Bouncer (11 page)

“What’s that you say, dear?”

“It’s very large.”

“It has to be,” said Mrs. Simms turning around and spreading her arm, “for these are my children.”

What lovely children they were indeed. One orchid, the palest pink and lightly veined with violet, stretched out its long, delicate neck towards Nick.

“The temperature must be kept between 72-80 degrees,” Mrs. Simms explained. “Orchids thrive in humidity and light, so I have a high-intensity sodium vapor system. I prefer an intermediate or warm house.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Nick wondering just how much this layout cost.

“My greenhouse caters to those orchids preferring intermediate or warm temperatures. Without consistent temperatures, the orchid will not bloom.”

“And Philemon understands all this?”

“He’s learning quickly. He looked as bewildered as you, my boy, when he first started, but now is nearly as knowledgeable about the plants as I. And that’s saying a great deal, young man.” Her glowering stare indicated neither detective dare even suspect her Philemon.

“Every day, I come out to see how these most perfect of flowers are progressing.” She marched down the wide aisle, calling out the names of the various orchid species while Nick struggled to stay focused.

“My favorites are
Vanda
and
Cattleya
, though I also experiment with many
Paphiopedilum
and
Dendrobium
. Ah, here’s one of my favorites,
Cattleya Bicolor
. Isn’t he beautiful?”

The small white and mauve orchid looked like it possessed a tongue sticking out of a brilliant green mouth.

“Very nice,” mumbled Thayne, and Lea glared at him.

Mrs. Simms chortled on as the two detectives studied the huge greenhouse, whose flooring consisted of interlocking red brick. A shiny, deep basin near a potting trough separated a long wooden shelf upon which dozens of healthy orchids rested.

“This is some display of flowers, madam. More than a hobby I take it?”

Mrs. Simms paused before a long stemmed orchid she referred to as
Cymbidium Giganteum
. “Flowers and beauty are my life. If one can make this world a lovelier place, if one can nurture the perfection of flowers, I believe we add to the world’s harmony.” Her Buddhist-like philosophy was not wasted on Lea.

“What a magnificent collection,” breathed Lea, and Nick thought that, for once, she was genuinely impressed.

“Oh, really?” said Nick involuntarily. A strange, long-necked orchid in flecked crimson strangely resembled a spider in appearance.

“That’s a
Masdevallia Bella
. Quite difficult to achieve a bloom, and I need to be careful since it likes a cooler room. I usually keep it in my bedroom window and just brought it out to fertilize today. While not suiting some, its strange shape and coloration gratify me somehow. So imperfect to some, but perfect to me. Philemon has such a way with my orchids, as if he can almost coax them into bloom. I can tell, young woman, that you harbor a similar gift and love for plants.”

“Yes, but mostly for violets and roses. I’ve never had the time and patience for orchids.”

Mrs. Simms grasped Lea’s arm with amazing strength and pulled her towards a collection of yellow orchids reaching for the artificial light. Nick gratefully watched them head away before scouring the greenhouse.

It was furnished with an enormous built-in fan and cooling system, and even a novice such as himself could recognize the system’s high quality. Mrs. Simms clearly loved and nurtured her orchids. It was amazing how fragile and delicate the various plants appeared with their fairly thin green stems holding up the lovely slender necks of the flowers.

“Where do you keep your gardening tools?” asked Nick as Fox leaned over a pearly white stem. While no great flower lover, he knew never to insult someone’s grand passion.

“Over there,” Mrs. Simms hobbled to the end of the greenhouse and opened a small wooden door leading into a six-foot by six-foot square room. She flicked on the overhead light bulb, and hanging on the walls were various tools, picks, hoes, and rakes. In a neat row, four pairs of various-sized pruning shears dangled from long nails.

“Mrs. Simms, would you mind an officer taking a look at this room?” asked Nick, seemingly noncommittal.

Mrs. Simms twitched, and her veined hand grasped the wooden shelf for support. “Why? Is something missing?”

“Nothing at all. Only your gardener, Mr. Jenkins, uses these tools?” asked Thayne.

“No, I use some of them as well. I trim the orchids myself and repot them when necessary. It’s very tiring work for me, but the rewards are great. When the need arises, I use some of the smaller hand tools over there.”

Two stainless steel hand clippers rested upon the counter next to a blue-handled trowel.

“What’s in the large red box?” said Lea pointing to a rectangular metal box faded with age.

