Nipped in the Bud (14 page)

I assumed this was our subject, Nancy Kimble. Nervously, I rushed ahead.
“Hi,
Nancy
.
I’m Paige Turner, and this is my friend Lisa Winkle. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

She didn’t move. Was she going to refuse to let us in? Not if I could help it. Searching for an icebreaker, I looked at her gardens. That’s it. Compliment her. No gardener could resist praise for their hard work.

I poked my index finger toward the nearest bed. “Man, you have one talented gardener. Looks like that
bed’ll
be a stunner once the weather warms up.”

Nancy
’s brow arched ever so slightly. “I’m the only gardener around here.”

As she took the bait and seemed to savor it, I smiled.
“No gardener, huh?
I’m a professional landscaper and take it from me, you garden like a pro.”

Nancy
’s face cracked in a minuscule smile that widened ever so slowly. “So how can I help you?”

“Like I mentioned on the phone, Bud
Picklemann
was killed, and I found his body. The police think I did it. I have to clear my name and hoped you’d be able to help me.”

“Not sure what I can do,” she stepped back, “but come on in. No sense us all standing out here in the rain.” She pushed the door closed and gave us another smile. “Thought we were
gonna
have a nice day so I was putting out my dahlias. You’d think I would’ve lived here long enough to know it’s still too early in the year for the rain to quit.”

Pleased at her sudden chatty behavior, I followed her through a short hallway that led to a large family room with coved ceilings and
french
doors overlooking a backyard. Lisa clomped behind, halting at the camelback sofa while I went straight to the doors to admire the garden.

Nancy
’s small lot was typical of the area and backed up to another home. Garden tools rested neatly against a shed under an overhang to keep them dry. As soon as the rain abated, if she was like any other gardening buff, she’d return to her dahlias. I was sorely tempted to talk with her about her choice and layout of bulbs, but my questions held priority.

I strolled toward
Nancy
standing in front of the sofa and gazing down on Lisa like she was a slug in her garden. At the sound of my footfalls, she pivoted and watched me cross the room. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked in a pleasant enough tone but with a scowling face that said please don’t ask.

“Not for me,” I said and sat on the red velvet sofa next to Lisa.

“Nothing for me.”
Lisa’s gaze darted around as she answered, then she clasped her hands so tightly they turned white.

Nancy
chose a flowered chair in the corner and lowered her body onto the seat. She sat back as if at ease but returned her focus on Lisa’s fidgeting and began tapping her fingertips on the rolled arm of the chair. If I didn’t draw her attention away from Lisa,
Nancy
would know we suspected her of killing Bud and clam up.

I donned a superficially pleasant tone and said, “Thank you for your kind hospitality, but we don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“So you’re interested in hearing about that awful Bud
Picklemann
.” She lurched forward as if even saying Bud’s name was painful. “Can’t say as I’m sorry he was killed. I’m only sorry I didn’t have the courage to do it myself.”

Lisa gasped and leaned back as if trying to get away from
Nancy
. I was thankful I sat between Lisa and the door so she couldn’t make a run for it. I slid forward and concentrated on making my muscles relax and my face and body open and sympathetic. “Would you tell us what Bud did to make you feel that way?”

Nancy
calmed a bit and settled against the overstuffed cushions. “A few years ago our son got involved with a gang in LA. To get him away from their influence we moved here. Mother didn’t want to live near a big city, so we hunted for a town that might make her feel at home, but still be close enough for visits. One weekend we found Serendipity. Mother bought a cute house on the edge of town.
Very private.
A few neighbors to her right, but miles of empty fields behind.
We settled in here, she settled in there. Life was good until
Picklemann
got greedy and brought in that factory.”

She planted her hands on the arms of the chair and clutched the edges. She took several deep breaths, letting the air hiss out through puckered lips. Her gaze wandered the room as if searching for a way out. Was it too painful for her to tell her story? Was she going to change her mind? Throw Lisa and me out?

I had to keep her going. “I can see how hard this is for you. I would really appreciate it if you could go on.”

She stood and went to the
french
doors. Her back to us, she continued, “
Picklemann
said the factory execs promised to erect a sound wall behind the houses and place the compressors and parking areas on the north side of the lot, away from the homeowners.” She spun around, her eyes ablaze with hatred. “They lied.
All of them.
They put several large compressors that hummed nonstop right outside Mother’s bedroom window. If that wasn’t enough, the factory was lit up like a Christmas tree all night every night, keeping Mother’s house lit as well. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate.
Wasn’t long before she started to lose it.
We begged her to come live with us, but she was stubborn.
Said she wouldn’t let that man run her out of her own home.”
Breathing hard,
Nancy
returned to her chair and dropped onto it as if too weary to go on.

I waited for her breathing to even out before I said, “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who would sit back and accept this kind of treatment.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. I kept after it. That’s when I found out.” Her lips turned up in a sneer. “It was
Picklemann’s
land, you know.”

“What was his land?” I asked.

“Where the factory sits.
That’s why the factory was built in that location, even though there were far more suitable places.”

“I didn’t know that,” Lisa said. “No one in town did. I’m sure of it. We would have done something about it if we had known.”

I smiled at Lisa in thanks for her courage to speak up when she was scared then turned back to
Nancy
. “If you knew this, why didn’t you try to stop the construction?”

