Murder in the French Teacher's Garden

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Murder in the French Teacher's Garden Page 12

by Andrew Culver


  “I’ve never seen a couple as bad as Jim and Judy, I’m sorry to admit,” Rick said. “They were not on the same page.”

  “What was going on? I didn’t know anything about his wife.”

  “Well, we take a serious privacy oath, but the two of them shared a lot of things with us and with the group about their marriage that were a challenge for us to solve. Right, Belinda?”

  Belinda nodded. “They had problems for a long time, before they came to California from Texas. And Judy struggled with mental health issues since that time as well. It got worse when they came to California – maybe it was just missing her family and friends, and… unfortunately, it’s gotten worse because of his death.”

  “How is she doing?” I pretended to care about this woman I’d never met, but I needed information, damn it!

  “She’s been hospitalized,” Belinda said. “He left her without a lot of money, and she was incapacitated when he died. Finally I checked on her and she hadn’t left her house, and she couldn’t really communicate, and she hadn’t bathed or eaten, and I didn’t know what to do, but she agreed to be hospitalized, and we’re actually taking care of the cost.”

  “Oh, bless you,” Gretchen said.

  “Well, she would have nowhere else to go,” Belinda shook her head sadly.

  “What’s the name of the place?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

  “Saint Mary’s Hospice, down in Redlands,” Belinda said.

  I told them about Madame Gallard, and my desire to clear her name, and the confusion of what happened to him, and everyone began to speculate. The evening went on and margaritas were flowing and I tried to relish every moment.

  When we were packing up to leave I told Katie that I was afraid to go back home.

  “I’m going to get the post-vacation scaries,” I said.

  “Oh, I think you’ll be okay, Thomas Jenkins. You always land on your feet.”

  The ride back to the airport I was terrified of the disappointment of going back home. But Madame Gallard’s words floated back to me – after disappointment, that is when life begins.

  A FEW days later I found myself at school, drinking strong coffee to power through the day and ease the kids back into the semester. We were reading 1984 and I had to help them understand the principles of Newspeak, as well as Thoughtcrime and Doublethink.

  It was a long day, and I didn’t see Pauline until school was over and I went to help in the garden. By this time the trellises were up and the vines were crawling on them, the fruit trees were all planted, the vegetables were planted and were starting to show, and Pedro was installing and testing the new sprinklers. The herb garden was planted and the oregano was already looking very healthy, and the rosemary and thyme were making a strong showing. There were a few benches, and we were waiting on a few more picnic tables that were being donated by a parent who owned a patio furniture store. It was taking shape: a garden where there was shade, nice smelling flowers, places to sit, and constant work to be done.

  I found Pauline and told her what I’d learned about the wife and the marital troubles.

  “Sacre bleu!” she said. “I cannot believe we never even thought to inquire about the wife. We must go to her.”

  “How? She’s in a mental institution. And it sounds like she’s gone loopy. How do you get information out of someone like that?”

  “Very carefully,” she said. “But you forgot to ask me how I spent my Easter Break.”

  “How was your break? Did you get out of town?”

  “Yes, briefly. I went to Palm Springs for a night with some old friends – but that is not the most interesting thing. No, no. I did some detective work myself, and I think you would be proud.”

  “What did you do? Did you learn more about Jack Ryder?”

  “I spoke to Jack Ryder.”

  “What? How?”

  “He is the next door neighbor of my friend. It was simply that easy. I have an old friend who live on Lake Arrowhead – she is another Frenchwoman and when I get tired of speaking in your nasty language that you stole from us most of your words, I go and speak in the pure, beautiful French with her.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “It is so long I am not sure. It was maybe at the bakery or something, the only place where you can get decent baguette. Anyway, I call her just to see does she know this Jack Ryder, and she is his next door neighbor. Can you believe?”

  “And what did you do? Go down and knock on his door?”

  “She is friends with him for many years, so she call him and I go down and spend a lovely day on the boat with her and her husband on the lake, we have a nice lunch, and she invited him over for a drink with his wife, and I ask all the question to my heart content.” She laughed. “I am getting good at the detective business, eh?”

