. I bent over and ruffled up his dog, Rover, who greeted us with two large barks, and then took in the place
It was made like the Maypop. There was a large foyer that had a staircase in the middle of it, a long hallway that led to the back of the house, and several rooms to each side of the stairs. But where the Maypop was bright, shiny and scrubbed as clean as a Marine’s boot, Mac’s house was cluttered. Not dirty, just in a state of dishevel.
There were books and magazines everywhere. Mostly medical – AMA periodicals and textbooks – but also almanacs, National Geographics, and even a stack of tech magazines, which surprised me because he was always telling me to “gaggle” something instead of “Google” it.
All these books. No wonder he knew so much, all he did was read.
“May I have a glass of water,” Miss Vivee asked. “I’m parched.”+
“Sure” Mac said. “C’mon back.”
He led us down the hallway into a cheery, country kitchen. There were black and white gingham curtains bordered with bright red cherries hung at the three windows. The floor was checkered black and white with a big, red woven rug in the middle of it. An old style 1950s kitchen table and chairs with red seat cushions sat on top of it, which he pointed to. “Have a seat,” he directed us.
“You want ice, Vivee?” Mac asked and pulled a pitcher of water out of a refrigerator that looked as old as the table and chairs.
“No. If it’s cold, I don’t need any ice.”
“It’s ice cold,” he said and pulled a glass out of the cabinet. “You want a glass, Logan.”
“No thank you, Mac,” I said.
He poured the water and started to take the container back to the refrigerator.
“Leave that pitcher out,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll drink the whole thing.”
Mac sat down at the table with us and placed the pitcher in front of Miss Vivee. “So did you find someplace else that had all the flowers?” Mac asked.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Miss Vivee said and took a big gulp of water.
“No,” I said again.
Miss Vivee dismissed my answer with a wave of her hand and put her glass on the table. “We went to an arboretum up near Augusta. They had a Poison Garden there.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“A garden that showcases beautiful, deadly flowers,” she said.
“Isn’t that what your note said?” Mac asked.
“It’s not my note, Mac. It’s the killer’s note. But, yes, that’s what it said,” Miss Vivee said. “And I’m sure that woman at the arboretum had something to do with Jack Wagner’s death.”
“What woman, Vivee?” Mac asked.
“Camren Wagner.”
“I thought you liked her,” I said and scrunched up my nose. “Why are you calling her ‘that woman?’”
“Whatever gave you the idea I liked her?” Miss Vivee frowned at me.
“You,” I said. “I got that idea from you. You and Mrs. Wagner seemed to get along famously.”
“We did not,” Miss Vivee said. “That show-off walked around, with her chest stuck out, talking with that phony accent, trying to make herself into something she wasn’t. Planting rare flowers outside of the greenhouse, hmf!”
“Her accent wasn’t phony,” I said.
“Phony as a two-dollar bill.”
“Vivee, you know that now they make two dollar bills.” Mac said.
“They do?” she asked. “No, I didn’t know. No one told me that.” She looked at me. “Then phony as a three-dollar bill.” She turned t
o Mac. “They don’t make those do they, Mac?”
“No, Sweetie.”
“Good,” Miss Vivee said and turned back to me. “I only made nice to her to get some information.”
“So, now who is this Camren Wagner?” Mac asked. “Jack’s wife?”
“Yes. They own that place.”
Mac chuckled. “Don’t that just beat all? So you think she’s the one who did it? Killed her husband?”
“Jury’s still out on that one. Couple of things bothering me about the whole thing,” Miss Vivee said. “But she has every flower on that note.”
“Does she now?” Mac said.
“No,” I said again, but neither one of them seem to notice me.
“I couldn’t wait to get here to tell you,” Miss Vivee said, the gleam in her eye disappearing as she looked at me. “But Miss Ann over here,” she pointed at me,” backtracked, taking me all over Augusta County. That’s why I’m so thirsty.” She took a sip of her water. “Been riding around in that jeep of hers in the hot sun all morning.”