“That’s my late husband’s tool box. I keep all sorts of odds and ends in there. Screwdrivers, pliers, and whatnot. Would you like me to open it?”

Mrs. Simms lifted the lid, revealing a neat little pocket in the top of the metal cabinet loaded with various screws and nails. Underneath, Phillips and flat-bladed screwdrivers, as well as wrenches and pliers, were haphazardly tossed onto the main tool bed.

“Do you use these very often?”

“Oh, once in a while, but it’s really Philemon who uses them. If I need to hang a picture or something comes loose, he fixes it right away. I used to be so spry in my younger days, but now it takes so much effort to even climb up on a step stool. I’d be lost without my Philemon!” She glanced fearfully at Nick and Lea.

Thayne raised a hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Simms. We’re doing a search of all the neighboring houses. We’re not here to implicate your gardener. We understand how much you rely on Mr. Jenkins.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” sighed Mrs. Simms. “Is there anything else?” and before Nick could retrieve his own embossed business card, Fox handed her drab one to Mrs. Simms.

“Please feel free to give me a call anytime, Mrs. Simms.”

They followed the feeble old lady back through the house, admiring the high vaulted ceilings with its beautiful wooden beams and diamond-shaped Tudor windows slanting lovely bursts of sunshine into the spacious and welcoming rooms.

“You know,” said Mrs. Simms hopefully, right before they reached the front foyer. “If you’d like to come for tea sometime, it would be lovely. I could show you more of my orchids.”

“If we have time, we’ll certainly do so,” said Nick pleasantly and shook her cold, palsied hand.

Fox clucked under her tongue as she followed Nick down the lovely cobbled pathway. “Well, Thayne, I have to hand it to you; you have a definite way with women. If you can charm a sixty-five-year-old woman, imagine what thirty-year-olds must do when you appear in their vicinity. Do you they simply fall down and beckon you to come hither as they acquiesce to your mighty charm, or do you ever have to work at it?”

“Here’s something to plug into the F & H?
Everyone
wants to be treated like they matter, Fox, even little old women.”

Chapter 10

Thayne crossed to the other side of the street. There was something to be said about good manners, which was something Lea’s father, no matter how great a police officer he’d been, had failed to instill in his daughter. While animosity tinged every emotion Nick felt about his parents, at least the pair had managed to instill some sense of propriety in him. Nick briefly detailed instructions to Officer Phelps before joining the other officers in the field to survey the two white-clad men using metal detectors to scour every inch of the empty field.

Lea shrugged, watching the busy proceedings in the vacant field. My, but he was touchy. She knew damn good and well that if a male colleague had stated what she just had, he would have been slapped on the back with all-encompassing camaraderie. It didn’t bother her much, since she was used to being the odd woman out, and left his tall, handsome form to shoot the breeze with the officers. She paused before 614 Chester Street, surveying the sharp spikes jutting from the tall white fence. Such a peculiar house with its vast cast iron gate and menacing appearance; a house full of secrets.

Upon impulse, she rang the intercom buzzer again. The loud peal of the bell rang through the house, but again no answer. Lea was about to turn away when she heard the slight crackle of underbrush.

She leaned against the fence, her keen ears picking out the rustle of leaves. Could this be the elusive Bouncer Philemon had reported? As if in answer, a ginger cat sprang to the fence and hissed at her.

“Jeez,” she said, sorely disappointed. She meandered around the fence, searching for something, anything that could have been missed. The neighbor’s house to the left had a wide expanse of yard with jasmine bordering a well-maintained lawn. Lea wandered into the Crawford’s’ yard, and using her foot, lifted the heaving foliage up from the drooping bottom leaves of the fragrant plant, searching for anything unusual. Suddenly, she spied a small red rubber ball nestled against the wall, halfway into the yard. Jubilant, Lea picked it up, hurrying back to 614 as quickly as her limping gait would allow. Philemon hadn’t lied. The ball existed. Now, if she could just find its owner.

Lea leaned once more to the intercom and rang the buzzer again and again, to no avail. She spoke into the metal mouthpiece.

“I found your ball. Why don’t you open up the gate and let me in so I can return it to you.” Silence dictated its staunch refusal.

She tried repeatedly until finally giving up in defeat. When Thayne’s voice called out to her, Lea immediately thrust the red rubber ball into the wide pocket of her tweed blazer. One thing was for certain, while no one answered the bell at 614 Chester Street, someone or something definitely lived there. They needed to gain access.

