The Bluebonnet Betrayal (10 page)

“No entity or person shall stand in the way of the Society's mission to promote the native hill country landscape or in any way compromise the benefits of said plantings, and any hindrance thereof shall be pursued by the President or Executive Committee regardless of the consequences.”

Article 2, Section 3.4, bylaws of the Austin Rock Garden Society

Not a pleasant sleep, not a restful sleep, but a deep one from which Pru struggled to awaken. Dreams dragged her down—people with no faces clawing at her clothes, pulling her this way and that as they moaned and complained. A steamy atmosphere swirled round her and the hot air caught in her throat. She felt for her hair clip. Her hand came away holding an elastic band instead, her hair falling round her, smooth and blond, fading to gray.

“It's got to come out,”
Twyla said.

Pru strained to form the words “There's nothing I can do.”

“I feel like I belong here—I knew you'd understand.”

“But I don't understand—what is it? Who did this?”

“We can't let it happen. I can count on you
.
”

“Please, you can't!” Pru cried.

“Pru?”

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, flailing as Twyla took hold of her.

“Pru!”

Christopher's face appeared in front of her. He held her arms and shook her. “Pru, look at me—you're all right, you're here.”

She gasped for air and couldn't get her bearings—where were the clawing hands, the moans, the stifling air? She found herself crouched in a corner of the flat, the light throw dragged halfway off the sofa.

“A bad dream,” she mumbled, and thought to stand, but couldn't quite sort out how to coordinate her limbs. She began to tremble, and Christopher put his arms round her and helped her back to the sofa. He kissed her damp forehead.

“More than a bad dream.” He switched on the nearest lamp, casting light on the deep lines of worry on his face. “This business is too much for you—please, let's go back to Hampshire.”

She shook her head violently. “Oh no, that's no good—she'd only follow me.” Her words echoed in her mind. She glanced up at him and away, and thought,
Just say it—make a clean breast of it
. She swallowed hard. “I hear her. Twyla. She talks to me. I hear her just the same as I hear you. And I turn round—but of course she isn't there. She's in here.” Pru pointed to her temple as the tears threatened. “And I think if I don't get her out, I'll go mad.”

A great weight sat on her chest.
He will certainly think I'm already mad, and he's probably right.
But she found the courage to meet his gaze and hold it until he took her hands.

“What is she saying to you?”

His show of belief triggered a flood of tears. She couldn't speak for a few minutes, but at the end, the tears had washed away a good deal of the fear, and she felt that much better. Perhaps she wasn't going crazy after all.

“There was something wrong,” she said, after blowing her nose noisily on Christopher's handkerchief. “It was something about the society or a person—something that would jeopardize the ARGS garden at Chelsea. She was going to tell me yesterday morning. I thought it was about Roddy MacWeeks stealing the glory, but perhaps it's more. Now I keep hearing her say she can count on me and she needs my help and it's all got to come out. But what? What's got to come out?”

Pru reached up, retrieved her hair clip, and studied it for a moment. “I think we were a lot alike—our love for gardening, Americans who feel at home here. That's why she thinks—she thought—I could help.”

“French will be thorough with this investigation.”

“DCI French thinks he has to prove something to you.” At Christopher's raised eyebrows, she said, “He slipped today. ‘
I
will do this,' he told me—not
we,
not the
police
. Although he was quick to correct himself.” She combed her hair back and reclipped.

“He's always had a competitive spirit—it's helped him move up the ranks quickly.”

Pru thought that was being generous. “The thing is, the police may be doing a fine job, but I don't know that—and neither does Twyla.” She rubbed her forehead, hoping to warm up her memory of their conversation. “Did she mention being in danger? Or was something else in danger—the Chelsea garden, probably? Whatever it is, she's asking me to find out, and I don't think she's going to leave me alone until I do.”

Christopher took her hand again as if to take the pulse of her sanity. She grinned at him. “Yes,” she said. “I know what that sounds like.”

“French is unlikely to share information with you.”

“Oh yes, I know that, too—his lips are sealed with superglue.”

“If someone associated with the society's display at Chelsea did this to Twyla, then any questions you ask will only put you in danger.”

Here it was. She knew Christopher would never want her to put her nose into a dangerous situation, but—“I don't see how talking about bluebonnets could put me in harm's way.” He watched her. “Casual conversation during the workday might lead someone to reveal something quite by accident.”

He narrowed his eyes but didn't respond, and instead changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

He caught her off guard. “What time is it?”

“It's almost eight.”

“Oh no—I was to meet you at six! I can't believe I slept so long.”

“I rang a few times, sent a couple of texts.”

She took his face in her hands. “I'm so sorry, you must've been worried.”

“It's fine,” he said. “You're all right. Shall we see what Evelyn has for us?”

