Garden of Death (9 page)

The result was an impressive blood-red jewel. But it was still difficult to believe that it was a genuine ruby as Simon had said. After all, rhinestones made of glass had plenty of glitter. But somehow, it didn't seem like a rhinestone. It seemed like the real thing. “You didn't actually belong to Captain Kidd, did you?” I asked. The blood-red stone seemed to wink back at me. “We'll find out,” I told it. “Soon enough.”

chapter eleven

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

ECHINACEA

Botanical name:
Echinacea purpurea

Medicinal uses:
The echinacea plants that line the walkway in front of Nature's Way are some of my favorite flowers. Not just because they come in a variety of dazzling colors, or because they make me smile, but because of echinacea's many health benefits.
Purple cornflower, the most commonly used and the most potent, has traditionally been used to shorten the duration of colds and the flu and to ease symptoms like fever, cough, and a sore throat.

A study in the
Journal of Clinical Pharmalogical Therapy
in 2004 showed that taking echinacea at the first sign of a cold can ease symptoms and shorten sick time. University of Alberta researchers found that
volunteers who took echinacea experienced 23 percent lower symptom scores than those who did not. Echi
nacea works by increasing the levels of a naturally occurring chemical in the body known as properdin, improving immunity. The aboveground parts of the plant and roots of echinacea are used fresh or dried to make teas, juice, and extracts for medicinal use.

For the first garden tour that afternoon, the group was small, just eight people, but thankfully they were interested in medicinal plants, not Dr. White's murder, and I finally felt as if I was fulfilling my mission in creating the garden.

I gave the tours on the hour and things continued to go well until Harold Spitz and Maggie Stone showed up, just before my 4 p.m. tour. I braced myself for more conflict. This was quickly becoming exhausting.

“We know what you've done,” Maggie said, sounding angry. “You're not going to get away with it.”

“What have I done?” I asked, reminding myself to breathe and remain calm no matter what.

“We've already had calls from Simon Lewis's high-priced lawyer,” Maggie said furiously.

I shrugged. “I saw that lovely little petition you started to take the garden away from me. Did you really think I was going to just give it up?”

“If you want a fight, you'll get one,” Harold vowed, his voice rising.

“Lower your voice,” I said, and motioned them farther away from the queue forming at the garden gate. “I'm not looking for a fight. I'm worried about keeping the teaching garden open for the community, and I'm
going to do everything I can to make that happen.”

“You can't stop us,” Harold said. “It's the will of the people.”

“Oh, please,” Simon said, walking up to us. “It's the will of some jealous merchants who can't stand the fact that they lost and someone else won and is doing a great job and giving back to the community.”

I blinked. “Where did you come from?”

“I told you I was meeting you back here to go to the wake.” Simon glanced at his watch and smiled at me. “I'm early.”

“I wanted that lot for a dog park,” Maggie went on, as if Simon had never spoken. “That's giving back to the village, too.”

Simon pointed to Mitchell Park across the street. “There's a whole park right there that you can use.”

“It's not the same thing,” Maggie snapped. “You wouldn't understand anyway. You're an out-of-towner.”

“Excuse me, but I own property in Greenport and I've been living here part-time for the past couple of years.”

An African American woman in her seventies wearing a flowered shirt and shorts and a sun hat stepped out of the queue and came over to us. I quickly recognized her as one of Claire's animal rescue friends, Alicia Carter. “Harold and Maggie, you two should be ashamed of yourself, circulating that hateful petition and hassling this dear, sweet girl who is just trying to carry on Claire's legacy and help the community.”

“Stay out of this, Alicia,” Harold snapped. “This is not your business.”

“It's everyone's business—everyone who loves
Greenport and wants to support Willow's efforts to make it a better place.” She took my hands. “The good people in this community don't agree with what they are doing, Willow. You can count on us.”

“Thank you, Alicia,” I said. “I really do appreciate it.” It felt good to have her and the rest of Claire's friends on my side. I gave her a quick hug and she rejoined the line again.

Harold and Maggie were whispering to each other; probably figuring out their next move. But I had had enough. It was almost four and I needed to start the tour. “Are you two done? I have people waiting.”

“Little old ladies won't save you,” Harold said, giving me a nasty smile. “Enjoy it while you can.”

“You, too,” Simon said cheerfully.

Maggie couldn't resist taking the bait. “Enjoy what?”