“I was too late. No one, including me, found out what
Picklemann
was doing until after the factory was built. It took me that long to discover that
Picklemann
hid his ownership in a corporation named Fulcrum.”

Fulcrum?
I knew that name from somewhere. Was it today at the library?
The newspapers?
Maybe this was Bud’s secret that Charlie threatened to reveal in the park. “Okay, so the factory was built, but you could still have told about Bud’s role in all of this.”

“Believe you me, I did.” She bounced her knee, and her foot slapped against the wood floor in a rapid beat. “By the time I got the city council to listen to me, the factory was open and folks were happy about the new jobs in town. The only people really hurt by it had moved away. Still, I brought it up at a council meeting. The chairman took me aside and said if I went public with this information, I’d regret it. The man was so convincing, I figured he’d follow through on the threat.”

This was getting very interesting. “Do you remember the chairman’s name and when this meeting took place?”

“Remember, hah! How could I forget? His name was Gus
Reinke
and the meeting was in December of 2000.
Worst Christmas we ever had.”

I made a mental note to check the council minutes again, this time to confirm the chairman’s name and to see if there was any mention of this meeting. “Any idea how much Bud made on the deal?”

“About a quarter million.
That jerk sold out my mother for a quarter million bucks.” Disgust at a level I’d never known poured from her. Disgust that said she could have easily killed Bud.

Lisa reached out and clutched my leg. I didn’t want to stop the interrogation to comfort her, so I ignored the fingers bruising my flesh and went on. “I’d want to go after him, if it was me.”

“Hah! You have no idea.
Picklemann
as good as killed my mother.” She took deep breaths and fixed her gaze on me for a disquieting moment.
“
S’pose
that was some sort of code to ask if I killed him.”
She shrugged, as if Bud losing his life was of no consequence to her. “Like I said, I didn’t, but I’d be happy to shake the hand of the person who did.”

I wanted to believe her, but this was too important to give in so easily. I needed to keep pushing. “You have to admit it’s an awfully big coincidence that he was killed right after your mother died.”

“Yes, and that’s all it is. You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think it was me. I was at work the day he died. My boss can confirm that.”

Even though she had great motive and anger, her offer of an alibi did sway me toward believing in her innocence. Still, we were talking about murder here. I had to be sure. “So you wouldn’t mind writing down your boss’s name and phone number for me, then?”

“You’ve got some nerve, you know that?” She stared at me for a few seconds. “I agree to help you out,
then
you accuse me of doing him in.”

Oops, pushed too hard. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’m just desperate to clear my name.” I tried to telegraph my desperation in my gaze.

She sighed and grabbed a notepad and pen off the table. “I don’t like your tactics, but I can understand your position.” She scribbled on the pad then ripped off the page. “You’re wasting your time, but here’s his name and number.”

“Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.” I took the paper and tried to relax and regain her trust. “Do you think Bud’s murder had something to do with the money from the factory deal?”

“Possible, I suppose.” She glanced past us,
then
her eyes cleared as if coming to some resolution. “That’s all I have to say to you ladies.” She tipped her head toward the
french
doors and stood. “As you can see, the sun is out. I need to get back to my garden.”

The sun had indeed peeked out, sending a warm ray dancing across the patterned area rug.
A ray that seemed to force the bitter
Nancy
out of the room with its cheery glow.
I wanted to keep pumping her for information, but the set of her face before she stood confirmed the futility of such a plan.

Lisa and I rose then followed
Nancy
down the hall. Lisa stayed close to me like a fearful child. I stuffed the paper in my pocket and dug my business card from the other.

Nancy
yanked open the door. “Good day, ladies.”

I handed her my card. “You might know something else that is important in solving this murder. If you think of anything, will you call me?”

Eyes cold again, she stepped aside so we could exit. “I’m done thinking about this. As far as I’m concerned, the killer did us all a favor and deserves to be free.” She flicked the card my way and slammed the door.

I turned to Lisa. “That went pretty well.”

“At least we’re alive.” She sighed then gave a nervous giggle. “Do you believe her?”

“Enough to look through the papers again.”
I clicked the remote lock for my truck. “I’m sure I saw Fulcrum listed in the meeting minutes, but I don’t remember reading anything about
Nancy
coming to a meeting.
Which means a trip back to the library.
” I checked my watch. “If we hurry we can still get there before they close.”

“There’s no ‘we’ here,
Kemo
Sabe
,” Lisa said as she trotted to keep up with my longer strides. “I need to go home to my kids. You’ll have to settle for being the Lone Ranger.”

Hmm, the Lone Ranger.
Not a bad thing to be, I guess. The Lone Ranger righted every wrong he set out to fix. He had a fabulous horse, and with my dark coloring, I did look good in white.

I climbed into my truck and fired up the engine.

Yes, Tonto by my side or not, I’d keep going.
Hi-ho, Silver, and away.

“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”

“Paige, t
his is Fit To Be Tied. Could you explain again about espaliering trees?”

“Thanks for calling, Fit To Be Tied. This is a perfect topic to touch on again for those city dwellers out there with ugly fences to hide. Now before you turn off the radio over a strange term like espalier, in the garden, it simply means to train a tree to grow flat on a trellis or structure that you provide.”

“Yeah, Paige I got all that part. I want to know how to do the actual training. I’ve tried everything I can think of. And before you think I’m a novice at this, I’m not. I train dogs for a living, but my tree just doesn’t seem to listen like the dogs do.”