They started in on a bottle of Côte du Rhone and put a salad together while they waited for the cottage pie to cook. Just before they sat down to eat, Pru heard a faint ringing. She ran into the bedroom and dug her phone out of her bag.

“Chiv?” she answered.

“We can get back to it tomorrow. Police gave the go-ahead, said they've cleared out.”

Taking the conversation to the kitchen, she said, “That's fantastic.”

“I don't know,” Chiv said. “Can we make it happen? There're so few of us.” But he couldn't cover his excitement.

“Of course we can do it. I'll tell Ivory and the others, and I'll see you first thing tomorrow.” As she rang Ivory, she said to Christopher, “We can do it, I'm sure we can. I just wish we had more people. I'd ask Simon to help, but his back's been giving him trouble. He'd probably say yes and then do himself an injury and I don't want that.” She sat down at the table. “Ivory, it's Pru.”

Pru gave her the news, and Ivory responded with news of her own—they'd all decided to stay and see it through.

“We'll show them—Austin rocks!” Ivory said with a quaver in her voice.

Diving into her dinner, Pru said to Christopher, “Chiv told me the police have cleared out. Good thing—we need the entire space and I don't want to be tripping over some uniform every time I turn.” Pru paused for a moment. “Do you think this means they have a prime suspect?”

“At the very least they've gathered all the evidence on-site.”

“It's one of the crew, isn't it?” Pru asked.

Christopher frowned. “Unless it was a random act.”

“Wouldn't that be convenient?” It gave Pru a seasick feeling in her stomach to think someone she worked alongside every day could do that.

“Remind me how all these people know her?” Christopher asked. She'd been through the connections with him only casually, and now began to set them out one by one. As she did, Pru began to feel almost cheerful. And for no reason, really, except that organizing her thoughts made it appear as if she'd made progress. Of course, she knew that was why Christopher had asked her—he knew it would calm her.

“It's as if she'd gathered the most important people together for this one event.” She told him Chiv's tale—the three loves of Twyla Woodford. “Their relationships were over ages ago—why would one of them do this? How could it be a crime of passion?”

“And the women from Austin?”

“Rosette has an enormous chip on her shoulder. Ivory—I don't know, there was a strange moment when they arrived. One of the girls mentioned Ivory being vice president of the society for a long time. It seemed to embarrass them all.”

“KayAnn and Nell?”

“Those two seem to have their own agenda, and I haven't quite figured it out yet. But I don't think it has anything to do with Twyla.”

“Forde?”

“Forde,” Pru said. “Twyla was his ticket to the big time—I think she was the one who introduced him to Damien and GlobalSynergy. Forde expects to make a couple of million out of the sale of his ‘proprietary process.' ” Pru shook her head. “I suppose they are all likely suspects in one way or another—but it would need to be someone who could work the excavator. To dump all those rocks on…” She couldn't speak the rest and forced her mind to more positive ground. “I'm going to keep an eye on all of them—see if I notice anything unusual. I could arrange to talk with each person—go for a coffee or a pint, and then…”

She should've kept that last part to herself—she felt Christopher's gaze burning through her nonchalance and his caution “do not put yourself in danger” was heavy in the air. She changed the subject, chatting about Austin and what a lively city it was.

Over empty plates and the last of the wine, Christopher pushed back in his chair and stretched his legs out. He watched Pru with those brown eyes of his. She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands and watched him back.

“Which one is KayAnn and which is Nell?” he asked.

Pru screwed up her mouth. “I don't know—that's terrible, isn't it? I should've cleared it up the minute Ivory introduced them, but I didn't, and the more time goes by the worse it would look if I asked. And they're always right next to each other, so it doesn't really matter.”

“I've never met any of these people, have I?”

“No—they were all new to me, too.”

“Have you shown them any photos of us?”

Pru shook her head.

“Ivory must've seen some—you're old friends.”

“Turns out Ivory didn't remember me at all. It was Twyla who knew who I was. And she only gave Ivory a description.”

“So if I walked onto the site tomorrow as a member of the ARGS buildup crew, no one would know I was your husband?”

It was as if a ray of light split the darkness and a heavenly chorus sang, filling Pru with golden warmth, chasing away the last vestiges of gloom and despair.

“Undercover?” She grabbed his hand. “Really? You'd go undercover and we could work together to find out who murdered Twyla?”

“I'm unable to work with the Met on the case. Officially. You need help at the garden. If your husband, a police officer, shows up to work, it may trigger concern—even panic—in the wrong quarters. But if I'm a gardener working buildup, why would there be cause for alarm?”