“Your last day of freedom. As of tomorrow, my lawyer is going to keep you so wrapped up in red tape that you won't be able to breathe without filling out notarized forms. I do hope you enjoy being deposed—and that you both have excellent lawyers of your own. Because for you, this is going to get very expensive, very fast,” Simon promised. “If I were you, I'd save myself a lot of time, money, and frustration and just give up now.”

“We'll see about that,” Maggie said. “Let's go, Harold.”

We watched them cross the street and stomp into the park. I could almost see steam coming out of Harold's ears. “Thanks, Simon,” I said.

He gave me a rueful grin. “I know, I know. It's obnoxious to use my money to push people around. But sometimes . . . it's just fun. Now, when are you
going to be done so we can scope out that wake?”

“It usually takes me about forty-five minutes to do a tour, and then I'll need to change. Why don't you walk around and play tourist? I'll meet you inside at five.”

“A-okay,” Simon said. “Go get 'em, girl.”

•   •   •

We arrived at the funeral
home in Southold at five fifteen. The parking lot was packed with mourners' cars. As Martin had predicted, the fact that White had not been well liked didn't seem to matter. Everyone wanted to make an appearance, for whatever reason.

I managed to squeeze my mint-green Prius into a tight spot in the back by the garage. The car had been a gift from Green Focus, the company that made Claire's Fresh Face cream, a thank-you for finding the formula after she had died.

I'd changed into a plain black shift dress and flats. Simon wore khakis and a navy blue blazer over a white button-down, no tie. We entered through the back door and found a long line snaking down the hallway. I was suddenly feeling jittery, as if I'd had several cups of espresso. I tried to concentrate on my breathing to calm my nerves as we headed to the front of the room, what would have been the living room, in this converted house.

While Simon skipped paying his respects and made small talk with some of the attendees, in particular a good-looking brunette, I walked up to the coffin. Dr. White looked plastic and very dead. I quickly moved on to look at the wreaths and arrangements of flowers and the collages of family photos.

Arlene, his widow, sat in the front row next to a young man, whom I guessed was her son. On her other side was Joe Larson, and beside him, the man we had seen at the Cheese Emporium.

Larson handed tissues to Arlene as she cried and at one point pulled her into a hug. I wondered what their relationship was—family, friends, or something more?

Arlene was wearing an elegant black jacket and skirt. From what I knew of them, she and her husband had always been among Greenport's wealthiest. But it occurred to me that she now had plenty of money that was hers to spend any way she wished. Of course, this would have occurred to the police, too. I knew that they were probably checking the Whites' finances, making sure that Charles White had not been killed for his insurance.

Arlene finally stopped sobbing, and Joe Larson left her sitting there with her son. He circulated around the room and ended up talking to members of the Village Board and the mayor. But when Maggie and Harold entered, he quickly excused himself and went over to them. I wondered if he was working with the merchants to shut my garden down as well—and whether he, too, had heard from Simon's lawyer.

Maggie spotted me and said something to Joe, who shot me an angry look, said something else to her and Harold, then headed over to me. Fortunately, Simon chose that moment to reappear at my side.

“I think we'd better leave,” I said. “I don't want trouble.”

“It's your call,” Simon said.

I braced myself as Joe Larson strode up to me. “You have no right to be here,” he began. “You were never a
friend to Charles or Arlene. I think you'd better leave.” He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me toward the door.

“Don't touch me.” I tried to yank my arm away, but he was strong and gripped me tightly.

Simon put a hand on Larson's arm. “Let go of her now,” he said in a quiet voice, “or my lawyer will sue you for assault . . . Willow, is that a bruise I see on your arm?”

Larson released me at once. “This is a private wake. I think you two should leave now. You'll only upset Arlene.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. It
was
hot in here.

I glanced over at Maggie and Harold, who both had smug looks on their faces. Obviously, they thought they'd won this round of the battle.

“Are you working with them to close the garden down?” I asked Larson.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do. I think you want that lot and will do anything to get it, and—”

“That's over,” Larson broke in. “I've moved on to other things.”

“Like Arlene?” Simon asked.

“That's preposterous. Charles was my business partner and my best friend. Now, you two need to leave.”

The truth is, I would have been happy to get out of that stifling room. But I also wanted to find out more about the grieving widow, and I knew this was probably my best chance to talk to her.

“Okay, we'll go,” I said. “But first, I just want to
express my condolences to Arlene.”