Miss Ann? That’s a new name for me.
“What’s going on?” Mac asked. “What’dya find out?”
“It’s a big breakthrough on the case,” she said seemingly tried to build up a little suspense in her relaying of the events.
“Breakthrough?” I made sure I was heard when I repeated her analysis of our visit to Krieger’s Garden.
“Yes.”
“Breakthrough in what, Miss Vivee? Because she didn’t have all the flowers in her Garden. At least that’s what you told me.”
I went back over our walk through the gardens in my mind, and our conversation with everyone we’d seen, and I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything we’d learned.
“Breakthrough on the murderer,” she said as if she were disgusted with me.
“You found out something?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes.” Again a one word answer.
I was puzzled. I turned to Mac. “All of the flowers weren’t there,” I said. “She had some, I’m guessing and I don’t know why Miss Vivee’s telling you that she had them all because she didn’t. She told me they didn’t. That’s why I took her back to the fairgrounds. To see if they had them there.”
“Yes,” she said to me. “She does have them all.”
“No she doesn’t, Miss Vivee.” I shook my head. “I remember specifically you telling me she didn’t have them all.”
“I told you that she had all of them but one out there.”
“Okay,” I said. “You never told me that.”
“Well I meant to tell you that.”
Why do I even try to argue with her?
“Okay,” I said trying to soften my voice. “She had them all but one. So that means you’re still the only one with all of the flowers, and it doesn’t help you with the note.”
She turned to Mac. “Every one of those flowers mentioned on that note was there except for the lily.”
“The Lily of the Valley?” Mac asked.
“Right,” Miss Vivee said. “But, and here’s the breakthrough,” she emphasized that for my benefit I guessed. “They own the land where the fairgrounds are located.”
“Ahhh,” Mac said. “So she could have written that note. She has all the flowers.”
“Yes,” Miss Vivee said and nodded triumphantly.
“How?” I said. “How does she have all the flowers?” The two of them sometimes only used one brain to figure out stuff and I definitely wasn’t privy to it.
“There are lilies all over that field,” Mac told me. “In Lincoln Park. True lilies and flowering plants that look like lilies.”
“Look like lilies?” I asked.
“Yes, like calla lily, fire lily, water lily, day lily,” Mac explained. “They’re not considered true lilies, but,” he looked at Miss Vivee, “that field outside where they set up for the fair is full of them. Including the lily-of-the-valley.”
I thought about it. Maybe I did see a lily.
I need to take a mini-botany class if I’m going to hang out with these two. I decided instead to Google them later.
“So, me taking you to the fairgrounds did help,” I said and smiled. I’d pat myself on the back if she wouldn’t.
“One way or another, she has every one of them,” Miss Vivee said affirming her earlier comment. “And, she’s a gardener. Had the most beautiful gardens I’d ever seen.” Miss Vivee smiled at the memory.
“Did she?” Mac asked.
“But that’s not the point,” she got back on track. “Her having those flowers means she has the knowledge necessary to put that note together. She knew they were poisonous.”
“That’s true,” Mac said. “But what’s the reason for doing it?”
“That’s the other thing I learned,” Miss Vivee said. “Jack Wagner was all set to divorce her and leave her penniless.”
“That’s just gossip,” I said and shook my head. “And no one said anything about her being penniless.”
“Well that’s certainly a motive,” Mac said seemingly not even hearing what I’d said.
“And I think that that Mrs. Wagner may have even had an accomplice,” Miss Vivee continued.
“Really now? And who would that’ve been?” Mac was hanging on Miss Vivee’s every word.
“A paramour.”
“Ahh,” Mac said. “Her and her lover all set to live out their lives together on Mr. Wagner’s money.”
“Not too sure she’s going to keep him around, though.”
“The plot thickens,” Mac said and clapped his hands together, then rubbed them back and forth.
“Oh brother,” I said. “You two are making a mountain out of a molehill.”