Pru saw that ghost of a smile playing about his lips. It occurred to her that he might be doing this as much to keep an eye on her as to investigate Twyla's murder—but she didn't care. It sounded the perfect idea. They spent the rest of the evening planning it out, and when at last she laid her head on her pillow, it was to a peaceful, dreamless night of sleep.

“None of Your Beeswax—Our native plants are pollinated by native insects, and they keep our landscapes alive. These busy fellas gather pollen to feed their young—pollen from the flowers they know the best, including our bluebonnets. But would you recognize one of these busy bees if you saw one?”

The President Speaks, from
Austin Rocks!
the e-newsletter of the Austin Rock Garden Society

The next morning, Christopher had second thoughts. Pru could see it in the fierce way he scraped butter across his toast and how he took a spoonful of marmalade and paused, staring at the translucent orange gel, a frown settling on his brow. She paid no attention, hoping whatever reluctance he felt might dissipate before she left. She filled in the silence by relating a list of fun facts about the Chelsea Flower Show—for example, the seven-story-high tower built by hotshot Irish designer Diarmuid Gavin a few years ago. She said she thought the Aussies were trying to go him one better with their replication of an Australian mountain, and that Skippy had taken Sweetie up in the bucket of the crane—trying to impress her, no doubt.

Pru thought a trip even half that height made Skippy seem irresponsible. Rosette had given Sweetie a talking-to after, and the two women hadn't spoken to each other for the rest of the afternoon. But then Rosette didn't speak to much of anybody.

“Right,” Pru said to Christopher at the door as she buttoned her coat. “That's me away.” They had decided she would arrive at the grounds first to explain the situation, after which she would text him an all-clear, meaning the police were well and truly gone. Christopher didn't reply, only stood there with his jaw working. Putting a hand on his cheek, she kissed him and took a light approach. “I'll be on the lookout for you.” As she stepped away, his hand slid down her arm until it reached her wrist, where it grabbed hold.

“Look,” he said, pulling her back and taking both hands in his. “I'm not sure we should do this. It could put you at risk…”

“I'm in no danger. Really, wait till you meet them—the crew—you'll see. They're all fine, really. Except for the one that isn't, of course.” No denying that, but she attempted to change the focus. “And you'll be there keeping an eye out. That's the whole point.” The whole point was to keep her from having a nervous breakdown—surely he remembered that?

His eyes never left her face and his hands kneaded hers. It was as if she could see his mind working, turning over every possible disaster in their planned subterfuge. “You won't go any further, will you?” he asked. “If you think something is not right, you won't pursue it without telling me?”

“I'll be fine.”

Pru had offered to collect the women on the way to the show grounds, and Ivory had been grateful. “It isn't as if we're scared, it's just that, if we're all together then…”
Solidarity,
Pru thought.

They met her at the door wearing positive faces that showed signs of strain. “We're really happy to be staying.” “We've got the ARGS reputation to uphold.” “We're gonna get to work today.” “I think lifting all those rocks is tightening my biceps.” “The police still have our passports.” That last comment had been Rosette's.

The blue-and-white police tape had been removed, and the garden stood empty—except for, at the far corner along the roadway, Mr. Arthur Nottle, wearing his usual suit covered over with an acid-yellow high-visibility vest and carrying a clipboard. Pru drew back as if to make a run for it, but he'd seen her. So she put her chin in the air and marched toward him while the Austin women filtered onto the site.

“Good morning, Mr. Nottle.”

“Ms. Parke, good morning. Let me say how sorry I am for these distressing circumstances.”

“Yes, well, thank you for your concern.” Mr. Nottle did not reply or smile, but stood silent, emitting concern. Pru's hands, thrust deep into the pockets of her ARGS sweatshirt, were clenched so tight she felt her short fingernails digging into her palms. She would not talk until she knew which way the wind blew. Had he come to cancel the garden after all?

“I understand that the police are continuing to look into the death of that poor unfortunate woman; however, I do hope that their investigation can be carried out off-site. Mr. Chiverton has assured me that there will be no further disruption to buildup. I'm sure you realize that we cannot allow events to continue that would interrupt the construction of any of the other exhibits here at the show. We must keep moving forward.”

Pru felt the blood drain from her face. Nottle was accusing them of holding up not only the ARGS garden but also the entire Chelsea Flower Show.

“As you can see, Mr. Nottle”—she nodded to the Austin women, standing in a group, looking lost—“we are ready to work. Just as soon as we are allowed to begin.”

Arthur Nottle looked down at his feet and seemed to realize that he was the one standing in the way, at least at that moment.

“Yes, of course,” he said, stepping aside. “By the way, is Mr. Chiverton here?”

“I don't know—I've only just arrived myself,” Pru said, but she could see behind Nottle that the door at the back of the shed had crept open a few inches.
Damn you, Chiv
.