“Not going to happen, lady. If you want me to call the police and have them escort you—”

But before he could finish, Arlene spotted us and scurried over, with the man from the meeting and her son, close behind. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” she began in a furious undertone. “My husband was killed in your garden.”

“I know, and I just came to tell you how sorry—”

“If you're really sorry,” she said in a much louder voice, “then you'll shut down the Garden of Death.”

I stared at her, suddenly understanding. “You're the one who started that petition, aren't you?”

“She's not discussing that,” the man said. Up close his face looked like a weasel, with a narrow jaw and beady, dark brown eyes.

“I certainly was, and I'm not afraid to admit it,” Arlene said. “And if you have a problem with that, this is my new lawyer, Michael Yard. He's overseeing everything now.”

“Well, he's not going to succeed,” Simon said. “My lawyer will see to that.”

“You may find that high-powered, out-of-town lawyers aren't welcome in this community,” Yard said. “We have a different way of doing things on the East End.”

“You mean skirting the law and slandering good, hardworking people, like Willow?” Simon countered.

Arlene's son spoke up. “Mother, let's go back and sit down.” He steered her back to her seat, with Yard following.

“We're done here,” Larson said.

“For now,” I agreed.

Simon and I headed out. The jittery feeling I had before was gone, and in its place was a sadness I hadn't expected. I'd never liked Charles White, but I wasn't happy that he was dead, and it was awful knowing that he'd died in my garden. And it wasn't much better knowing that his widow somehow blamed me for his death and was trying to turn the rest of the town against me.

“Hey, Willow, it's going to be okay,” Simon assured me as we crossed the parking lot to my car.

“It doesn't feel okay,” I told him. “It feels like this whole thing is far from over.”

chapter twelve

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

ELEUTHERO

Botanical name: Eleuthero (
Eleutherococcus senticosus, E. gracilistylus
), formerly
Acanthopanax senticosus,
and
A. spinosus

Medicinal uses: Eleuthero has been used by tribe peoples of Siberia and the Chinese for over four thousand years. An ancient Chinese proverb is: “I would rather take a handful of eleuthero than a cartload of gold and jewels.” In the frigid regions of China, Russia, and Japan, reindeer, a symbol of strength and endurance, consume this plant.

Since 1962, Russian cosmonauts have been given rations of eleuthero to help acclimate to the stresses of being weightless and living in space. Athletes, deep-sea divers, rescue workers, and explorers all use it to nourish themselves during stressful situations. More than a thousand studies have been conducted on this
herb, which can also help if you experience fatigue, exhaustion, weakness, or anxiety.

It was relief to get back to Nature's Way after such a hostile environment at the funeral home. The village of Greenport, the store, and my comfy home on the third floor made me feel safe and secure, even more so now that Jackson was in my life. Since Claire had died, I had taken over her business, continued to grow it, and established myself as a member of the community. I belonged here, and no one was going to run me out of town, certainly not Arlene White and Joe Larson.

Simon had gone home, presumably to write, and since it was almost six thirty, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat. The smell of fresh baked goods filled the air.

I peeked inside the oven and saw three peach pies. Merrily was making her award-winning dessert for our customers. She'd placed her trophy on the shelf above the counters, so she could see it while she worked.

I went to get a frozen organic pizza from the freezer to bake and eat with a green salad—and found Merrily and Nate, their arms around each other. They jumped apart when they saw me. “Don't mind me,” I said quickly. “Just getting something to eat. How are things going?”

“I'd better get back outside and help Jackson clean up,” Nate said. “I'll tell him that you're back.” He quickly dashed outside.

“I didn't mean to interrupt you two. Is everything okay?”

“It was crazy busy from three to about five, but we're okay now. I was just going to close up. Wallace and Nate brought in all the merchandise from the booth. They sold a bunch of stuff again, so that's good.”

“Merrily, I meant with you two.”

She smiled. “We're doing really great. Nate's so sweet, and he's such a good listener.”

“Just go slow,” I advised. Before Merrily started working for Aunt Claire she had ended an abusive relationship; she hadn't really dated much since then. Last year, she was infected with Lyme disease and that took its toll on her social life. When Nate was hired a few months ago, the two became friends, and now it seemed the relationship had deepened.

“I am, don't worry. Nate understands that I need to take it one step at a time. Can I get you something to eat?”

“Don't bother. I was just going to heat something up.”

“Nonsense, I just baked a spinach and mushroom quiche.” She went over to the counter and pointed to it. “I was just letting it cool. I'll make a fresh green salad to go with it. I've already fed all the animals.” She put the pizza back into the freezer and closed the door.

