Garden of Death (19 page)

“The cops?” Martin looked so upset by that idea that I actually felt sorry for him. “This is crazy. Sandra is the kindest, gentlest person I know. She did not kill White.”

“Then she's got nothing to worry about,” I said, even though I knew it wasn't strictly true. Jackson definitely did not kill White, and he had plenty to worry about.

Martin shook his head, then raised his eyes to meet mine. “Okay, no threats. I'm just telling you the truth. If anyone comes after Sandra, I guarantee that they'll be very, very sorry.”

•   •   •

“Lovely guy,” Jackson said as
Martin walked off toward a taxidermist's booth where pink salmon, blue marlin, and yellowfin tuna specimens were on display. They weren't local fish, but I guessed it was true to the theme of the day.

We continued on our way over to Harold and Professor Russell. “Look who's with them,” I said, slowing.

“It's Maggie of the almost dog park,” Jackson said. “And their discussion looks pretty heated.”

They hadn't noticed us yet, so I said, “Let's hang back a bit and see if we can overhear what they're saying.”

So we headed over to a table about three feet behind and pretended to browse a truly extensive collection of miniature sailboats, yachts, and pleasure craft. The day was calm, so their voices carried easily.

“I don't understand,” Professor Russell said. “I thought you were going to bring the item with you. It's why I came over.”

“That wasn't possible,” Harold said. “Not here.”

“I'd like to see it for myself,” Maggie said. “I think you're making it up.”

“Shut up, Maggie,” Harold said. “It's real, believe me.”

“I hope so,” Professor Russell said. “We're running out of time.”

“He's right. Even you can't keep this up much longer,” Maggie said. “You've been lucky so far, but that only lasts so long.”

“When you have a goal, you work toward it,” Harold said. “That is what I'm doing.”

“Work faster, please,” Professor Russell told him.

“Fine, I understand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my duties. I'll be in touch, Professor. Enjoy the sale.”

I grabbed Jackson's arm and we walked away from the table, back toward the entrance to the park. “It sounds like Harold found something,” I said.

Jackson nodded. “Yeah, and it's probably from the garden. Harold is about the same size as the intruder was. He could be the guy.”

chapter twenty-three

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

LAVENDER

Botanical name:
Lavandula angustifolia

Medicinal uses:
Lovely, purple-hued lavender is appealing to people, bees, and butterflies. It's certainly one of my favorite herbs. Not only does it look beautiful and smell wonderful, it's a very versatile medicinal plant. Lavender's name comes from the Latin
lavare
, which means “to wash.” Historically, lavender was used as an antiseptic and for mental health purposes. Today, lavender is popular as a spirit-lifting, nerve-relaxing, calming fragrance. You can use lavender for conditions such as anxiety, tension headaches, irritability, nervousness, restlessness, upset stomach, and insomnia.

Taking eight to ten sniffs of lavender essential oil from the bottle will help to calm your emotions and relieve stress and mild depression. You'll find lav
ender in bath salts, soaps, sachets, potpourris, sleep pillows, creams, lotions, essential oils and other aromatic products. Try one, try them all!

Back at Nature's Way, I looked at the books Professor Russell had lent me on East End pirate lore. They all looked well worn and much used, and I had to figure he'd already pored over them himself looking for clues to undiscovered pirate treasure, so I didn't expect much. But for my own peace of mind, I'd have to do my due diligence and scan them, just to make sure I didn't miss anything.

I wasn't sure why he'd brought the books over; probably to continue the “I'm a nice guy” routine. But now Jackson and I knew that he was up to something with Harold and Maggie. More than likely he had pointed Harold in the right direction for digging, and Harold did the work and they shared the prize. He must have been flabbergasted when he saw the sword, and goblet that we'd already found. More than that, he wanted them for himself.

I left the books in my office then checked in on Wallace and Lily, his niece. Lily was intelligent, motivated, and a hard worker, much like her uncle, and planned to go to culinary college when she graduated from high school. To thank them for all their help, I invited them to come with us and Allie, as our guests, to the Maritime Festival's annual old-fashioned fish fry that night. Wallace declined, explaining that he was busy helping out with the sets for
The Tempest
. Lily, however, said she'd meet us there.

