Death In The Garden

by Caroline Clemmons

  All morning, I dashed in between customers and checked to see if Walter had been released.

  Finally, Gigi snapped, “Quit calling. We’ll let you know when he’s out.”

  At three, one of our permanent part-time employees, Vicky Lansing, left to pick up her kids at school.

  An hour later, Grandma called. “The judge denied bail.”

  I slumped against the counter. “Oh, no, that’s terrible. So, Walter’s stuck there until another suspect shows.”

  “Scottie’s still working on it, but it looks like Walter is indeed trapped in jail for a few days.”

  “Grandma, it breaks my heart. What can we do?”

  “Honey, there’s nothing we can do right now. Dick will come by later and give you an update.”

  I was too busy to watch the clock and then closing time arrived. Grandpa bustled into the shop as Chelsea left at six.

  I flipped the switch turning the neon Open sign to Closed and hurried over to him. “What’s happened with Walter?”

  “It was that sorry son of a bitch Farley who denied bail. He always was a hard case, but Scottie’s working on it.”

  “Did you see Walter?”

  “For a few minutes. He’s scared, I can tell you that, but he doesn’t have any fight left in him. Gonna sit there and let them convict him. Since he’s accused of murder, at least they have him in a cell by himself.”

  “Thank goodness he’s not in with who knows what kind of criminal. Can we take him anything?”

  “Meg already sent me up there with a care package. You know your grandmother. She sent all Walter could possibly need or want and then some.”

  “I have to see him, Grandpa, if they’ll let me in.”

  “Don’t remember seeing any signs about hours.”

  Suddenly, I needed morale support. “Do you want to come with me?”

  He took out his cell phone. “Reckon I’d better. Let me tell Meg where we’re headed and that I’ll be late for dinner.”

  I’d been inside the police station once before. A couple of years ago, I'd accompanied my grandfather to obtain Walter’s release on drunk and disorderly charges and pay his fine. Then, I’d waited quietly while the jailer brought Walter to the front desk.

  Today was my first experience visiting a prisoner. The building had the institutional smell of antiseptic and sweat and fear. Walls were a pale tan with official posters and notices covering them in no apparent order. Grandpa and I each sat in one of the orange plastic chairs to wait our turn.

  I leaned near Grandpa’s ear. “There must be warped designers somewhere who specialize in creating ugly furniture for places like this.”

  He nodded. “Takes a special talent to combine uncomfortable with ugly. Probably costs us taxpayers extra.”

  A jailer came to the door and called, “Gillentine.”

  Grandpa and I rose and followed him to a visitor room where more orange chairs faced a glass partition running down a white Formica counter. We took seats and a second jailer brought Walter to the other side of the partition. Little circles cut in the glass allowed conversation between sides yet prevented physical contact between inmates and visitors. The jailer who’d accompanied Walter stood at attention against the wall behind him.

  I was unprepared for Walter’s appearance. The boxy orange coverall turned his skin a sickly yellow, except where purple and blue bruises mottled his jaw. I hoped the reason Walter didn’t look good was the uniform’s color, and not that he actually was suffering from jaundice. After sixteen years of his off-and-on heavy drinking, liver damage was likely.

  He slumped onto a chair and looked near tears. The ill-fitting coverall bunched around his neck, turning him into an ancient turtle.

  I leaned near the glass. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier. Are you all right?”

  He nodded, but didn’t speak. When he laid his hands on the counter and folded them together, I noticed his fingers. They were clean of the garden grime that usually stayed under his nails. But they shook so much I longed to reach through the glass to hug him.

  But that was impossible. I leaned close to the open circle. “Listen, Walter, we have to focus on getting you out of here. Have you remembered anything else about what happened after you left the Alibi?”

  “Nope.” He shrugged, pushing the coverall further up around his head, but didn’t look at me.

  Exasperated, I said, “Think, Walter. If you can remember where you went after you left Billy Ray, we can help you.”

  “I don’t know.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just don’t know. Maybe I killed that sorry sonofabitch like they’re telling me.”