“Then I'm going to take a quick shower. I'll be back down to eat in a few.” I wanted to scrub myself clean of the bad vibes from the wake and my run-in with Joe Larson. I went upstairs and visited with the dogs and cats before I jumped into the shower. Afterward, I changed into jeans and one of my favorite old, soft sweatshirts. When I stepped back out onto the landing, the door to Allie's massage room was open. She was at
her desk, opening a box and pulling out big bottles of massage oils.

I knocked on her open door. “Got anything new and interesting?”

“Hey, Willow. Yes, a few. Check out this new massage oil from Mountain Rose Herbs. It's called Rose Moon Massage Oil.” She opened the bottle and took a whiff. “Want to try it?”

I took the bottle and inhaled. “I smell a hint of geranium.”

“Good nose. It also contains organic lavender, calendula, chamomile flowers, sweet almond oil, and even real rose petals. Very therapeutic.”

“I'll bet your massage clients will love it.”

“I hope so.” She put the cap on the bottle and turned her attention to me. “How are you doing? I hear it's been a rough couple of days.”

“Well, I'm taking a break tonight. I'm going to grab something to eat, and then Jackson and I are headed over to the sea-shanty concert.”

“Simon told me that you're investigating again. Is that really necessary? I mean, after what happened up at the estate last year?”

“I have to, Allie. The detectives are interested in Jackson. They found his fingerprints on the murder weapon, a shovel in the garden.” I gave her the rundown on Koren and Coyle's visit, the merchants' plan to try and shut us down, and the freaky wake I'd just attended.

She gave a low whistle of amazement. “They're calling it the Garden of Death? That couldn't be more opposite from what you wanted to create.”

“No kidding . . . Allie, do you think I've made a mistake in opening the garden? Do you think Claire would have done the same thing?”

She nodded. “I do. You can't help it if some nut is on the loose. Sometimes things just happen. Keep your chin up. You'll get through this.”

I nodded, but I did feel a little better. Something about talking to Allie always cheered me up. “So, what are you up to tonight?”

“Well, this weekend has been crazy busy with clients, not that I'm complaining. So I'm just going to hang out with some of the people in my building and watch movies. I got
North by Northwest
and
Sex and the City: The Movie
on DVD.”

“That sounds like fun, but where's Hector?” Hector, my acupuncturist extraordinaire, lived with Allie in a beautiful loft apartment on Main Street. Hector was gay and Allie was straight. Both of them were looking for boyfriends.

“He's in Bridgehampton, seeing clients and staying with a friend at her beach house for the next couple of days.”

“Well, I'll be glad when he's back.” Both Allie and Hector had been with me since I took over the store. In fact, they moved out here from NYC to help me make it a success.

Allie and I hugged, then I made my way downstairs to the second-floor landing where I met Jackson, who was on his way up.

“Good shower?” he asked.

“Good shower. But it would have been better with you there.”

“We can't always conserve water,” he said, giving me a kiss. “So how did the wake go? Any trouble?”

“Plenty,” I said, and told him what had happened.

“So the widow White is behind the petition . . . I thought the two of them were getting divorced. What gives?”

“Good question.”

“If I know you, you'll figure it out.” He gave me another kiss. “I'll hop in the shower and meet you downstairs.”

•   •   •

At seven thirty Jackson and
I grabbed two lawn chairs and a blanket and headed across the street to the park. The concert didn't start until eight fifteen, but we wanted to make sure we got a good space. We found one on the lawn facing the stage and were close enough that Jackson could take a few photos. The night air was crisp and clear, without a trace of humidity, and an almost full moon dominated the sky.

Personally, I wasn't that crazy about sea shanties, but once Jackson heard them at his first Maritime Festival years ago, he'd become a fan. He even listened to sea-shanty CDs in his truck.

Since he was into them, I'd learned a lot about them, too. For example, I knew that sea shanties were work songs that were sung on sailing ships, used to keep a good rhythm during work and make sailors more productive. A typical shanty featured a shanty man, who would call out a verse, and the rest of the sailors would respond.

There were long-haul shanties and short-haul shanties,
respectively, for long– and short–rope pulling, and others for other onboard tasks. The only constant was that songs about life at sea were sung as the sailors left for places unknown, and songs about home were sung as they headed for land. Shanties weren't performed anymore except for shows like this and in the movies.

“This is going to be good,” Jackson said as he set up the chairs. “I've been looking forward to this concert for weeks.”

