The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) (8 page)

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 21 January

Pru,

We need to focus on all the wonderful things at Primrose House and not worry about what’s happened. We know you will deal with the yew as you see fit. In the meantime, I believe we should concentrate on the gardens directly around the house. We’ll begin immediately with your idea of terracing the lawn off the back. As soon as we return, we’ll find enough workers to get busy. Can’t you just see how popular it would be on our open garden day?

Best,

Davina

Pru rested her forehead in her hand and heaved a sigh. Yes, she wanted the slope terraced—later, after the summer events, not now when she had so much to do. She reached for her work notebook and added “BUY MORE PLANTS.” She went to bed and tossed and turned for what seemed like half the night. Getting up once for a drink of water, she returned to bed only half awake, and thought she saw a light through the window bouncing around in the wood behind the walled garden.
A car,
she thought.
A car going down the lane, its headlamps reflecting off wet tree trunks.
She yawned, crawled back under the covers, and drifted off.

The next morning, Ivy rang as Pru headed out the door.

“Pru, I’ve sent Robbie on down. I don’t see Ned about. Have you come across Robbie’s red fleece jacket anywhere? I haven’t seen it for a couple of days, and I don’t know where he’s left it.”

“I don’t remember, but I’ll have a look round. Have you asked at Chaffinch’s? He was there yesterday.”

“We couldn’t find it when I collected him,” Ivy said. “Has it been since Tuesday that I’ve seen it? Where’s my mind? It’s just that he said something about leaving it in the garden. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

Robbie stood at the front gate of the walled garden waiting for her. “Where’s Ned, Pru?” he asked. “Where’s Liam? Where’s Fergal? What will we do today?”

“I haven’t seen Ned yet,” she replied. “Liam and Fergal won’t be here today—they’re working on their cottage. So you and Ned and I will do all the garden work ourselves. Are you up for it? Let’s walk down to the shed. Maybe Ned is waiting for us there.”

“I’ll go look. I’ll look for Ned.” Robbie bounded ahead on the path they’d worn that led around the outside corner of the walled garden, and Pru followed, trying to muster half the energy he had. Robbie had already made it to the end and must’ve come back in through the lower gate, because he popped out of the side entrance. His pale face was even paler than usual, and his eyes wide and dark. “What’s wrong with Ned, Pru? Did he have an accident?”

“An accident? Did you see him?”

“He’s out there.” Robbie pointed out the back gate of the walled garden. “Maybe he fell down. I think he hurt himself. He’s bleeding.”

She grabbed Robbie’s arm to keep him from darting off again. “Wait, let me go see, all right? You stay here.” Robbie followed her as she ran through the walled garden to the back gate.

He was lying on a bed of yew branches, which stuck out all around him, as if he was the center of a huge wreath. Legs stretched out, Wellies pointed toes up, and arms flung out to the sides. His eyes were wide open, glassy, unseeing, and his cap had fallen back. Blood formed a pool on his chest. It didn’t look liquid, but thick, coagulated, gelatinous. More blood, not bright red, but dark, had soaked into the leaves and dried grass around his jacket.

She recoiled and threw one arm out to stop Robbie from getting any closer. “Robbie, get back…go back in the garden…here, come with me.” She hurried him back inside and against the wall.

“What’s wrong with Ned, Pru? Did he fall? Can we help him?” Robbie started to resist her, trying to get back to Ned.

“No, Robbie, come with me, we need to help Ned. Come with me and we’ll ring for help.” He was all arms, and she knew she’d never be able to force him anywhere. “Will you help me, Robbie?” She couldn’t catch her breath and thought she might throw up, but she knew she needed to focus on getting the boy away.

Little by little she persuaded Robbie to move. Still holding his arm, she got her phone out and rang DS Hobbes, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation without alarming Robbie further. “David, this is Pru. Please come now. It’s Ned. Now, David,
now
. You’ll need…you’ll need the medical examiner. I’m in the garden. I have Robbie with me.”

Hobbes asked no questions, but rang off immediately.

She concentrated on Robbie to keep the image of Ned’s body at bay. “Robbie, let’s ring your mum, okay? Is she up at the house? Or did she go somewhere else? Let’s ring your mum, all right?”

She rang Ivy’s phone but got only voice mail. She tried to sound calm as Robbie pulled away, heading for the gate, and she dragged him back. “Ivy, it’s Pru. Robbie is fine. Please ring me as soon as you can.” She rang the house phone; there was no answer.