  “Walter, stop it! Don’t say that out loud.” I glanced at the jailer to see if he’d heard. “Don’t even think it.”

  “No matter who did him in, the bastard sure as hell had it coming.” He shook his head. “Like you said, they told me it was my shovel that killed him.” He looked from me to my grandfather. “They aim to send me to prison for it. Ain’t nothing I can do.”

  Grandpa leaned forward to speak through his open circle. As if trying to imbue Walter with his own optimism, he said, “Now, Walter, don’t forget Scottie’s going to defend you. He’ll see you’re given a fair trial.”

  “Grandpa and I are trying to find witnesses who saw you after you left the Alibi that night.” Whether he was guilty or not, I hated seeing Walter so hopeless.

  He shook his head and looked down at his hands. Scratches that happened the night of the murder marred them. He stared at them as if puzzled about how the marks originated. The bruise on the side of his face bore little scrapes that could have come from falling on rough ground. They also could have come from a fist.

  Grandpa tapped the glass. “They let you keep the things Meg sent?”

  Walter looked up. “Yep. Thank her for me, will you?” He looked hesitant, then leaned forward and looked at me. “I hate to bother you after all you’re doing, but did you find my watch anywhere?”

  I recalled the old-fashioned gold pocket watch Walter carried. “No. I’ll check in the truck and around the garden center. Could you have left it at home?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, I remember looking at it to tell Billy Ray the time. Don’t remember much after that, but I didn’t have it when the cops made me take the stuff out of my pockets.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll look and it’ll turn up.” I knew how much the watch meant to him. It had belonged to his grandfather and was all he had left of his family mementos after everything else had been destroyed when his house burned.

  Walter asked a few more questions about work at the garden center then about what Scottie could do to gain his release.

  The jailer stepped forward. “Time’s up, Mr. Sims.”

  Walter rose as if getting to his feet took every ounce of his strength. With a last, sad look at Grandpa and me, he turned and shambled through the door.

  Our visit left me depressed and worried. We left the jail, neither speaking until we reached the parking lot.

  I turned to Grandpa. “I’ve been thinking about the scrapes and bruises on Walter’s face and hands. We need to find out if Rockwell scratched anyone before he died. And if there were bruises or scratches on the back of his hands to indicate he’d hit anyone.”

  “I see where you’re going with that idea, but what if he did, honey? You don’t want to call attention to it if Walter killed Rockwell.” He unlocked the car doors.

  I climbed in and waited for him to take his place beside me. “No, but if Rockwell didn’t hit Walter, that would at least prove he’d fallen elsewhere. We know Walter wasn’t in a brawl at the Alibi. Can Scottie find out about Rockwell for us?”

  Grandpa tugged at his chin then started the car. “That may be the way to go about it. Maybe the autopsy report would have that information. Let’s go home. I’ll call Scottie first thing in the morning.” He drove out of the parking lot.

  “Good. Now who do you know who could che
ck on Bootsy’s past?” I asked.

  Grandpa glanced over and frowned at me. “Bootsy Rockwell? Why?”

  “You always hear it’s the spouse.” I shrugged. “Just because I like her doesn’t mean she’s perfect.”

  “Humph. Not perfect is a long way from a murderer. Besides, you can bet that policeman has checked Bootsy thoroughly.”

  He glanced at me again and barely avoided a parked car. “Nice looking fellow. Seemed taken with you too.”

  I closed my eyes. For heaven’s sakes, why can’t people just get over the fact I’m still single and leave me alone? “Grandpa, just tell me if you know someone in Dallas who can check. I’ll bet you do—you know everyone.”

  He tugged at his earlobe, a sure sign he was thinking of letting me win this round, but thankfully didn’t look at me this time when he spoke. “Well, there’s a man in Dallas who’s done some work for me.”

  Before I caught myself, I said, “For you? Why would you be investigating anyone?”

  “For your information, young lady, I’m not snooping on anyone, which is more than you can say. Fellow did some genealogy for me. Located some of my father’s family who came to Texas about the same time my grandfather did, but went further south. Distant relations, but same last name.”