“Yes, of course. And Mr. MacWeeks? Will he also return? I do need to speak with him.”

“And I would love nothing better myself than for you to speak with him. If I see him, shall I let him know you're eager for a few minutes of his time?” That sounded quite Nottleish to Pru.

“Yes.” Nottle's benign smile returned. “Yes, thank you.”

Nottle disappeared up the avenue. Pru marched over and yanked the shed door open.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Chiv, hiding from that man,” she scolded. “What did you think he was going to do to you?”

“I don't have time for a load of blether,” Chiv said, pushing a ringlet of hair off his forehead. “I want to work, not talk.”

She couldn't argue with him there. They glanced round, assessing the state of things. The site had looked relatively untouched the morning they found Twyla—apart from the stones that had been dumped on her body.

But now the shallow pit had been stripped of its rocks, the liner sat in a heap at the bottom, and the metal grating that should cover the reservoir had been set off to the side. The cairn that disguised the pump was missing a few stones and the rest looked askew—nothing left untouched by the police except the one bit of wall at the back that Chiv had built first. Pru now saw that Iris and Teddy had been working behind the shed, sorting through a stack of wide pine boards. Time for Pru to lay the groundwork.

“So the police are well and truly gone?” she asked.

Chiv nodded. “DCI said he would ring if he needed anything else.”

“Chiv, listen—I've found someone to help us out. A fellow that works for Simon and me down in Hampshire occasionally. He's free for a week or two, and he said he'd be up later today. I told him that was fine—it is, isn't it? We could use the help?” Nerves drove her voice higher and higher until she had to stop and cough to regain control.

“Yeah, that's good, thanks,” Chiv replied—Pru read into his few words great relief. He looked round the site as if he didn't know what to do next, and then noticed KayAnn and Nell, who had taken up their accustomed spot at the edge of the garden as they stared up Main Avenue. He went off to corral them. Pru pulled her phone out and texted Christopher:
Coast is clear
.

They had lost two days of work, and now they were starting again almost at the beginning. On closer inspection, they discovered police had managed to punch a hole in the bottom of the puncture-proof liner. Stones had been scattered about; the metal grating was bent.

Chiv started in on the phone to track down new materials. Not two minutes later, Pru heard him curse colorfully at someone for being left on hold, and so she offered to take over the task. The rest of the crew spent the morning putting the site back to the way Chiv wanted it before buildup could begin again.

By lunchtime, Pru couldn't concentrate as she continually cast fleeting looks down the roadway, expecting to see Christopher at any moment and rehearsing her next few lines. She needed to move, to shake off her nerves.

“Why don't I bring sandwiches back for everyone,” she suggested. The day, although gray and breezy, was at least dry. Sweetie pulled her hood up over her head and Ivory stuck her hands in her pockets. “Or you could go indoors to the marquee if you'd like. But I think I'll bring mine back here.” Pru would prefer to keep an eye out.

Rosette said, “We can eat outdoors, it's fine,” after which KayAnn and Nell both nodded agreement. Ivory shrugged and Sweetie glanced over to Oz.

Pru took orders and waved away the offer of money. “No, my treat. And to drink?”

“Here, I'll go and help carry things,” Chiv said.

“No,” Iris said, flipping her gray braids over her shoulder. “You stay—I'll go with her.”

On their way to the exhibitors' canteen, Pru noticed with a mix of dismay and excitement how the Chelsea Flower Show was rising up around them. They passed the Great Pavilion—now a complete, although empty, shell. Pru glanced inside. Only a couple of days until the nurseries moved in. The nurseries and the vendors that ran along Eastern Avenue were the last pieces in the Chelsea puzzle. Once they appeared, it would be a signal that time was about to be up.

Another swift look at the Bull Ring gate. Christopher would enter here, because although Pru had given him a high-vis vest and work pass from Ivory's leftovers, he'd need to borrow steel-toed boots from the cache they kept in the media caravan.

“You and Chiv had a good chat yesterday,” Iris said.

It took Pru a moment to drag her attention from Christopher's imminent arrival to Iris's statement. Or was it a question? Pru and Chiv's chat had been all about Twyla, and Pru didn't think it was her place to bring that up.

“I'm glad he wants to continue with the garden,” she said. “We certainly couldn't've done it without Chiv—who else could build that wall?”

“I didn't think it was a very good idea—and I don't think it's good for Teddy. What's all this to us? But Chiv wouldn't hear of giving up,” Iris said.

“To his credit.”

And that was the end of their pleasant conversation—they collected lunches and returned to the garden site.

“Chicken and stuffing? Ham with mustard? Cheese and tomato?” Pru held up the packaged sandwiches one by one and passed them to raised hands, before settling on a pile of stones with her own bacon and egg.

“Is there one for me?” Christopher asked.