A voice drifted across the empty lot from under the magnolia tree. “Hey, Fox! Could you open my trunk and bring me the small flashlight in the crate next to the first aid kit? We may have found something!”

Fox headed to the driver’s side and flipped the trunk opener.

“What an appallingly small trunk,” she said to no one in particular. A small crate, 18 inches square, was squirreled up into the left of the tiny trunk and in no time, Lea found the flashlight. An artist’s sketchbook leaned against the opposite side and without an ounce of remorse, she opened it. She only managed to flip through three of the sketches before Thayne’s voice rang out again.

“Fox! Bring the flashlight!”

She slammed the lid and headed towards the big tree. “What is it?” she asked.

Thayne peered up into a branch about seven feet above the earth at the rear of the magnolia. “Give me,” he ordered. Flipping on the powerful beam, he pinpointed some thin scratches at right above his head. “Look.”

The single word
Phile
was freshly carved into the aged trunk.

“Jeez,” said Fox.

They stood beside the curb, waiting for the chief. Within minutes, his metallic blue sedan slid to a stop by them. Chief Rollins rolled down the Ford’s electric window exposing his florid face. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled to be called out on a Saturday afternoon, murder or no murder.

“What is it?” he barked.

Nick handed him the Polaroid of the tree carving.

“Phile?” he said. “Philly Cheesecake? Philadelphia?”

“Or perhaps a nickname,” returned Thayne quietly. “It had been freshly carved at the rear of the tree. In the first flurry of activity, we were all focused at the base of the tree.”

“Hmm,” pondered the Chief. “I’ll have Dwayne run this through the system. Maybe he’ll come up with something. Oh, finally managed to get through to Collins’ office. Collins is in New York, but his secretary says you can search the entire premises. Apparently, no one lives in the house; it’s kept as a training and conference retreat for some of the high-ups in his company. I don’t want to hear from either of you until Monday unless something else important breaks or you’ve solved this case. If I don’t attend my wife’s high school reunion this evening, I’m dead meat. You can reach me on my cell if it’s an emergency, but at no other time.” The chief’s mobile tinkled. “Rollins,” he barked. “Oh hi, Hon.”

“
Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn
,” quoted Nick smoothly.

“Oh, pleez,” grumbled Lea. “If you’re going to quote something at least get it right!”

“That’s not right?”

“No. It states
Nor Hell a fury, like a Woman scorn’d.
William Congreve. My father was a quote-aholic as well. Between him and being an English minor in college . . . I sense a fraud at work.”

“And did it work on the women? Your father’s quotes?”

“Well, my mother still married him.”

“Probably impressed by his wit and intelligence.”

“Knocked up with my brother. And I think the more appropriate word is
tolerate
,” said Lea icily.

Chief Rollins flipped shut his phone and rolled his eyes wearily before handing them a file with a post-it on top indicating the house’s security codes. “And another present for you from the good doctor with some
interesting
tidbits.”

“Such as?” asked Nick.

“An analysis of the paint particles found under Thad Fisher’s fingers. It makes damn good reading, but it’s the other stuff that I’m sure would fascinate the likes of a pair of world-class private investigators such as yourselves. After you read it, you’ll understand how close we are to making an arrest!”

He snickered and drove off without uttering one word to Lea, pulling his vehicle around the bulb end of the cul-de-sac without so much as a goodbye.

“And a good day to you as well,” she stated to the rear end of the blue Ford. “What does he mean, an arrest?”

“You’re right, Fox. He wants this wrapped up and pronto. So, what do you want to do first?” asked Nick handing her the code. “Read the addendum to the report or enter the premises now?”

Lea said idly. “How did you know where to find the word carved into the magnolia?”

Thayne’s eyes flicked to hers before languidly studying the liquid amber trees swaying gently before the beautiful, gabled, charcoal-slate roof of Mrs. Simms’ house.

“I didn’t
know
anything, Fox. I just thought the crew might have missed something.”

“Definitely not partners,” mumbled Lea and turned abruptly towards the Collins house. “Now that we’ve got the warrant, let’s see what delights it has to show us. We’ll check out Steven’s report later.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Could you wait just a moment while I return my flashlight?” He strode briskly to the Mustang and popped its trunk, remaining a long moment behind the shielding hood before slamming it down harder than it warranted.

“Been nosy, Fox? Why do I feel like my privacy’s been compromised?”

“I’m a P.I., Thayne. That stands for
Privacy invaded
. You coming or do you plan on glaring at me all day?”