  “A genealogist? Grandpa, how can he help?”

  “You’d be surprised what you can find in public records. Remember when I dragged you to Benjamin to that Gillentine reunion one year?” He braked for a stop sign and looked at me.

  “Do I? All those people I didn’t know.” I crossed my eyes at him. “You still owe me for that.”

  He laughed and drove forward. “If I remember, you didn’t mind riding horseback with your newfound relatives.”

  “Of course not, think about it. Young girl, horseback riding with other kids her age, some of them cute boys. But back to Bootsy. Will you call this genealogist and see if he can find out anything about her background? For all we know, she came by her money from robbing banks.”

  “I’ll call this afternoon and ask him. See how she’s related to Bonnie Parker or Clyde Barrow.”

  “Ha ha, very funny. How long you think it’ll take?”

  “Not more than a day or two. He’s good. Also retired and can spend all day and half the night on it if he wants to.”

  Back home, Grandpa went up to the house. I searched the garden center truck and other places Walter might have dropped his watch in case he was mistaken about which night he’d shown Billy Ray the time. All I found was a quarter and two pennies. Pocketing the change, I wondered if Walter could have dropped the watch when he fell?

  If he’d really fallen.

  Chapter Nine

  Later, I tried to sleep, but my mind reeled with worry over thoughts of Walter. Yin and Yang meowed their displeasure with my tossing and turning for a second night in a row. Eventually, I threw the covers aside and got out of bed. Pacing usually helped me think.

  When that didn’t help, I tried for soothing. Maybe I could get some sleep after all. I pulled out my dad’s journals and started reading them. Not that I hadn’t practically memorized them. He had such great plans for the garden center. He and my mom both worked in it and loved it.

  Slowly, I turned the pages, scanning down each one. His writing was neat and easy to read. Occasionally, he’d diagram something he’d designed that day or an idea he had for the future. He was a natural at the job. I hoped I could be half as good. This time, the journal didn’t have its usual calming effect on me. I was still restless and jittery, plagued by my inability to do anything concrete to help Walter.

  In spite of Detective Steele’s visit to my grandparents’ home, I remained skeptical that the police would exert themselves to uncover other suspects. With Walter’s history and without a satisfactory alibi, he was certain to be convicted. What could I do to help him? Do was the key word.

  I sure wasn’t helping him by fidgeting in my apartment. Struck with an idea, I changed into jeans, black sneakers, and a dark shirt. I pulled my hair through a stretchy band and let it trail down my back. I hadn’t checked the places between The Alibi and the cemetery where I’d found Walter. Opening a kitchen drawer, I pulled out a Mag Lite and a can of pepper spray.

  Finally, I snapped a leash on Rascal. “Come on, boy. Let’s go for a long walk.”

  Rascal danced around and bounded toward the door.

  “Wait for me.” I tugged on the leash. “Heel, boy.”

  I would swear he muttered under his breath, impatient to be down the steps and off on an adventure in spite of the late hour. Locking the door behind me, I slipped the keys in my pocket with the pepper spray. I held the flashlight firmly in my right hand, the leash in my left. With the moon almost full, I didn’t need a light on this familiar ground, but the heavy Mag Lite would also make a good weapon.

  A soft breeze tugged at the hair swinging down my back. Familiar scents drifted from the garden center. I’d lived in this town all my life—except for my years in university—and covered the streets with confidence.

  At each streetlight, insects buzzed near the globes and littered the sidewalk below. I dodged mosquitoes and gnats and walked briskly past the liquor store toward The Alibi Lounge. If I followed the steps Walter would have taken as he left the bar two nights ago, maybe I’d encounter someone who was out at that time each night. And if only I could find the watch and Billy Ray would confirm that Walter had it at the bar, surely that would help Walter’s alibi. At least, it would relieve my mind and Walter’s even if it meant nothing to the police.

  No, finding the watch would prove nothing to authorities. Unless someone saw Walter drop it, he could have done so long after Rockwell died. But I wanted to find the watch because it meant so much to Walter. Important as that was, what I needed more were witnesses who saw him at the time of Rockwell’s death.