A little before seven, I tucked a flashlight into my purse—I'd been meaning to do that ever since I got locked in the camera obscura—and Jackson, Allie, and I headed over to meet Lily at the fish fry. We all dressed casually, me in a pink Life Is Good T-shirt and jeans, Jackson in a white tee and jeans, and Allie in an azure-blue sundress, her red hair in a ponytail. When we arrived Lily was already there, having gone home first to take a shower and change into a pink shirt, navy shorts, and sandals.

We presented our tickets and got in line. The smell of frying flounder and french fries filled the air, along with roasting veggies and macaroni and cheese. Other side dishes included coleslaw, German potato salad, pasta salad, barbecued baked beans, and corn bread. Dessert consisted of blueberry, apple, and peach pies. Okay, it wasn't organic, but it sure looked and smelled great. We grabbed trays and set to work filling our plates with goodies. Luckily, we found a table with a view of Main Street and sat down to enjoy the meal.

I had taken exactly two bites when I got a text from Simon:

Going to men's club at 8:00. Meet you after. S.

“This is fantastic,” Jackson said as he surveyed his plate. It was chock-full of just about everything offered.

“It really is,” Allie said, and smiled. “This is why we live on East End, right?”

“Sure is,” Lily said, squeezing lemon on her flounder. “It's so easy to get amazing food here.” Next to us, Ramona and Rhonda sat down at a table. Lily noticed them and rolled her eyes.

“Something wrong?” I said.

“It's just my old bosses, Ramona Meadows and Rhonda Rhodes. I worked for them last summer at their farm. I don't like to talk badly about anyone, but they really are the worst. I lasted six weeks and then I quit.”

“Why, what did they do?”

“What didn't they do? They made us work from six to six and paid us pennies, only gave us twenty minutes for lunch, and if you called in sick, you got fired.”

“Isn't that illegal?” Allie said.

“They didn't care. We had to produce, or else, and we did. But it seemed like they never had any money. Rhonda, especially, was always complaining about their finances. She and Ramona fought about it all the time. I'm so glad I'm not working there this summer.”

“We are, too,” I said, and smiled “Then you wouldn't have been able to help us.”

“Glad to do it,” Lily said, getting up. “I need more of that corn bread.”

“I'll go with you,” Allie said.

Once they left the table, I turned to Jackson. “What did you think of what Lily said—about Rhonda and Ramona's money problems?”

“I think that it's pretty likely that if they found out about the pirate treasure in your lot, they'd be extremely interested.”

“Rhonda was at Village Hall and the clerk said that she checked the records on the lot. Could she be the person in black?”

“Why not? She's about the same height as Harold, so it could have been her.”

“Maybe I should try talking to Kylie again. She was more willing to talk to me after the art show.”

“But if she knows that you were talking to Sandra and it upset her, she won't be sharing anything.”

“I'm still going to try.”

“I know you will,” Jackson said. “Just don't go alone.”

•   •   •

Since so many people were
waiting to eat at the fish fry we had dessert and gave up our table. Lily went off with her friends, Allie called it a night, and Jackson and I decided to take a walk along the waterfront.

I still hadn't heard from Simon and was anxious to hear what he'd learned, and hoped to meet up with him soon. In the meantime, we headed down Main Street toward the traffic circle by Claudio's restaurant.

But our stroll was interrupted when Jackson got a text from Detective Koren. “This probably isn't good news,” Jackson said, staring at his phone.

“What does he say?”

“Just that he needs to talk to me and to call him tomorrow morning.”

“Do you think he wants to question you—or arrest you?”

“If he was bringing me in, he would be here, instead of texting me. Either he's learned something new or he has something specific he wants to ask me about.” He shoved the phone into his pocket. “I'll deal with him tomorrow.”

We crossed Claudio's parking lot and walked past the tackle shop and into Mitchell Park. There we
followed the path that ran along the dock's edge at the south end of the park.

We passed the stage where actors, in period dress, were rehearsing
The Tempest
. The sets were terrific and, appropriately enough for the Maritime Festival, seaworthy, with an ocean backdrop, a beached sailboat, and the bow of a ship. I didn't see Wallace but figured he was backstage somewhere.

We'd just sat down on the bench in front of the carousel when I got a text from Simon:

Just got out of meeting. Where R U?