Before long, she heard the sirens that preceded a slew of officers. She pointed out the back gate to show them the way and stayed where she was against the wall at the side entrance to the garden. She couldn’t leave, because Robbie wanted to follow them. “It’s the police, Pru, it’s the police. Is Ned in trouble? What happened?” He squirmed as she held both his arms.

“Robbie, we need to stay here, stay with me. That will help the police. Robbie, look at me, pay attention. We need to stay here and wait for your mum.” DS Hobbes approached, and she said to him, “It’s all right, Robbie and I are all right.” She nodded her head toward the gate and Ned’s body. “Go ahead.”

She kept talking to Robbie, repeating the same things over and over again, concentrating on calming him and herself at the same time. “Stay with me, Robbie. We’ll wait for your mum.”

After a while, Robbie stood quietly and watched the show of police parading by. Finally, Ivy appeared. Pru saw her at the front gate of the walled garden, stopped by the police. They must’ve told her what happened, because soon she was running toward Pru and Robbie, grabbing her son in a tight hug, which he attempted unsuccessfully to wriggle out of. DS Hobbes spoke to her briefly and she put a hand on Pru’s arm before she took Robbie away. He protested the whole way, insisting that he needed to help Ned and Pru in the garden.

After that, Pru stood unnoticed against the wall, clutching the front of her coat now that she no longer had Robbie to clutch. Hobbes saw her and said, “Pru, go back to your cottage. We’ll come and talk to you there.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t go to her warm, safe home where her mind would begin to wander. She needed to be cold and numb with lots of activity around her.

“I rang Inspector Pearse,” he said. “I thought he should know. He’s on his way.”

She wanted to thank him but couldn’t open her mouth, afraid of what might come out. She touched his arm and nodded.

Hobbes went back to the investigation, and she remained against the wall, sucking in deep breaths of cold air through her nose. She made lists in her head as she shivered: which annuals will she order, how many flats, should they have snapdragons or veronica? Time meant nothing; her only concern was to keep her mind busy and her breakfast down. Then she saw him out of the corner of her eye—Christopher flashing his warrant card at an officer before he ran to her, tie flapping over his shoulder, and wrapped her in his arms.

“You’re like ice,” he said. She shivered, unable to stop.

“She wouldn’t leave,” Hobbes said as he came over. “After Robbie’s mum came, I tried to get her to go indoors, but she wouldn’t go.”

Christopher searched her face. She looked back at him.

“Inspector Pearse,” Hobbes said, “Inspector Tatt will be here soon. Would you like to…take a look?”

He hesitated only a moment. “Yes, thanks, David.” He looked at Pru. “Is that all right?”

She nodded. He was gone just a few minutes. She occupied herself with trying to identify the dried and broken leaves beneath her feet—oak, ash, beech. He returned to hold her again, before saying, “Come on, let’s go inside.” He kept his arm around her as they walked. On the way, he asked, “Do you need to stop?”

She shook her head.

As they reached her cottage she’d pulled her key out and handed it to Christopher. He unlocked the door, saying, “They’ll be up here in a few minutes. You should know that Tatt—”

She couldn’t wait, but broke away from him and ran for the bathroom, making it just in time. She hung her head over the toilet and lost it all—toast, scrambled eggs, tea, and much more. When it was over, she rested her forehead against the cold porcelain, breathing heavily, her eyes watering.

After a few minutes, she got up, a bit wobbly, rinsed out her mouth, and splashed water on her face. She seemed to have thrown up most of her energy, too, but at least her stomach was calm.

Christopher had closed both the bathroom and bedroom doors. She had her hand out to open the bedroom door when she heard a commotion and a voice bellow: “Pearse, what are you doing sniffing around my crime scene?”

“Tatt,” Christopher said as Pru came out of the bedroom, “this isn’t an official visit.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked in a quiet voice.

She placed her hand on his chest. “I’m better.” He gave her a squeeze.

“Humph,” Tatt said, “so that’s it, is it?” He held up his warrant card to Pru. She looked past it to get a glimpse of the man himself—short, stocky, with a florid complexion and a wide face. Five or six strands of hair that grew above his left ear stretched across the vast expanse of his bald head and were plastered down just above his right ear. His free hand was in his trouser pocket, and she could hear the metallic jingling from keys and coins. “Name’s Inspector Tatt, Ms. Parke. Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair at her kitchen table.

She hesitated for a moment at being commanded to sit in her own house, but she sat; so did Hobbes, who had followed Tatt in. Christopher had put the kettle on, and he stood leaning against the rail of the Aga with his arms crossed. Tatt plopped himself in a chair across from her.