  At the Alibi Lounge parking lot, I turned and walked in the direction I thought he might have taken. Except for a few patrons standing near the door, no one else was out. What if Walter had gone down the alley instead of the street? Darn, I’d have to check both routes.

  Quietly, I strolled slowly along the sidewalk. Feeling foolish, I searched for the pocket watch and for a possible witness. Rascal sniffed at countless spots. We found a lot of trash, but didn’t discover anything that could be termed evidence.

  Turning a corner, we walked through an older residential neighborhood of small bungalows and manicured lawns. Our presence set dogs to barking. Rascal lunged toward a fence but I pulled him back.

  “Quiet, Rascal.”

  He’s a good dog and didn’t bark, but he looked back in the other dog’s direction. Clearly, he wanted to reply to the yapping dog on the fence’s other side. The last thing I wanted was to call attention to my late night stroll.

  Several blocks later, I arrived at the vacant lot where Walter’s house had once stood. If I’d come straight here, I’d only be two blocks from Grandpa and Grandma’s home. Long ago, the charred remains had been cleared away. Only the concrete foundation remained, along with the concrete front and back porches and steps. A streetlight illuminated the front half of the lot and moonlight played with the shadows at the back.

  Pink roses—Nora’s favorite—still grew beside the front porch and in several spots around the yard. I spotted the one on the trellis adjoining the Henshaw’s yard. In spite of what Mae Henshaw said, I thought Walter tended the roses well enough, but grass and weeds overran the area that had been the house. Rascal stretched his head forward and pulled me toward two lawn chairs that stood near the back of the lot.

  I turned on the flashlight as soon as we were away from the streetlight. We reached the chairs, searching for Walter’s watch. I found an empty whiskey bottle, but who knew how long it had been there? Since before the last rain, from the looks of the label, and there hadn’t been rain in over a week. I put it back where I’d found it and brushed my fingers against my jeans.

  Rascal’s ears laid back and a low gro
wl rumbled in his throat. I picked up the light I’d laid on the lawn chair. A large figure stepped forward, but remained too cloaked in shadow for me to see who it was.

  This was what I’d hoped for, wasn’t it—a possible witness? So why did it scare me spitless? I slid Rascal’s leash loop up my wrist and dug the pepper spray from my pocket.

  “Little late for a lawn party, isn’t it?”

  The voice startled me, but I relaxed when I recognized the speaker. Rascal lunged, barking wildly, and tugging me forward. My light and canister fell from my hands as I braced for a fall.

  Detective Steele rushed forward as if to catch me. “Call off your dog.”

  My knees hit the ground hard before I caught myself with my hands. “Rascal, release.” I scrambled to my feet and patted my dog’s head. “Good boy.” I brushed at my clothes. My hands stung where I’d hit the ground and I thought my knees were scratched through my jeans.

  “You hurt?”

  “Only my dignity.” I forced a laugh and hoped I wouldn’t have bruises tomorrow. Make that today.

  “Here’s your flashlight.” He shined the light on the pepper spray. “Humph, not much help if you drop it.”

  I took them from him. “I hadn’t planned to fall.”

  “Who does? What are you doing out here alone at this time of night?”

  “I might ask you the same question, detective. Surely you’ve been off duty for several hours.”

  “Yeah, but I started thinking about your claim that Mr. Sims is innocent. I couldn’t sleep and wondered if any of the night birds had seen him.”

  “Good plan.” I took stock of his jeans, T-shirt, and Texas Rangers ball cap. “You doing this on your own?”

  He rubbed his jaw as if deciding what to say. “If you mean did someone ask me to, no. This is my case, though, and that means I want it solved as quickly as possible.”

  “So, at last you realize Walter is innocent and want to locate someone who saw him?”

  “I figured there’s a slim possibility the old guy might be innocent, but that I’d check it out.” He looked around and took me by the elbow. Rascal growled. Detective Steele released my arm and stepped away. “Thought you called him off.”