  “So what did he say? What’s the story on Jim Screbbles?”

  Her face became grave. “This was an even worse man than I thought he was. He was a charlatan and a thief, and a cheat and a liar. A con man in every way.”

  “But I thought Jack Ryder was his friend.”

  “A Texan can be friends with someone who is a thief and a liar, with no problem. That is what I learn. Maybe it is a unique American characteristic, but I do not share this.”

  “So what was Screbbles up to in Texas?”

  “He was a shyster, as you say. He have a ranch with a lot of cows, but he have them grazing on public land and other people’s land adjacent to his. He would sneak them over to eat for free. Then he was sued because he would not stop doing this. Then he sell some cattle to another rancher but he charge him an exorbitant price and he did not tell the man that these cattles were sick! Can you believe? They die several year laters. And then, you think it is over, but this just scratch the surface – he take water from other people’s wells, to feed his cows and water his pastures. And then for awhile he was simply squatting on someone else’s land – he have all his animals on a much larger ranch where he think no one will notice.”

  “Wait, how did he become a teacher? I don’t understand. He just moved to California and started teaching out of nowhere? You have to get the credential and I know that takes a long time.”

  “He was always a teacher in Texas. He teach science at the public school, probably badly. His credential was taken away from him, and he move out here to ruin my life.”

  “And he just started entering that competition, and he won it the first year?”

  “The competition started the year he moved here. Kennedy had a run-down old apple orchard and no recycling program. We have had our recycling program and a an actual student garden – and we get our energy from the renewables. I force the school to make a deal with the electric company, did you know this? I tell Catherine that it is the same price. We truly are the greener campus. But this also I learn: The Green Campus competition is headquartered in Texas, in a town near the one where Screbbles is from. This I actually did not know, because all my communication is with the local office in LA. All the judges come from Texas, which now that I think about it, I am not surprised. Some of the accents should have given it away. I will not be surprised, Thomas, if he knows the judges from a long time ago. They must be friends, a how do you say, good old boys club?”

  “Yeah, that would make sense. They probably have been rigging that competition for him ever since it started. He’s been crooked his whole life. And it finally caught up with him. I mean, I wonder if one of those ranchers from Texas finally tracked him down all the way out here and followed him that night and just did the deed here in your garden, to get revenge for all his shady dealings.”

  “It sound crazy, but it may be true. I am not willing to rule out anything.”

  “But you know who we need to talk to next.”

  “Yes – Judy Screbbles.”

  “But I don’t know how you are supposed to interview a woman who’s in a psychiatric institution. I don’t even know how crazy she is – can she talk? Does she recognize
people?”

  “We must go. That is all we can do. I will swallow my pride and say I was a friend of her late husband.”

  I laughed. “Can you do that, Pauline? Can the words even come out of your mouth?”

  “I will force myself to say that we were friendly competitors and I want to offer my condolences. We will bring flowers.”

  “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “It seems fairly normal, right? To pay respects. I am sure she has had other visitors like this.”

  “Yes. Friends, colleagues, relatives.”

  KATIE came with us to Redlands but she didn’t want to talk to Judy, so she agreed to wait outside and then we’d all go to lunch afterwards. Saint Mary’s Hospice was in a residential, quiet part of the leafy suburb, nestled in amongst the hundred-year-old craftsman homes and surrounded by orange and lemon trees. The campus was large and full of big green lawns and gardens. This place was fancy.

  Pauline and I walked in the front door and greeted the receptionist. It all happened quicker and easier than I though it would. Pauline had a lovely bouquet of flowers and she simply told the woman that we were friends of Judy Screbbles’s late husband and we wanted to pay our respects and visit, if that was okay.

  “Sure,” the lady said. “She’s in the courtyard right now, getting some sun. I’ll take you there.”

  The lady walked us out into a courtyard that overlooked a pond where ducks were swimming. Patients were sitting placidly or talking softly to one another.

