The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘They just left for Orson Baggett’s. I think I stand a good chance this year.’ Talk of her garden was the only thing that seemed to ignite a spark in Wren Harper’s dull, weary eyes.

  ‘Yes, now that Sloane Shackleford’s out of the way, it sounds as if the playing field has been leveled considerably.’

  At the mention of Shackleford, the light in Wren’s eyes was extinguished. ‘Mr Ainsley told me you solved that murder in Hobson Glen last month. Are you looking into Sloane Shackleford’s murder, too?’

  Tish was thoroughly aggravated by being posed the same question wherever she went, but she also recognized that poor Wren Harper did not deserve the brunt of her frustration. ‘No. Simply focusing on making tomorrow’s luncheon as delicious as it can be. Wouldn’t it be lovely if the luncheon celebrated your win?’

  ‘Yes, it would. Um, pardon me for asking, but if you’re not looking into Sloane Shackleford’s murder, then why were you speaking with Sheriff Reade just now?’

  Tish struggled to find an innocent explanation. She found one and went overboard. ‘What? That? I was just telling Sheriff Reade about next week’s specials at my café. He comes in every morning for coffee, but the only breakfast product I’ve ever managed to sell him is my Portrait of the Artist as a Young Ham – ham (natch), egg, Irish farmhouse cheddar, and grilled tomato served between two slices of toasted soda bread. This week, I’m testing out my Children of the Corned Beef Hash recipe and thought he might want to give it a whirl, but, alas, no. I swear, if my ex-husband had been as committed to me as the sheriff is to that breakfast sandwich, we might still be together.’

  Tish chided herself for enacting such an obvious deception; however, she didn’t want to frighten off Wren Harper by telling her what she and Sheriff Reade had actually discussed. Besides, Tish rationalized, the description of Sheriff Reade’s daily coffee run was – aside from the one odd morning when, while nursing a stomach bug, he ordered a bowl of Danielle Steel Cut Oats – entirely accurate.

  Tish drew a deep breath and awaited Wren Harper’s response, but there was none. The woman stared back, her mouth agape, her face blank, and her eyes unblinking.

  ‘I, um, I’m not sure if Jim Ainsley informed you, but I’m a literary caterer …’ Tish’s voice trailed off.

  Still, no response.

  ‘I create dishes inspired by authors and their works. That’s why tomorrow’s luncheon has a Secret Garden theme.’

  ‘Oh,’ Wren Harper snapped from her reverie. ‘OK. Whew. I was wondering why you were talking about recipes and books all of a sudden. I thought for a moment the heat had got to you or something.’

  ‘No, I’m perfectly healthy.’ Tish laughed aloud. ‘Although I suppose I do sound a bit like a nut with all my punny menu items, don’t I?’

  Once again, Mrs Harper fell silent. And that said more than words ever could.

  ‘So’ – Tish shifted her weight from foot to foot and smoothed the back of her hair – ‘what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Wren shrugged. ‘I feel as though I should talk to someone, but I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.’

  Tish glanced over her shoulder at Sheriff Reade, who was watching them with avid interest and more than a trace of amusement. ‘May I come into your garden? We’d have more privacy there.’

  Wren nodded and waved Tish around the fence and through the back gate. There, they wandered to the brink of the lily pond, beneath the shade of one of the miniature apple trees. ‘What is it you need to talk about?’

  Wren Harper erupted into tears. ‘I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.’

  ‘How do you know someone will get into trouble?’

  Wren reached into the pocket of her dress, pulled out a wad of tissues, and blew her nose into them. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.’

  Tish placed a consoling hand on the woman’s shoulder as her body convulsed with sobs. ‘Look, whatever you have seen or heard might have an innocent explanation. The only way someone would get into trouble is if they had committed a crime or are concealing the truth.’

  This line of reasoning only intensified Wren’s cries.

  ‘Mrs Harper,’ Tish soothed. ‘Mrs Harper, please talk to me. I want to help you.’

  ‘No one can help me,’ she wailed.

  ‘That isn’t true. It may seem that way right now, but it isn’t true.’