A thirty minute visit to the arboretum, and Miss Vivee’s had the whole thing figured out. Other than telling them my name, she hadn’t said one truthful thing to those people, why would she think the information they gave her was anything but?
“Miss Vivee,” I said. “They could have just gotten a divorce. If she didn’t want him anymore because she wanted someone else, or if he wanted to be free of her. That would have been the logical thing to do, not commit murder.”
“That’s what people think when they’re not in the situation. But when you’re involved in a bad marriage, murder tends to cross your mind. Often.”
“Miss Vivee,” I said. “I can’t believe that.”
“You’ll see, Missy, being married ain’t easy.”
“I’d be a good husband, Vivee,” Mac said. “I’d never cheat.”
“You’re too old to be anything but a good husband, Mac,” Miss Vivee said.
“So then are you gonna marry me, Vivee? Make me an honest man?”
Honest man? What was he talking about? Had he been climbing into her window at night?
“When pigs fly,” Miss Vivee said. “You couldn’t handle what I’ve got to offer,” she said. “Might kill ya.”
“I wouldn’t mind dying, just to get a chance.”
“Oh my goodness!” I said and covered my ears. “Do I have to listen to this?”
“He started it,” Miss Vivee said. “He’s just like every other man.” She shook her head. “A one track mind.”
Mac grinned.
“Really, Miss Vivee,” I said.
“C’mon, Mac,” Miss Vivee stood up. “I’ll let you buy my lunch,” she said. “Seeing you have a need to feel more honorable.” She grabbed her purse and headed toward the door.
Mac looked at me and winked. “I think I’m wearing her down.” He grabbed his hat and cane and followed behind her out the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Every time I walked into the Jellybean Café, I felt like I had stepped into Munchkinland.
We had stopped at Hadley’s Drug store to get Miss Vivee her suspect notebook and three No. 2 pencils. She wondered around the store, Mac in tow, examining everything, fussing about the price, and not looking to buy anything. We were met with the lunch crowd by the ti
me we got to Jellybean’s.
“Well if it ain’t the three amigos,” Glenda, the good witch, aka Viola Rose said as she greeted us.
“Hi,” Mac and I said. Miss Vivee just gave a nod.
Tilting her head to the side, and one hand on her hip, Viola Rose directed her question to Miss Vivee. “And how y’all doing today?”
“I’m worn out,” Miss Vivee said. “Logan drug me all over three counties this morning.” She fanned her face with her hand. “And I’m so hungry I done gone white-eyed.”
Viola Rose looked at me and smiled. “Do tell,” she said. “Well let me get you seated, and see if I can’t find a tall glass of sweet tea for you.”
Viola Rose walked ahead of us, grabbing three menus she led us to a booth in the back. She was always sparkly, outspoken, and the town gossip, which was why Miss Vivee liked to come and see her (besides for the egg salad).
Today, Viola Rose had traded her usual pink sparkle and bedazzle for purple. Her wrist full of bangles clanked as she swatted a stray strand of her strawberry blonde hair that she kept swept up in a bouffant style, out of her eyes. A black apron with deep pockets covered tight, metallic purple leggings, and a purple puckered shirt. She had on white running shoes, although I had never even seen her walk fast.
I waved to her munchkin-sized husband, Gus, who manned the kitchen. He was the opposite of Viola Rose, a permanent scowl on his face, he worked the kitchen in a white apron, t-shirt, chef’s skull cap and the precision of a French-trained chef. He made a mean bacon cheeseburger, but with the crowd that came through the doors from six am to seven pm when they closed, I soon learned his skills weren’t limited to All American food fare.
I slid into one side of the purple, orange and red striped benches, and Miss Vivee and Mac sat across from me. Viola Rose laid the menus in front of each of us.
“I’ma go get your sweet tea, Miss Vivee,” Viola Rose said. “Everybody else want their usual?” she asked.
Mac and I nodded, and Viola Rose left to get our drinks.
“I didn’t drag you through three counties, Miss Vivee,” I said picking up the menu.
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