Obviously, he wasn't the only one. The park was quickly filling up with couples, friends, and families eager to see the show. I glanced around, scanning the crowd, wondering if I'd see Kylie or Maggie or any of the others who were joining forces against the garden.

“See anything interesting?”

“Not so far.”

“Why not take a break?” Jackson asked gently. “There's plenty of time for all of that later.”

He was right. I needed to work on the case, but time away to clear my head was good, too. “Okay, I'm officially taking a break.”

“Good, you're going to enjoy this. I know you don't like sea shanties as much as I do, but this concert could change your mind.”

I took his hand and smiled at him. “Consider my mind open.”

•   •   •

Fifteen minutes later, the lights
dimmed and Mayor Hobson introduced Manly Men Singing Sea Shanties. The group was a perennial favorite, and when they took the stage, the crowd erupted in applause.

There were five singers, all of whom looked like they had just come off a fishing trawler. The group started with “Blow the Man Down,” and people began clapping and singing along. Jackson joined in and was having a grand time. For a little while any trouble that the two of us had melted away.

“This is ‘Spanish Ladies,' ” Jackson said as the group started a second tune. “It's a capstan shanty sung on homeward-bound journeys. You'll like it.”

“
We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy
,” the song began.

“There's a lot about drink in these songs,” I noted.

“I'm sure a lot of sailors had the sea version of cabin fever,” Jackson said. “If you were stuck on a boat for months, with bad weather, backbreaking work, and no way to communicate with anyone at home, alcohol was probably one of the few comforts. Most of them probably could have used AA.” Jackson had joined Alcoholics Anonymous years ago, and it had changed his life. Before AA, he had been prone to bouts of depression and got into fights when he was drinking. It had even affected his performance on the job. After the police department put him on probation, he joined AA and began recovery.

Six months later, though, he was injured when he slipped on black ice chasing a suspect. He was never able to return to his work as a police officer, but with treatments from Allie and Hector and the supplements and dietary changes that Aunt Claire and I suggested, he felt much better.

The group finished the song and moved on to “Blood Red Roses,” a shanty about going around Cape
Horn that I recognized from one of Jackson's CDs. While he enjoyed the show, I scanned the crowd again. I couldn't help myself; a lot was at stake, for all of us.

This time I spotted Sandra and Martin Bennett on the far side of the lawn, sitting with her friend Kylie Ramsey and, surprisingly, with Maggie and Harold as well. So, Sandy and Martin wouldn't sign the petition to shut my garden down, but were still friendly with their fellow business owners. A few feet away, Ramona Meadows and Rhonda Rhodes, the heirloom vegetable growers, sat on a blanket with their two black Labs.

During the next hour or so, I split my attention between the singers and the group to my left. But their attention seemed to be on the show. Finally, the lead singer announced that they'd come to their last song, and began to sing, “
When I was a little boy, my mother always a told me that if I did not kiss the girls, my lips would grow all moldy.
”

“Now, that is just weird,” I told Jackson.

“I agree, but the song is really just about a sailor's adventures with women from all over the world until he finds the one who is ‘just a daisy.' ”

“Okay, that is super corny, but I have to ask: Am I your daisy?”

He leaned over and kissed me. “You bet.”

Rhonda got up and walked across the lawn. I told Jackson that I'd be right back and got to my feet.

He tugged on the hem of my sweatshirt. “McQuade, what are you doing?”

“I'm following Rhonda. She might be up to something.”

“What happened to taking a break?”

I gave him a kiss. “Break's over. But I'll be back soon, I promise.”

I followed Rhonda as she made her way through the crowd and to the path that ran along the dock's edge. A few moments later, she stopped outside the camera obscura, a building that resembled the bottom layer of a lopsided cake with what looked like a periscope on top. Rhonda leaned against the side of the building and stared out at the water. Was she waiting for someone?

While the band kept playing, Rhonda kept waiting. Finally, Joe Larson came around the corner and approached her. I walked around the camera obscura to try and hear what they were saying, but could only catch snippets. Rhonda's voice was high-pitched and anxious as she said, “You promised me!”

Larson replied, “You have to be patient,” and something that sounded like, “It'll happen soon” or “I'll have it soon.” But then, unfortunately, he glanced around the corner and spotted me. He said something to Rhonda and she hurried away.

“What are you doing—following me?” Larson demanded.

“Don't flatter yourself,” I said. “This is a public space.”