I texted back:

In Mitchell Park. Where do U want to meet?

End of Scrimshaw restaurant dock. Now. S.

“It's Simon,” I told Jackson. “He wants to meet us.” I texted back that we'd meet him there, and we headed for the Scrimshaw.

Simon was waiting for us at the end of the dock. Beyond the dock's end, the water was inky black, except for the lights from the Shelter Island ferries as they crisscrossed the bay, and the crescent moon above us.

“Hey, guys.” Simon had dressed up for the meeting and was wearing a blazer over a blue T-shirt, khakis, and sneakers.

“You look nice,” I said.

“Believe me, I was underdressed,” Simon said. “The rest of those guys had on these purple robes with hoods, and wore these elaborate necklaces. I felt like I was in a Harry Potter movie.”

“So what happened there?” I asked.

“Well, it was . . . weird. The place was all decked
out to look like a like a woodsy cabin, with knotty-pine walls and floors and this massive fireplace. There were these portraits of past and present leaders on the walls, as well as framed studio photos of the present members—incredibly cheesy—and there was this strange diamondlike diagram painted on the floor.

“Once everyone introduced themselves, they had this induction ceremony for me. Apparently, I'm a new member. Mayor Hobson read from this book, and I had to take this pledge.”

“What did you pledge?” Jackson asked, sounding amused.

“Oh, loyalty, fraternity, secrecy, insanity, avarice. You know, all the usual stuff.”

My eyes widened. “Insanity and avarice?”

“I'm teasing,” Simon said with a grin. “Anyway, after the pledge, the treasurer and the secretary gave their reports, and they took care of club business, like voting on getting premium cable service. Next, Joe Larson did a presentation on how to make money investing in real estate. It was mind-numbingly boring.”

“Sounds like they're Freemasons and that the club is a lodge,” Jackson said. “It's like a fraternity of businessmen.”

“I guess. They said they wanted to schedule a time for me to get my photo done for their wall, but I said I was too busy right now.”

“Their loss,” I said, and smiled. “So, who are the other members?”

“I didn't meet everyone, but Dr. White's partners in his medical office were there, and that trustee that
helped you keep the garden open, Tom Coster. Oh, and Harold Spitz was there, but of course, he didn't talk to me.”

“Did anything else happen?” I asked.

“Not really. After the presentation, they served refreshments and everyone hung out for a bit. The mayor and Tom Coster introduced me to White's partners so I could try and find out something to solve the case. Like I told you before, I think they're both trying to help you.”

“I think we may need a lot more help,” I said glumly. “I've been feeling seriously outnumbered. So, Simon, did you learn anything?”

“More like confirmation of what we already knew. White's partners told me that White was absolutely obsessed with getting your lot. They said he talked about it constantly. He was determined to build a high-end boutique hotel there and, despite the rocky state of their marriage, Arlene was counting on running it. He hated medicine, and the hotel was going to be his way out. Both he and Arlene were sure it was going to be a gold mine for them.”

“Maybe because they knew what was buried on the property,” Jackson said. “Anything else?”

“I did see that painting that Joe Larson bought at the art show,” Simon said. “The one of the building where their meetings are held, but back when there was a cigar store on the ground floor. I still think it's not much of a painting, but they had it hanging right above the fireplace mantel in a place of honor. I asked Mayor Hobson why it was so special, and he didn't know. So when no one was looking, I got up close and examined
it. And I found something interesting . . . If you look really closely, you can see numbers on the curb in front of the store.”

“Sure, street numbers,” Jackson said.

“Can't be,” I said. “We don't have those here.”

“Exactly,” Simon agreed. “Besides, they were Roman numerals, XLIX, with XL being forty and IX being nine, so we get forty-nine.”

“You actually remembered all that from school?” Jackson asked.

Simon winced. “I had to look it up on my phone.”

“Who cares?” I said impatiently. “The real question is, what does it mean?”

“I don't know,” Simon said. “But you have to admit, it's strange.”

Jackson started guessing. “Maybe it's a date—a year. Or someone's age? Or the number of a player on a sports team? Or part of a license plate or a lottery number?” He shrugged. “Hell, it could refer to just about anything.”

“It is strange,” I admitted. “But like everything else in this case. I think we've just come to the end of yet another blind alley.”