  “There she is,” the lady said, and pointed to a woman who was sitting alone by the pond, in a chair by a small table, gazing off into the distance.

  “She’s been pretty quiet since she got here,” she said. “She might not be very responsive, but I’m sure she would appreciate seeing you.”

  We thanked her and approached. She didn’t look at us.

  “Hello, Judy,” Pauline said. “I was a friend of your husband’s. In fact, it was at my school in my garden where he unfortunately passed. I wanted to pay my respects.”

  She looked at us and said “Thank you,” very quietly. Pauline put the flowers down on the table.

  “We are…confused about why he was at our school, Judy. Do you know…was he going to meet someone there?”

  “Her.”

  “What?” I blurted out. “Who’s that?”

  “I followed him. It was her.”

  “Who was she?” Pauline said.

  “I followed him all the way there. It was her again.”

  “Wha – wha –“

  “He lied again,” she said in a shaking voice. “How many times? How…many…times…”

  And here she burst into tears. We looked around, nervous that an orderly would come and tell us to stop making the patients cry, but no one was around.

  “Judy, who was she? Who was he meeting? It would help us to solve his murder!” Pauline said. “They think I killed him, but the police have no evidence! We want to bring justice to your husband!”

  Judy had lapsed back into silence, and stared at the ducks. We waited several long minutes, prodding her with questions, but got nothing.

  “Should we go?” I asked.

  “I suppose that is all she can tell us.”

  As we walked away Judy once again said “Her.”

  “So what did you learn?” Katie asked.

  “He was cheating,” Pauline stated grimly as we got in the car. “He was cheating on his wife.”

  “But who burned down his garden?” Katie asked. “That part still doesn’t make any sense.”

  “A picture is forming in my mind,” Pauline said. “It is coming to me – like pieces of the Sistine Chapel, one fresco at a time.”

  “I can’t make heads or tails of this,” I said in frustration. “Nothing makes any sense.”

  “Here is my hunch,” Pauline said. “Our best clue will arrive when the Green Campus judges get here. Remember, they are coming May 1st: Watch them closely. I think the answer to our mystery will be touring our school. While they are examining our campus, we will be examining them.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “It is so strange and so fantastic that I dare not speak my theory out loud. If I am correct, our answer will be standing right in front of us.”

  THE day of judgment was finally upon us. May 1st: the National Green Campus Association would be here to judge how green our campus was. Pauline was a nervous wreck, and when all six of them arrived in the morning she offered them coffee, which I then had to make for all of them, using my personal stash of good coffee, which made me furious (the school does not provide coffee for us, so I bring my own). Two kids from the Gardening Club, Mario and Stacey, had agreed to give the tour. It is, after all, all about the kids. There were four women and two men on the judging committee, and they were all nice, patient, and attentive, listening as the kids described the school’s recycling program and the green energy program the school was participating in, in our attempt to become a carbon neutral campus. Pedro followed along, adding things here and there, describing the efficient watering system for all the lawns and shrubs on campus. The judges appeared totally normal and I didn’t see any signs of whatever Pauline was telling me to look for. In the back of my mind I was losing hope that we would ever solve this thing.

  During the tour Pauline and I added a few things here and there, but the kids were the stars of the show, especially when we got to the grand finale – the main garden. The judges were visibly impressed as the kids took the lead, guiding everyone around the place, explaining how hard they had worked with Pauline’s guidance. Even Pedro, who doesn’t teach, had a look of pride on his face, watching the kids show off their hard work. I was so focused on the garden and the tour that it surprised me when Pauline came to me and said, “Tom – one of the judges ran off that way.” She pointed out towards the gym. We shared a look. I’ll be damned, I thought. I hadn’t even noticed.

  We both snuck away from the group and looked around, finally finding a woman over by the door to the gym, huddled in a corner.

  “That is the judge Jeanine,” Pauline whispered. “What is this?”

  We approached.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She turned to us. She was sobbing.

