18 Deader Homes and Gardens (34 page)

“He may have, but I was drunk. Like mother, like daughter. The fruit of the poisonous tree. All that crap.” She rubbed her temples. “What you told me has knotted my stomach. I need to go lie in the hammock and think it over.”

“Keep in touch,” I said as I left. I drove slowly down the steep hill, but by the time I reached the stop sign, it came to me.

The solution was buried in the family plot.

16

All I needed was proof. Jorgeson, the fuddy-duddy, would not take action without it, and I couldn’t wander through the meadow gathering bits and pieces of it like daisies. I went home and called Nattie.

After we made the polite noises, I said, “I wanted to see how Jordan’s doing. Did she tell you what she, Caron, and Inez did last night? If I’d known, I would have put a stop to it immediately. Please pass along my apology to Margaret Louise.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Claire. I can remember some of the things I did as a teenager. I’m so grateful that she didn’t run away and end up in a bad situation in a hostile little town.” She chuckled. “Do I ever remember some of the stunts I pulled. I was clever enough to avoid getting caught—or arrested—but I had some close brushes.”

“Me, too,” I said, just to be amiable. I’d never done anything that remotely resembled a misdemeanor. Caron was payback. “Have you made funeral plans yet? I’d like to attend.”

“It will be a private affair, family members only. Moses’s old friends have all passed away. I appreciate your gesture.”

“Has the body been released?”

“We’re waiting for the medical examiner to sign the death certificate. That should happen today, since there was no need for an autopsy. I’m going to miss the old coot and his senseless babble.”

“It wasn’t all senseless babble,” I said slowly and carefully. “He had moments of clarity.”

“Like I have the body of a ballerina. Tell me one thing he said that was intelligible and remotely plausible.”

I counted to five. “Well, you may be right. It’ll take me a while to come up with something. My husband’s getting home tonight. I need to spend my time making him a lovely dinner and stocking up on champagne. I don’t think I have a single candle in the house. I’d better get busy. Good-bye, Nattie.”

I sat back and congratulated myself. She would share my remarks with everyone in the family, excluding Jordan. At least one of them would be very unhappy indeed. It was up to me to find out who flinched.

Before I galloped off to unmask the perpetrators, I needed some information. Caron was long gone from the Book Depot. The clerk might not be cooperative. I called Inez on her cell phone.

“How was your appointment?” I inquired.

She sounded as if she had a mouthful of crackers. “The dentist extracted two wisdom teeth, so I’ve got all this gauze packed in my mouth.”

I felt obliged to offer a few words of commiseration, then got down to business. “I need for you to find certain data on the Internet. Do you feel up to it?” When she responded with a mumbled assent, I told her what I wanted to know. I could imagine her widened eyes, but I did not offer an explanation. Three minutes later she called back. Due to her temporary speech impediment, it required effort and numerous repetitions for her to relay the numbers. “You were right about the truck hijacking,” she added in an amazed voice. “Does this have anything to do with Hollow Valley?”

Since that was about the only place I’d been in more than a week, her question was logical. I didn’t want to waste time elucidating my latest theory, so I gave her a vague response and hung up. Once the pain medication cleared out of her system, she’d figure it out on her own.

I drove past the Hollow Valley sign and parked where Caron had hidden her car. It required a long slog across an abandoned pasture with waist-high stalks and grasshoppers that whirred into my face. Creatures with wings buzzed me. To make the trek truly intolerable, I began to sweat. My armpits and back were wet and sticky. I was obliged to wipe my eyes. Sneezing did not lighten my mood. I stayed on the far side of the stream from the houses and nursery and finally stumbled into the family plot. I sank down to catch my breath.

As I recovered, I saw that I was sitting on Ethiopia and Lloyd. I wasn’t sure if I should have begged their pardon, since I was not a member of the family. I opted for a smile of appreciation for their hospitality. The bridge to the back road was twenty yards away, behind a stand of oak trees and undergrowth. Boards clattered as a truck rolled across it. When the sound died, I made my way to the road, looked around, and then dashed across the bridge. I could hear voices as I crawled up the incline. I felt utterly ridiculous, but I did not want to be spotted by a worker taking a break outside the closest outbuilding. I pulled aside weeds and studied the grounds of the nursery.