The heavy black gate swung open with a mighty echoing creak. Thayne had called Officer Phelps to join them, not because he felt Randy’s assistance was necessary, but to serve as a buffer between him and Fox. He seethed inside, and it wasn’t until a putrid smell assailed their nostrils that he came out of his preoccupation.

The smell reminded Lea of unclean toilets and rarely used campgrounds where repulsive deeds were inflicted upon the innocent in the dark. Fox saw Thayne’s mahogany eyes crinkle in disgust.

“Good God, that’s rank,” hissed Nick, searching his pocket for a wadded-up handkerchief.

He held it to his nose as they headed up the concrete walkway edged in red brick to match the house. The beautifully designed house reminded Lea of houses constructed during the colonial days, the bright red brick indicating a stout but classily built house. Cascading gables and a charming balcony jutted off two of the upper story windows. A huge, sheltered entryway led to a two-story foyer where twin brick chimneys thrust from the sharply slanted roof.

“Nice looking joint,” said Officer Phelps, who Lea noticed, was chewing gum. Trim, young, and energetic, though a bit on the stocky side, his pleasant face still possessed the eagerness 18 months on the force hadn’t yet dampened. “So where to now, Inspector Thayne?” he asked the tall detective.

“Let’s check the front yard out first.” The three wandered through the pleasing garden. “That’s interesting,” said Lea. “It’s a row of
Prunus Laurocerasus
.”

“And what’s that?” said Nick, barely polite.

“English Laurel. They’ve covered the entire length of the brick wall in the shrub. The typical English Laurel can reach at least ten feet high, but this has been trimmed down to only about four feet.” She hobbled over and plucked one of its purplish-black fruit. “Some people call this a Cherry Laurel. While not very common here on the West Coast, it makes a perfect shrub if well trained and watered as this has been. It’s strange, though; most people use Laurel as a fence, not a hedge planted against an already existing wall. Mostly used in English gardens. You can see it’s been severely pruned and mighty recently, at that.”

She touched one of the light green stalks devoid of leaves at the top. “It will be full of pretty cream-colored flowers in the spring.”

“You sure know a lot about plants, Inspector Fox,” said Officer Phelps.

“I do. It was my mother’s passion. You might say she was a frustrated landscape artist.”

In a very thin strip along the walkway,
Weigela
flowered in a pale white-pink. The rest of the yard was covered in rich green dichondra grass.

“This part of the yard is not used by children,” announced Fox. “Dichondra doesn’t take wear and tear well, and it’s a tough grass to keep nice in this climate.” Two huge eucalyptuses towered from the middle of the vast emerald green lawn

“Strange,” said Thayne at her shoulder. “It’s clear that the lawn has been mown quite recently and someone has to take care of that incredible hedge here as well as this little border of flowers, but everyone indicates no one is ever seen at house, that is, except for last Tuesday.”

“Maybe the gardener resides here,” suggested Lea. “But why wouldn’t they answer the door? Have you noticed, Thayne, the lack of trees close to the house?”

He merely grunted.

“Some nice rose bushes, though,” said Randy Phelps awkwardly, noticing the two detective’s tension.

“Yes, whoever’s the gardener here at least shares Mrs. Simms’ love of flowers. Ah, here’s one of my favorites!” Lea pointed to a brilliant pink flower. “This one’s called
Duet
. See its dusty color?” She moved a little closer. “A true rose lover designed this garden. Do you notice how they’ve alternated pink and red roses with white ones? All hybrid teas; there’s not a floribunda in the bunch.”

“Is that important?” asked Randy. Thayne continued staring at the roof, a frown upon his handsome face.

“They take a lot more work, so someone has to live here because the garden needs more than an occasional gardener. Dichondra is a tough lawn to take care of, since it’s subject to weeds. English Laurel must be constantly trimmed and the dead flowers removed so it continues to bloom. Roses need lots of fertilizer and are hard work to maintain at this standard. The dead blooms must be removed and constantly fed systemic to repel aphids and fungus. None of these roses have a trace of rust, and I haven’t spied an aphid anywhere. Here’s
First Love
,
Electron,
and one of my favorite roses,
Honor,
just
to name a few. And nary a dead petal anywhere. So why is this house considered vacant?”

“Could just be the neighbors not noticing,” said Randy.

“What do you mean?” asked Nick, totally ignoring Fox.

“It’s like where I live. No one pays any attention to the neighbors unless they’re too loud or there’s a dog barking or something. Shoot, my neighbor works the night shift, so I’ve only met him once.”