“DS Hobbes tells me that one of your workers found the body—Fox?” He cocked his head at his sergeant.

“Robbie Fox, sir,” Hobbes said.

“Well?” Tatt barked, making Pru jump. “What happened?”

She explained, for the first time piecing together each moment in her mind. When she arrived at Ned’s body, she stopped and swallowed.

“The body, Ms. Parke—what did you see?” Tatt asked. She wished he would turn down his volume.

Christopher sat and poured out mugs of tea. Pru took the milk jug, but her hand shook, and so she put the jug back down. Christopher added the milk for her, as well as a spoonful of sugar, and then covered her hand with his. “Take your time, it’s all right.”

“It’s a straightforward question, Pearse. There’s no need to mollycoddle her.”

Pru supposed after meeting two kind police officers—Christopher and Sergeant Hobbes—her number was up, and it was time for an annoying one. She took a sip of sweet, milky tea and described what she saw, keeping hold of Christopher’s hand.

“Where were your workers today?” Tatt asked. “Hobbes says there are two others—Fergal and Liam Duffy,” he said, looking down at his notebook.

“They weren’t scheduled to work.”

“And what do you know about this Fox? Does he cause trouble around here? Get in arguments?”

“Of course not,” she replied, her indignation on Robbie’s behalf rising to the surface. “He’s a fine boy, he’s very helpful.”

“Boy? Hobbes”—he whirled around to his sergeant—“you told me he was twenty-three.”

Pru answered first. “He is twenty-three, but mentally he’s more about ten. He works hard in the garden, and we like having him here.”

“Where are the Templetons?” Tatt asked.

“Oh God,” she said, looking at Christopher. “I should ring Davina, I forgot.”

“Do you know when—” Christopher began.

“Ms. Parke, pay attention.” Tatt raised his voice another few decibels.

“I
am
paying attention.” Anger had replaced nausea, but she wished that, if she did need to throw up again, it could be on Tatt.

“I rang her and left a message, sir,” Hobbes said.

A knock. “Hobbes,” Tatt said, jerking his head toward the door.

The DS got up to answer; Pru rose and stood behind him. A uniformed policeman waited outside with a large clear plastic bag containing something red. Pru backed off a step, but then realized that the red wasn’t blood. The bag held a red fleece jacket, and she was close enough to read the name written in black marker on the inside of the collar: R. Fox.

Tatt pushed past her and stepped outside to talk. Pru peered over his shoulder and noticed that the officer held another bag, too. This one had a hatchet in it—a hatchet with a bloody blade. She felt Christopher’s hands on her shoulders.

Tatt turned back inside and saw them clustered around the door. “What’s all this? Hobbes, get this Fox to the station for questioning.”

“Why? Why do you need Robbie?” Pru asked. “He didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“And how would you know that? You know very little other than what you saw. You don’t even know when the murder occurred, Ms. Parke—now do you?”

“When?” she asked.

“At least eighteen hours ago,” the sergeant replied.

“Shut it, Hobbes,” Tatt said. “Ms. Parke, that’s none of your business. Or yours, Pearse.”

She felt Christopher’s hands on her shoulders tighten briefly. “Robbie’s mother has to be there when you question him,” Pru said. “And I’ll be there, too.”

“You will not be there,” Tatt replied. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m his advocate, that’s who I am.” At least, she thought she could be. Pru had heard Ivy talk about advocates—someone who could help advise and interpret situations. More friend of the family than licensed professional—certainly Pru could fill that role. At least she didn’t believe Tatt could tell her that she couldn’t, as long as Ivy approved. “I have a right to be there.”

“You have no rights.” Tatt’s voice got both louder and higher.

Christopher was the picture of calm. “I believe she does.”

Tatt glared at them all. “Well, don’t try flashing your warrant card around my station, Pearse. I can at least keep you out.” He left.

Hobbes followed, but before he left, he turned back and said, “I’ll ask Ivy to bring Robbie in at three o’clock.”

“Thanks,” Pru whispered.

“Hobbes!” Tatt shouted over his shoulder. The DS left, closing the door behind him.

Pru stared at the closed door. “What a jerk,” she said. She turned to Christopher. “You know him. You know how he works.”

“Yes,” he said, “and I dislike his methods.”

She almost laughed. “Dislike?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Intensely.”

“Don’t get carried away now,” she said.

He took her in his arms. “I don’t get carried away by anything but you. I love you with all my heart, and I’m so sorry this happened.”