  ‘Hello,’ a bright, singsong voice resonated from the garden gate, serving as stark contrast to Wren’s mournful sobs. ‘Hello, Ms Harper? It’s Zadie Morris, your neighbor. Jim Ainsley said today was an open garden day so I thought I’d use that as an opportunity to introduce my—’

  Zadie, looking terribly glamorous in wide-legged navy trousers, an orange wrap-front blouse, and a white wide-brimmed hat, stopped a few feet inside the gate. Her face was exquisitely made up, from her foundation to the brilliant copper lipstick that complemented the olive undertones of her skin.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, Ms Harper.’ Zadie approached the lily pond. ‘Are you all right?’

  Wren continued to sob, albeit less violently.

  ‘Ms Tarragon,’ Zadie addressed, ‘what’s going on here?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure. Mrs Harper wanted to tell me something, but then she broke down. Said she’s afraid of getting people in trouble.’

  ‘Nonsense. If you have something to tell us, Ms Harper, then say it. I promise, you are among friends.’

  Wren Harper, who had until now been slouched over and crying into a soggy clump of tissue, stood erect and blurted, ‘I saw Pepper Aviero and Callie Collingsworth enter Shackleford’s house yesterday morning.’

  ‘When was that?’ Tish quizzed.

  ‘Around eleven o’clock. I was working in my garden. They went in the back door carrying casserole dishes.’

  ‘What?’

  Zadie passed a clean tissue to Wren who used it to blot her eyes dry. ‘Shackleford was surprised to see them, but he let them into the kitchen. Not long after that, there was shouting and yelling to beat the band.’

  ‘Did you hear what the dispute was about?’

  ‘No. I felt funny being outside in my garden while they were carrying on like that. It felt like I was eavesdropping, so I came inside and poured myself a glass of water.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had the windows closed and the air conditioner on. The heat must have gotten to me because I started in with a headache. So, I went to my bedroom to lie down. I was there until Jim Ainsley came round with you and Mr Davis.’

  ‘And we arrived a little after eleven thirty.’ Tish turned to Zadie. ‘Did you happen to see Ms Aviero and Ms Collingsworth stop by Mr Shackleford’s yesterday?’

  ‘No, but of course I couldn’t have. Although I can see Sloane Shackleford’s garden perfectly well from my kitchen window, his kitchen door is at the other end of the house. I can’t see it unless I’m standing at the far back of my yard which, considering I pay someone to mow the lawn, doesn’t happen very often.’

  ‘Did you hear the shouting Mrs Harper described?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, but I would have been out of the house on my daily walk at that hour of the morning. I’d only just returned home from that walk when I heard you, Mr Ainsley, and Mr Davis raising a ruckus.’

  ‘Hmm, how strange that Ms Aviero and Ms Collingsworth should have shown up together.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m new to the neighborhood, but even I’ve heard the rumors,’ Zadie disclosed.

  ‘What rumors are those?’

  ‘That Shackleford was having a ding-dong with the both of them.’

  Tish assumed the term ‘ding-dong’ was a colloquialism for an affair. ‘Have you heard that rumor as well?’ she asked Wren Harper.

  Wren nodded. ‘More than that. I’ve seen both of them coming and going from the house on more than one occasion. Sometimes bringing food in the evening. Other times leaving early in the morning.’

&
nbsp; ‘Sounds like Mr Shackleford found himself in a bad spot yesterday,’ Zadie remarked. ‘Stringing along two women in the same neighborhood. No wonder the man’s been murdered.’

  ‘As much as I agree that both women have a very strong motive for murder and that the timing is quite close, it doesn’t quite add up.’ Tish voiced her opinion. ‘We found Mr Shackleford dead in his lounge chair, apparently killed while sunning himself. I’m no psychologist, but I doubt he’d have taken to his chaise lounge to work on his tan while two furious women screamed like banshees in his kitchen.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Zadie pulled a face. Several seconds later, she snapped her fingers. ‘What if they murdered Shackleford together and then dragged his body outside? One woman might not be able to move a man of that size, but two could.’

  ‘Just as I’m not a psychologist, I’m also not a forensics expert. However, I’m fairly certain Mr Shackleford was killed in that chair. Everything seems to … line up with that theory.’ Tish took great care not to be overly graphic in her explanation.

