The Perennial Killer: A Gardening Mystery (38 page)
Read The Perennial Killer: A Gardening Mystery Online
Authors: Ann Ripley
Tags: #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction
A
SEEDY-LOOKING JOSEF REINGOLD
was curled up in a corner, with his head lying on a bag of pine-bark mulch. Whatever had happened to him since she had seen him last had done nothing good for his designer jacket and pants, or his imported leather shoes.
Had she acted with the speed and dispatch she used when she met the mountain lion, she would have been all right. But it was Reingold who acted quickly. He lurched to his feet and sprang on her, shoving her to the stone
floor. Why her head didn’t crack open like a melon she didn’t know. “Ow!” she yelled. “Watch it—my arm’s already hurt.”
With one hand on either side of her body, he straddled her. A dark beard grew on his face, and his hazel eyes were wide behind his stylish black-rimmed glasses, now sitting a little crookedly on his nose. His breath caused her to turn her face away. For a moment, she strained to push him away, then realized she was totally at his mercy.
His voice was calm. “I need food badly. We’re going inside, and you’re going to cook it for me,” he said. He clambered off her and pulled her to her feet, stumbling as he regained his balance, but keeping a grip on her arm.
Good. He wouldn’t kill her until the meal was done. If she played dumb, maybe he wouldn’t kill her at all.
With his other hand, he pulled a gun out of his pocket. The nonchalance of his movements scared her more than any words could have. He shoved the weapon in her side and marched her slowly across the garden, as if he were a houseguest getting a little glimpse of the late harvest. Once in the house, he checked the doors and locked all but one, then sat down at the breakfast table, pulled out his gold case and a lighter, and lit up a cigarette. His eyes lazily checked out the room, noting everything in sight. “An ashtray, please,” he commanded.
“We don’t smoke here,” she said. She was way too calm, practically floating on her feet because of that last codeine pill. She needed something to pull her to earth.
“I know. I’m sorry, I must. Anyway,” he said slyly, “your husband Bill and your underage Janie are not here anyway, to be affected by second-hand smoke.”
She knew then that Reingold had investigated her family, probably right down to the size of their mortgage. Maybe he suspected that by this time, Bill had told her
everything about him. Glumly, she realized her life wasn’t worth much right now. If she only had a plan…
He ordered breakfast as if he were in a restaurant, and she played his game, listening and frowning slightly, like a dense waitress. “I must have eggs,” he said, “several eggs in a light omelet with cheese. And meat, if you have any. Bacon, sausage, ham, something of that sort. Toast with butter, please, not margarine. And coffee, very strong, with cream.”
The hazel eyes focused on her. “After I eat, my dear, we will take off in your car.”
“Take off for where?”
“As you Americans say, ‘for parts south.’”
“Where’s your car?” she asked, turning to get things from the refrigerator so that he couldn’t see her face.
“I think you know. I had to leave it up at Frank Porter’s yesterday evening.”
She remembered the papers he’d wanted Eddie to sign—at his father’s wake.
A real estate deal one minute
, she thought,
and hijacking plutonium warheads the next. Was that part of his horizontal integration?
“I’m sorry if that put a damper on your deal.”
He tapped his cigarette ashes into a saucer she had skidded across the table toward him, and flicked her a worldly-wise look. “If you were to call me a Renaissance man, Louise, you would be right on the mark—as you gun-happy Americans are won’t to say. I handle a vast array of business deals, all over the world. But
no
deal—even for the best parcel of open land left in Colorado—is worth getting involved in a murder. And a messy one, at that.”
He was getting chattier and chattier, and she was getting wider awake. On the counter, she had assembled ingredients for a very good breakfast. She put on the coffee and began grating the sharp cheddar cheese.
Reingold took a deep draught on his cigarette, as if
preparing himself to talk about something distasteful. “The scene at Frank Porter’s house was quite unnecessary. Anyone who watches American movies knows it is much easier to kill than that. But instead, here was a grown man writhing on the floor, retching his guts out and dying as I watched.”
Louise popped six pieces of low-fat bacon into a frying pan and turned a gentle heat on underneath them, playing for time.
And then the phone rang. “Please—do not answer,” commanded Reingold. She turned back to the stove and let it ring. A sense of desperation filled her when the caller broke the connection without leaving a message. No one knew she was here alone with this villain. Her hands shook as she broke six eggs into a bowl and began whisking them.
Reingold had lapsed into silence, his back bent as he slumped down in the chair like a ruined member of the aristocracy. He looked as tired as she felt. Turning her back squarely to him, Louise carefully added ingredients to the omelet mix, ending with the cheese. She wanted this to taste good, so that her guest would eat up the whole thing.