It was the permission she needed. She gave a shudder, and the tears burst forth. Christopher didn’t speak, just let her get over it, stroking her back. Once she’d sobbed herself quiet again and heaved a couple of heavy sighs, she looked up. “All right,” she said, “that’s that.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped her cheeks; she patted his damp lapel. “You’re quite good at soaking up my tears. Now, I’ll fix us some sandwiches.”

“You’ll fix them, will you?” he asked. That got a smile from her; he had his ear out for her Texas vocabulary.

Christopher brewed another pot of tea, and when they sat down to lunch, Pru found herself alternating between being famished and having no appetite.

But before she took a bite, Davina rang from Brussels, having heard only the bare minimum from DS Hobbes. Pru kept the horror of her discovery for a later conversation, and related the facts as simply as possible.

“Poor Ned. And how are you holding up?”

“I’ll be fine.” Pru looked across the table and smiled. “Christopher is here with me.”

“Thank God you aren’t alone. We’ll be back first thing Monday,” Davina said. “I’m so sorry to leave this all with you, but we just can’t get away. You have the police ring us with any questions until then.”

Pru didn’t explain about Tatt, but she wished she could be a fly on the wall—or a bug on the phone—to overhear that conversation.

She backtracked and told Christopher about the yew—obviously not the big news it had been yesterday—and about seeking out Jamie.

“I don’t know why I thought I should talk with him,” Pru said. “I guess I hoped I could get him to confess to cutting down the yew. Although how a gardener could be so destructive I have no idea. By the time I got back, it was well after dark.” She looked out the window above the sink as she remembered. “I thought they all left in the afternoon. There wasn’t anything else to do. Although Ned did have a tendency to putter about on his own—I think he wanted to remind me that he had been here longer and knew what had to be done. It looked as if he’d started to take the yew branches down to the brush pile. But the place seemed deserted when I got back.”

Christopher watched her for a moment. “Have you ever seen Robbie angry?”

“No,” she said as she shook her head. “Robbie had no part in this. No.”

“You said he liked to play with the hatchet as if it was a weapon,” he reminded her.

“We have rules, and he follows the rules,” she said, her voice wavering. “No.”

He took her hand across the table and stroked it for a moment. “Liam has had a grudge against Ned.”

She pulled her hand away, alarmed at the image that sprang into her mind of Liam yelling at the old man. “No, not Liam. I know he has a temper, but he’s not violent. He couldn’t do it.”

Christopher took her hand back again and held it. “Tatt will ask these questions and more—and it won’t be pleasant. You have to ask hard questions to get at the truth—there’s no way around it. You have to keep asking until you get the answers.”

She didn’t reply, but waited for him to realize what he’d said.

“Not
you,
” he said in a rush. “I didn’t mean that
you
should ask the questions.” She got up, walked around him, and put the plates in the sink. “Pru, this was a horribly violent act. You can’t take any part of the investigation upon yourself. Please don’t put yourself in danger, thinking that you need to prove someone’s innocence.”

He turned round in his chair and she stood between his knees, resting her arms on his shoulders as he sat. “I know Robbie and I know Liam. They aren’t capable of this.” She kissed him. “You don’t have to worry—I won’t stick my nose into anything I shouldn’t. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.” His ironic tone was not lost on her. He put his arms around her waist. “You’re loyal to your friends.”

“Woof.” She kissed him again as he slipped his hand under her sweater in back. His phone rang.

“Seems like old times,” she said, and turned to the sink as he stood and walked into the sitting room to answer.

“Pearse…Yes, I knew it was coming in today….Put it on my desk and I’ll attend to it on Monday….No, it isn’t urgent. Monday will be in plenty of time….No, I will not be in tomorrow….
On my desk
….Right.”

He rang off. She leaned against the sink and said, “You weren’t supposed to be here this weekend.”

He returned to the kitchen and sat on the edge of the table. “I’m grateful that Hobbes rang. I couldn’t leave you alone with this.”

A vision of Ned’s body appeared in her mind, and tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away, hoping to sound levelheaded and reasonable. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

He regarded her in silence. She loved those long, deep looks of his, and could so easily get lost in them. “For a very long time,” he said, “I had nothing in my life except work. Evenings and weekends were merely opportunities to file reports, interview suspects, go over evidence. The people I work with grew accustomed to the fact that I was available at any time.” He pushed a wisp of hair out of her face. “But now I have you in my life, and I don’t want to spend every waking moment as a DCI—nor do I need to. I know that, and I hope that you know that. It’ll just take time for the rest of them to figure it out.” He smiled. “It isn’t a problem. You could never be a problem.”

“Really? Never?” She laughed. “I’ll remind you of that sometime.”