  ‘Then I won’t get Pepper and Callie in trouble if I tell the police I saw them?’ Wren’s voice was hopeful.

  ‘That’s entirely up to the police,’ Tish advised. ‘Still, you should talk to them and tell them what you saw.’

  ‘I will,’ Wren promised as tears returned to her eyes. ‘I’m just so scared.’

  ‘Of course you are. That’s to be expected under the circumstances.’

  ‘Would you like me to go with you when you speak with the police?’ Zadie offered.

  ‘Oh, that’s most kind of you, Ms Morris, but we’ve only just—’

  ‘Nonsense. We gals need to stick together.’

  Wren wiped her tears and nodded again. ‘Is it OK if I take a quick nap before we go to the police? I feel a headache coming on again.’

  ‘Absolutely. I was just going out for my walk when I stopped by to say hello. I’ll come back here when I’m finished.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you both.’ A still-tearful Wren wandered through the garden and into the back door of her home.

  ‘I thought you were going out somewhere special for the day,’ Tish commented upon Zadie’s makeup and attire as the pair walked back up the garden path toward the gate.

  ‘No, I just like looking my best when I go out, even if it’s just for a walk or to run some errands. A leftover from my working days, I suppose, but having my face on and wearing decent clothes makes me feel pulled together, no matter what might be going on in the world. Also, I’m at that point in my life where saving your best dress or finest perfume for a special occasion is rather ridiculous. Best to enjoy it while I can.’

  ‘You also have more than a bit of a reputation to uphold in regard to glamour.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not old enough to remember that, are you?’ Zadie was skeptical. ‘You couldn’t possibly be.’

  ‘My moisturizer must be working,’ Tish joked. ‘My grandmother and mother were both Zadie’s Ladies. They wore your lipstick all the time. My grandmother’s shade was shell-pink. My mother gravitated toward corals and mauves.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, my first lipstick was an embarrassingly eighties shade of fuchsia to match my non-Zadie hot-pink eyeshadow.’

  ‘Funny how trends change, isn’t it?’ Zadie laughed as they exited the gate and closed it behind them. ‘And now? What do you wear?’

  ‘Reds, mostly, with the occasional mauve and neutral. I’m afraid I no longer have any Zadie products in my possession.’

  ‘Nor should you. The company that purchased Zadie hasn’t the same meticulous standards I did. Their lipstick is too waxy, their mascara too goopy, and their eyeliner smudges if you blink too hard.’

  ‘Have you confronted them about it?’

  ‘I wrote them a letter a few years back, when I started noticing the changes. But they’d already paid me for the name. There’s not much else I can do.’

  ‘But the name they bought – it’s yours.’

  ‘It is, but it’s not the same company. The Zadie Cosmetics in drug stores now is mass-produced by computers and machines using cut-rate ingredients – that’s why it’s side by side with Wet and Wild and Rimmel. The Zadie Cosmetics of old – the one that was handmade using natural waxes, scents, and oils and shared the shelves with Max Factor, L’Oréal, and Revlon – is still mine.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Tish followed Zadie as they walked past Orson Baggett’s house, where Jim Ainsley and his fellow garden judges were gathered in the backyard.

  ‘Oh, I hope Orson wins. He is a dear man,’ Zadie announced to no one in particular. ‘When I sold Zadie Cosmetics, I did, indeed, sell them my name. But it was only the name. The bestselling products of my company – the shell-pink and coral that your grandmother and mother loved – became what were called Zadie Classics. I hold the formulas for those items and retain the right to produce them again should I ever desire to do so. Sadly, I don’t think your magenta made the cut.’

  ‘Ah, well. I’ve managed without it this long,’ Tish chuckled. ‘So why sell them the name and not the products?’