  “I can’t…” she blubbered. “I can’t keep it inside anymore.”

  “Wha - ”

  “That’s where it happened!”

  “Where what happened?” Pauline asked delicately.

  “That night. I’m so sorry, Madame Gallard, I was here with Jim Screbbles to mess up the garden. We thought you were the one who burned down his garden! I loved him. I would’ve done anything to help him win that competition. His wife never understood what we had together. We were going to chop down all the trees and rip out all the vegetables and…it never happened. Jim’s wife followed us here and there was a fight. She left and that’s when…his heart. He had the heart problems for years and they always told him that he needed to avoid stress. He died in my arms, Pauline. It was the heart attack I was afraid of, and it finally happened. I was crazy, Pauline, I wanted to frame you. I couldn’t let you win the competition. He convinced me that you were the devil, that you had to be stopped somehow. So I took the shovel…”

  “It was a spade,” I said.

  “The spade – I took the spade and hit him on the head so it would look like you confronted him here that night and killed him. It was the one last thing I could do for him – to make sure he won the competition.”

  She wept.

  “But what about his garden at Kennedy?” Pauline said. “What happened to his garden?”

  “Judy told us that she burned it to the ground. She thought it would force him to leave the competition. She thought that stupid competition was ruining his marriage, and it was. She thought he would finally stop seeing me…but it didn’t work. When she told him that it was her, he was so mad…and then she left, and his poor old heart couldn’t take it.”

&n
bsp; “Jeanine,” said Pauline, approaching her. “All is forgiven. You did not kill him. But will you tell this to the police? All the community think that I killed him that night, and they are about to fire me because of the controversy.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I’ll tell them. I need to get this off my chest. I’ll resign from the judging committee. I can’t judge this competition anymore.”

  “That is probably true,” said Pauline. “You are not an objective judge at this point, I would say.”

  “He was such a good man, a gentle man…he was so misunderstood. He was a genius, a genius…”

  Pauline looked at me and rolled her eyes. Jeanine didn’t notice and carried on, telling us intimate details of their relationship. At length we convinced Jeanine to go back to the group and finish the tour. Afterwards she agreed to go with us to the police department and give a full statement to Dave Roberts (who was looking at pictures of fish on his computer when we walked in). I’ll tell you…the look on Dave’s tired old face was something I wish I could replicate here. But alas, you will have to imagine it.

  What Jeanine had done was weird and unprofessional and destructive, and very stupid and reckless. But that day I admired her. And I know that Pauline did too – in the end, Jeanine told the truth, and that counted for something. And Dave Roberts? He took a sworn statement from her, and she told him everything. The case was officially no longer a murder case, pending an autopsy, of course.

  As we left the police department, Jeanine exhaustedly walking to her car, Pauline and I began strolling back to school.

  “So, be honest, Pauline. Was that what you thought happened? Was that your theory?”

  “It was surprisingly close to what I thought happened.”

  “How did you figure it out? How’d you put the pieces together?”

  She smiled. “I have always known in my heart, but I could never prove, Thomas, that he had a funny business with the judges. I suspected, correctly, that the contest was rigged. We knew that there were women with him in the garden that night, and I am sure that no woman would have the strength to kill a man his size with a spade. A dagger, maybe – but a tool so long, where he would have time to protect his face while she is swinging it toward him? No. Also: He was not needing a ride home from Howie Schmidt that night – so this person he was meeting was intimate with him and was planning on driving him home – and it could not be his wife, otherwise she would have accompanied him, no? And then I learn that he is from the same town as the Green Campus headquarters, and then you tell me of his marital problems, and then we learn for certain that his wife confront him with a woman in the garden that night. But I knew his wife did not kill him. Because his mistress would have been a witness, and she would have come forward, you see? Then I begin to suspect that a large, overweight man like him would have health troubles, possibly exacerbated by the shock of the confrontation. So, it all come together in my mind. My theory was like a small seed, Thomas. The seed of a plant that turned out to be the truth.”

 

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