“Matters were made much worse, of course, when a parade of sheriff’s deputies arrived.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “What’s the matter,” she asked innocently, “didn’t you want to talk with them?”
He gave her a sour look. “I had to take to the ground to get out of there, though of course the foothills of the Rockies are nothing to me. I’m a proficient skier, and quite at home in the back country. I decided that you must help me escape. It was no trouble to get to Lyons, though I was somewhat conspicuous in my Armani jacket, especially in view of the fact that the town was having a ‘good old boy’ celebration.” He exhaled smoke through his nose
haughtily, and Louise wondered if he ever lost his composure.
“I arranged to borrow a young lad’s trucks but it ran very poorly. In fact, it gave out on the way here and I had to walk a distance. I saw your greenhouse and decided to wait until morning rather than trip your silly alarm system. Without the proper tools these things can be quite a nuisance.”
Having drunk the orange juice she gave him, he had mustered up enough energy to produce one of his famous smiles. “So we will go away together. I presume that’s agreeable to you?”
“As long as you let me drive.”
“No,” he said firmly, “You’ll be tied up—I think that should suffice. I want you immobile, and unable to use your ice pick, or whatever you employed to ruin my expensive tires—Christ…”
She realized a less wealthy man would have sworn with more feeling. But wealthy as he was, he still sat there at her kitchen table, out of resources. He sighed, and looked over at the sizzling frying pan where Louise was doing her best to create the perfect omelet. “When will that food be done?”
Don’t press a hungry man too hard, she thought philosophically, pulling the golden-brown toast from the toaster and buttering it. She drained the bacon carefully and placed it on the plate along with the puffy omelet. On a smaller plate she put the toast, and even found a jar of black raspberry jam to serve with it. She delivered the meal to the table, along with a cup of strong Colombian coffee. She watched him wolf the food down, realizing he must have gone without dinner last night. Too bad he hadn’t come earlier to Frank Porter’s and snacked on poisoned buns. She poured more coffee in his cup.
“This is
quite
good,” he said.
She didn’t reply, because she was thinking so hard of what she should do next.
The phone rang again, and again she let it ring. This time it was Pete. He wondered where she had gone, and wanted her to phone and let him know she was all right.
Reingold listened carefully to the message, fork paused in midair. He smiled. “A popular lady,” he said.
She didn’t smile back.
“And you’re my insurance.” His voice had developed an insinuating quality. “You’ll make a pretty companion, especially when you clean up a bit.”
A wave of pain moved through her head, somehow leaving it feeling clearer. She thought to herself,
Companion, indeed. He means to make me his hostage
. Suddenly, she was completely awake, the codeine effect gone. As she puttered about the sink, cleaning up, she eyed the collection of knives in a wooden case on the counter. The big iron frying pan hanging from a rack. The square Chinese chopping knife she knew was in the drawer only inches from her left hand. As her eyes scanned the kitchen shelf, she spied another weapon, lying in a decorative garden basket. A broken pair of heavy-duty pruning shears with jagged, formidable edges, that the lady of the house apparently couldn’t bring herself to throw away. While Reingold concentrated on the food, she stuck them in the waistband of her gardening pants. They were so uncomfortable that they made her feel like a
penitente
, one who deliberately tortures the body to cleanse the soul.
(The Jungle Look, Revisited)
M
AYBE IT IS A RESPONSE TO
years of exposure to pink-and-blue English cottage gardens. “Bold” and “tropical” gardens have taken hold in the public’s fancy, and continue to be the favorite trend of designers. This flies in the face of the realities of temperature zones: Most Americans, for instance, live in climates too cold for tender plants. Clever gardeners achieve these effects with hardier varieties, while always tempted to cave in and
buy a tree fern
*
—or the nonhardy banana plant, which can be a good deal of trouble.
Acknowledging that exotics like these may make or break our tropical garden, let’s look at a few hardy plants that provide bulk and/or bold color, and thus make the job easier.
The hot end of the color spectrum: Red is the first color people think of when they plan bold gardens, and it will go far in helping you believe you’ve created a jungle. Second favorite is probably yellow, with orange a close third. (Don’t forget, one has to balance these with such shy additions as gray, blue, and purple.) Many hardy plants come in this bright color range.