  ‘Because I knew the company buying Zadie would eventually cave to technology. They were about slick advertising and maximizing the bottom line, whereas I wanted a personal relationship with my customers. I got to know the women buying my products. They weren’t about setting trends. They wanted to try the latest styles and fads, but they wanted to be able to fall back on their favorite products – the tried and true items that made them feel confident. My customer didn’t have a lot of money, but a five-dollar tube of lipstick was inexpensive enough to fit in the budget yet still just expensive enough to feel decadent. The new owners have made their products so cheaply that it’s young girls just getting into makeup snatching them up. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, necessarily, but that wasn’t my business model. Zadie wasn’t something you outgrew when you had more money, style, and sense. It was something you could always rely upon to make you feel beautiful.’ Ms Morris paused and flashed Tish an apologetic smile. ‘Forgive me for rambling on like a crazy woman. My business was like a baby to me.’

  ‘No need to apologize. I got involved in a murder investigation to save my business.’

  ‘Yes, Jim Ainsley told me about that and it’s not crazy. That’s instinct. Just as new mothers don’t need to be taught to protect their children, a fledgling businesswoman doesn’t need to be taught to protect her investment.’ Zadie Morris stopped in her tracks.

  ‘Are you OK, Ms Morris?’ Tish stopped walking and turned to check on her companion.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Zadie swatted aside any suggestions to the contrary. ‘The entire time we’ve been talking, I’ve been thinking to myself that you remind me of someone. I just figured out who it is. You remind me of myself when I started my company.’

  For the first time in her life, Tish was genuinely speechless. ‘I–I don’t know what to say,’ she finally articulated after several seconds had passed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever received such a compliment.’

  ‘It’s not a compliment,’ Zadie stated as she commenced walking. ‘It’s the truth. You’re a smart woman, Tish Tarragon. And if you don’t mind, I have something back at home I’d like to give to you.’

  ‘You’ve already given me enough with your kind words.’

  ‘At least hear what it is before you turn me down,’ Zadie chuckled. ‘I have a tube of lipstick I’d like to share with you. It’s a limited-edition shade inspired by my life’s mantra and it would look fabulous on you.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ Tish protested. ‘Not a limited edition. Not when it’s no longer being produced.’

  ‘I have more than just the one tube, Ms Tarragon. Heck, I have the formula if I need to make more. I want you to have the lipstick. Not only will you love the color, but I’d love to see someone like you wear it. Someone strong and smart. Someone who’s been self-sufficient most of her life. You see, my mother died when I was young
, too.’

  ‘Too?’ It was Tish’s turn to stop in her tracks.

  ‘Am I wrong?’

  ‘No, but how did you—?’

  ‘Same way I knew what Zadie products would sell and what would be a flop. Same way you know what menu items your customers will enjoy. Same way you solved that murder case you mentioned. We observe and analyze and understand the people with whom we are interacting.’

  ‘OK,’ Tish relented. ‘I’ll stop by your house when I’ve finished for the day, but I’m not coming empty-handed. You mentioned how you’d love to have a cream tea again. How about I provide you with your own private tea in your home?’

  ‘That would be delightful. Are you sure you have enough?’

  ‘As long as Mr Ainsley didn’t stop by the kitchen while I was talking to you, yes.’

  ‘Good to see I’m not the only one with a weakness for scones. I’ll see you later, then?’

  ‘You will. It may be after five or six o’clock if that’s OK.’

  ‘I’ll be home. Oh, and Miss Tarragon, speaking of observing and analyzing, Pepper Aviero and Callie Collingsworth still might have murdered Sloane Shackleford, you know. One or both of them could have left his house and double-backed to perform the deed. But, of course, I’m sure you’d already thought of that.’

  ‘At the risk of sounding arrogant, the thought had crossed my mind. However, Ms Harper was so frightened of getting those women in trouble that I thought it best to keep that possibility to myself; otherwise, we may never had gotten her to agree to speak with the police.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Zadie Morris nodded her head in approval before strolling down the shady street to continue her daily walk, a mysterious smile upon her face.

  ELEVEN

  Tish was deep in thought as she hastened along Coleton Creek Way on her way back to the lifestyle center. Meeting Zadie Morris – the legendary Zadie Morris, Cosmetic Queen – had led her to reflect upon her childhood. The long, sweet summer evenings when her mother, dressed in her best Saturday Night Fever disco attire, would apply a coat of glossy coral Zadie lipstick and leave Tish in the care of her grandparents for the night and most of the following day.