Most of the employees were headed for the cars and trucks parked at the back of the graveled lot. They chattered as they crammed themselves inside. Carpooling seemed to be the norm. Ethan went into the office. A few workmen were squatting in the dirt, taking furtive puffs from their cigarettes and passing a bottle in a brown paper bag. Two of the delivery trucks were idle; the other two were on the road with their cargo of plants from the nursery. I had a fairly good theory about what else might be stashed inside.

There was no way to run across the open expanse without being seen. I needed a diversion, but I lacked the contacts to order an air strike. I lay in the prickly weeds, sweat oozing down my back, my teeth clenched. I berated myself for my bravado in assuming I could gain access to a truck. I tried to think of someone else to blame, but I was too distracted by my itchy ankles. I was nearly ready to admit defeat when I heard a tootling melody of sorts. Pandora Butterfly, dressed only in scarves, came capering into the far side of the field, a recorder held to her lips. Her hair was woven with red and yellow flowers. Rainbow and Weevil dragged behind her. I was startled to see that the latter held a hatchet in his grubby little hand. His expression suggested that he was stalking the Pied Piper of Hollow Valley.

Ethan emerged from the office, conferred with the workmen, and walked hurriedly in the direction of his family. The men climbed into their pickup trucks and drove toward me. I put my arms over my head and did my best to look like a fallen tree trunk with auburn leaves.

The trucks rumbled by and went down the slope to the bridge. I raised my head and scanned the grounds. Ethan, Pandora, and the children were gone. The delivery trucks appeared to be miles away, parked near a greenhouse. I waited for five minutes, then brushed unimaginable things off my clothes and stayed by the perimeter as I approached. The open padlocks on the back doors of the trucks dangled invitingly. I reminded myself that I wasn’t going to steal anything, which could be used in my defense should I end up in a courtroom. Trespassing was no more than a minor breach of etiquette. When I could think of no reason to stall further, I trotted to the nearer truck, eased a door open, and climbed inside. I felt as if I’d escaped from Alcatraz, but no sirens erupted and no shots were fired. The interior of the van was smaller than its exterior suggested, as I’d noted earlier. In a matter of seconds, I’d slid open a panel in the back to reveal a three-foot space. Jordan would have been cramped, but there was room for her to sit and swill water until her bladder betrayed her.

In mystery fiction and movies, someone would have slammed the doors and engaged the padlock. I would have been driven to a remote locale and ordered to climb out of the truck. The men would have evil grins and large semiautomatic weapons. Depending on the genre, I would have been either gunned down or rescued by a rogue hero armed with a dimple. As it was, I slid out of the back of the truck and ran to a narrow stretch between two of the greenhouses. I found an overturned clay flowerpot and sat down. There was no legitimate explanation for the concealed spaces, only an illegitimate one. Hollow Valley Nursery was importing and exporting goods that were regulated by dear Peter’s ATF colleagues. If I hadn’t dismissed Moses as a flake, I might have caught on earlier. My brilliant deduction, confirmed in my mind, was inadequate to bring Jorgeson and his troops rushing in with search warrants. If HVN was currently in export mode, the warrants were futile. My next step required finesse. As the council of mice had opined in the medieval cautionary tale, belling the cat was not a simple task. The best approach, I finally decided, was to try to have a private conversation with Nattie. Like Winston, she might have had a hunch that all was not as it seemed in the family business.

When I reached the edge of the green, I paused to assess the situation. The Mercedes and the Mustang were parked under a tree. I could hear loud music in the distance. Margaret Louise was paying homage to Jefferson Airplane. Perhaps the cocktail hour had arrived early. I wondered if Jordan was cowering in her bedroom, appalled by her aunt’s taste in a hopelessly dated genre. There was a good chance that Nattie was alone. I looked in the backyard, where I saw her on her knees in front of a flower bed. I cleared my throat and, when she looked back, said, “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Help yourself,” she said. “I’m digging up daffodil bulbs. They were splendid this year. I have a special vase for them that I put on the kitchen table all spring. Do you know anything about them?”

“I can recognize them,” I admitted.