Crocosmia
was almost designed for a bold garden: Colors range from pale yellow to deep red. It is not only fiery, it is sturdy. Its lines are graceful, and the flowers fall in little fans, providing blooms from July to September. This plant likes a rich, moist, sunny, or partially shady environment, and wants to
be divided before too crowded. The newest hybrids have larger, showier flowers. Even its spiky foliage is a relief from all the other full-leafed plants around it. There is no better wild, tropical accent than this in our bold garden.
We’re talking
really
bold here:
For a double-whammy of primary colors, plant a clump of bicolor yellow-and-orange “red-hot poker” plant
(Kniphophia uvaria)
behind the crocosmia. (The more restrained gardener may prefer to save the magic of
Kniphophia
for a more subtle spot—say, as the focal point in an herb-filled all-green garden.
But
, we’re talking bold here, so why not a little overkill?)
At the feet of the graceful crocosmia, try the hosta. Although it has insignificant flowers, this specimen is one of the best ways to introduce rich green tones to our garden—from blue-green to chartreuse, and many shades in between. Variegated-leaved hosta is one of the most valued plants in existence. It’s hardy even in cold climes, and may even outlive the gardener. In spring, the plant unfolds its large leaves and adds unbelievable class to almost any planting.
Bergenia, like hosta, is useful simply for its foliage. Its main attraction is its
fat, satisfying, leathery leaves, that add a strong base note to the lower plant story. It goes well in combination with the brilliant
Liatrus spicata
.
The impact of the daylily:
One can never underestimate the contribution of the daylily, whether designing a dramatic tropics or an old-fashioned garden. It comes in enough shades to please everyone, and has generous-sized flowers. A vibrant red or orange clump will light up the garden, and its’ color impact only increases over the years as the plant spreads.
White is a necessity in this garden, relieving our eye and adding drama. Introduce it by way of clouds of tiny white blossoms of baby’s breath, spikes of white verbascum, or big white buttons on the tall
Achillea ptarmica
“Boule de Neige.” This
achillea
is the perfect coda for dramatic displays of hotter plants.
The hollyhock can be underrated. It is an old-fashioned stem that some people might not think of as a quality flower, much less bold. Yet one gardener’s use of apricot hollyhocks,
Alcea rosea
, teamed with the flaming orange double flowers of a daylily,
Hemerocallis fulva
“Flore Pleno,” and a flutter of white
achillea
, could have won a design prize.
Big, easy plants for background:
Cephalaria gigantea
, the eight-foot-high version of the pincushion flower, will explode in yellow flowers, set gracefully on open branches. Chartreuse
Euphorbia
goes well in the foreground.
Crambe cordifolia
is another large-sized specimen, with huge leaves and long-lasting clouds of delicate white blossoms on six-foot stalks. And, of all things, people are beginning to use corn as a background accent in gardens. The conformation of its leaves and tassels is more graceful than many ornamentals. Corn plants go nicely with the feathery perennial grasses that are a must in your tropics garden. Another good background plant is a huge shrub from the mallow family, the ten-foot-high
Lavatera
“Kew Rose.”
It is taken for granted that you are also using some nonhardy plants such as dahlias and cannas. Those orderly-petaled dahlia blooms, thrust into a tropical setting, will take on a quite different aspect than they would if placed in a cottage garden. The slightly twisted petals of a pink variety such as “Emory Paul” give that plant a distinctly exotic air.
Because of their large leaves, cannas are almost a necessity. (Perhaps, then, you will not need that banana tree.)
Use them in clusters of five or more to create the greatest impact.
Adding a few pots:
Endless variations can be achieved by adding specialty plants grown in pots—ginger, cyperus—even water plants. Tuck a trough or barrel of water in the border, and grow in it the beautiful, tall, hardy, white-flowering lotus
Nelumbo nucifera
. The lotus will remain attractive through the season, producing distinctive flat seedheads of exquisite beauty that can be dried for bouquets.
Hardy favorites such as verbena, the big, bulbous allium, monkshood
(Aconitum)
, and a clump of spiny
Eryngium
, may have filled all your needs for the color blue. (Delphinium, somehow, won’t do; though beautiful, it’s too prissy for jungles.) But bold gardens can hardly do without one nonhardy plant, the agapanthus. Pot up some, insert them in the garden, and let their tall, swaying, deep blue flower heads cool off your tropical Eden.
*
Sir David Attenborough wintered his Mexican tree fern on his London stoop, with some browned foliage the only result. If you’re zone five or above, maybe you can keep yours alive in a cubbyhole on your own front porch.
Dicksonia antarctica
is hardy to—18 degrees Celsius. If you succumb to a sumptuous banana plant, it’s best to winter it over in that prize spot in your south window.