“Daffodils belong to the narcissus group. They originated in the countries around the Mediterranean Sea, from Spain and Portugal to the Middle East. Romans brought them to Britain. Now there are twenty-five thousand registered cultivars. Isn’t that remarkable?”

“Yes,” I said with what enthusiasm I could muster.

Nattie put down her trowel and took off her straw hat to wipe her forehead with the cuff of her shirt. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said as she sat down near me. “I’m a card-carrying member of the American Daffodil Society.”

“Will you be offended if I ask you about the family?”

“I hope you’re not going to bring up Great-Great-Uncle Alvin Shanks Hollow. He traveled in a buggy and sold bottles of unguent that he claimed cured erectile dysfunction. I believe it contained daffodil sap, which is what made me think of him. It caused a rash that kept the men out of their wives’ bedrooms for a week. Alvin utilized the opportunity to make sure that the prettier wives produced babies nine months later. He was hanged in Maxwell County in eighteen ninety-four.”

“With a smile on his face?”

“So the story goes,” Nattie said, chuckling. “Would you like some iced tea? I have fresh mint, and I made some gingersnaps this morning. I need a break.”

She went through the kitchen door. I wandered over to the flower bed. Nattie’s daffodil bulbs were in a burlap bag, and small marigolds and petunias had been planted in some of the holes. A dozen more plants waited their turn. Red poppies swayed in the breeze while snapdragons bobbled behind them. I pictured myself in cotton gloves and a broad-brimmed hat, wielding a trowel to dig little holes and plant a variety of flowers. I would not be sweating, or even perspiring. I would have the healthy glow of an accomplished horticulturist, responsible for the expanse of exquisite beauty. Peter would choke back tears as he swept me into his manly arms.

“Here we are,” Nattie said as she emerged from the Old Tavern. “The cookies are not my best. I was thinking about Moses and almost substituted curry powder for cinnamon, and I couldn’t recall if I’d already added the baking soda.” She put the glasses and the plate of cookies on a side table. “I feel twenty years older today. Now that Moses is gone, I don’t know if I want to live here much longer. My only role was to take care of him.” She seemed dazed as she handed me a glass of iced tea. “How pathetic.”

“Maybe you can get involved in the nursery,” I said. “You have a remarkable talent for growing things. You can expand the variety of stock and offer yourself as a landscape consultant.”

“I could, but I’m not sure that’s what I want to do. The Old Tavern already feels empty. I used to think that the creaks were from Moses creeping around at night. Last night I couldn’t sleep, and I found myself considering the possibility that the place is haunted. I don’t want to share the house with Colonel Moses Ambrose Hollow and his deceased offspring.” Her smile was forced. “No, I don’t believe in that nonsense, but the last slice of strawberry pie was gone this morning. I am not going to bake for a bunch of dead people.”

“Ask Jordan before you spend all your money on a ghostbuster.” I could think of no way to rely on tact to elicit the information I wanted. “Nattie, there’s something going on at the nursery—something illegal.”

She put down her glass with an unsteady hand. “What do you mean? Is Ethan growing marijuana? I don’t see how he could get away with it. There are forty employees in and out of the greenhouses all day—and don’t forget Charles. He would never allow such a thing.” She continued to stare at me. “Or maybe those cacti that have hallucinogenic buttons? Mescaline, I think.”

“Not something he cultivates. He’s transporting stolen property across state lines. That’s a felony that will bring down the feds on him—and anyone else who has knowledge of it.”

“I don’t believe it. Ethan loves the nursery more than anything. He would never do anything to put it in jeopardy.”

I told her about the secret compartments in the delivery trucks. “That’s where the contraband is stashed, and where Jordan hid when she tried to run away. Ethan was lucky that she didn’t demand to know the purpose of the compartment. There’s no other explanation.”

“I don’t believe it,” she repeated. “Ethan’s not a criminal. He’s infatuated with organic pest control and plant food. When he finds a frog in a greenhouse, he takes it to the stream to set it free. He scoops up spiders and carries them outside. If that’s not enough to dissuade you, he puts up with Pandora Butterfly. It’s easier to believe he might strangle her than deal in contraband. You’re wrong, Claire.”

“Winston suspected that something was going on. He told … a friend that everyone out here was afraid of him.”