The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

  THIRTEEN

  Biscuit, his belly filled with poached chicken and fresh water, and his collar secured to the top rail of the chain-link fence with a length of heavy-duty kitchen twine, snoozed in the shadows just outside the kitchen door.

  Inside the kitchen, Tish, Schuyler, and Jules were finishing up the last of the day’s chores and making plans for the evening.

  ‘Thanks again, you guys. I couldn’t have made it through this day without you,’ Tish acknowledged her volunteers.

  ‘What are friends for but to help out while you don’t investigate a murder?’ Jules teased.

  ‘All joking aside,’ Schuyler chuckled, ‘there was nowhere I’d rather have been today than right here. With you.’

  ‘Trying too hard,’ Jules sang out of the side of his mouth.

  Tish shot Jules a warning look and then bestowed Schuyler with a radiant smile. ‘I loved having you around all day. Although I wish I’d actually been here more often than I was.’

  ‘We’re fine. You can relax and enjoy yourself tonight. And maybe we can make up for lost time,’ Schuyler suggested.

  ‘I would really like that.’

  ‘Good. Speaking of tonight, I should get back to the café and touch base with Mary Jo and the kids to see who’ll be joining us for dinner, who won’t, and what everyone feels like doing. You two have any preferences?’

  ‘Not cooking,’ Tish joked. ‘Apart from that, I’m up for anything.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to join y’all,’ Jules excused himself. ‘Mrs Newman sent me a text. Seeing as how I’m a bachelor, the Mahjong ladies decided to turn tonight’s match into a potluck. There’s going to be green beans, mac and cheese, fried chicken, banana pudding, and, instead of Mai Tais, Mrs Newman is trying her hand at mojitos.’

  ‘Wow. Can we crash?’ Schuyler teased.

  ‘Seriously,’ Tish concurred. ‘We’ll miss you tonight, but it sounds like you’ll be in good hands.’

  ‘Well, you know how grandmas are,’ Jules posited. ‘Everyone’s too skinny.’

  Tish was about to joke that Jules might need to lead a second water aerobics lesson to work off dinner, but was interrupted by the sight of Sheriff Reade peeking his head through the kitchen door.

  ‘Hey, I’m glad I caught you,’ he announced to no one in particular.

  ‘We were just about to pack it in for the day,’ Tish explained. ‘Have you found a place for Biscuit to stay tonight?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’ Reade stepped through the doorway and approached the stainless-steel counter where Tish stood. ‘I called Richmond Animal Control, the SPCA, the Humane Society, and a few local shelters. They’re all completely maxed out this weekend due to Richmond police breaking up a dog-fighting ring last night.’

  ‘What are we going to do with him?’

  ‘I can call some of the smaller nonprofit rescue groups out east if you’d like. I’m not sure they’d be able to pick him up tonight, but I can try.’

  Tish thought of the small white dog outside the kitchen door and the trauma he’d already faced. She also thought of a certain young lady back home who might benefit from a furry distraction. ‘No, he appears to be in very good health, but I’m not sure he needs to be traveling that far tonight. Besides, this isn’t an emergency; it doesn’t seem right to ask a tiny nonprofit group of volunteers to send someone out here on a weekend when another animal might need rescuing. I’ll take him home with me.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can ask one of our K-9 unit members to take him for the weekend.’

  ‘That’s OK. I have a teenage girl staying with me who will be thrilled to see his fuzzy little face, even if it is just until Monday morning.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Jules agreed. ‘Kayla would love him.’

  ‘Especially since Uncle Jules won’t be around tonight.’ Tish slathered on some fake guilt.

  ‘Hey, I’d be there if I could, but you do understand that turning down a Southern woman’s offer of fried chicken could get you killed, don’t you?’

  ‘One murder at a time, please,’ Reade half joked.

  Jules mumbled a self-conscious apology. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well, if you’re fine with the dog, Tish, then I’ll wish you all a good evening. Oh, and thanks for your help today. I appreciate you getting folks to open up about Shackleford.’

  ‘Open up? I can’t get them to be quiet about him. All I want to do is cater the luncheon.’

  Sheriff Reade exchanged commiserating glances with Schuyler and Jules. ‘Uh-huh. Night, y’all.’

  The trio bid Reade a pleasant evening.

  ‘So, do you want to follow me back to Cookin’ the Books, Tish? Or should I follow you?’ Schuyler asked.

  ‘Oh, I can’t leave right now. I promised Zadie Morris I’d bring her scones and cream. If you want to go on without me, that’s fine. Biscuit and I shouldn’t be too far behind you.’

  ‘Get out!’ Jules exclaimed. ‘You’re meeting Zadie privately?’

  ‘Yes, she’s trading me lipstick for scones and cream. Why?’

  ‘My mama used to love Zadie Cosmetics.’

  ‘Well, if you bring along some of that tea you’ve been perfecting, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you tagged along. That is, if Mrs Newman doesn’t already have the limes cut for the mojitos.’

  ‘I’m not due at Mrs Newman’s for another hour. I’ll get brewing.’ Jules dashed to the teapot on the stove.

  ‘If you and Jules have to deliver scones, I’ll take Biscuit with me,’ Schuyler reasoned. ‘He’d be happier running around the café parking lot with the kids than stuck here, tied up outside the kitchen. I’ll swing by the pet store and pick up some dog food and a proper leash on the way.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t let you do that,’ Tish was quick to answer. ‘Not with that gorgeous car of yours.’

  ‘Why not? I’ll put a towel down so the dirt from his paws doesn’t get on the upholstery.’

  ‘It’s more than that. Biscuit …’

  ‘Biscuit is like me when I was a kid,’ Jules interjected as he filled the kettle with water. ‘My mama always said she should send me for piano lessons because I was the pianist kid in town. Get it – pee-in-ist?’

  ‘Oh,’ Schuyler’s brow furrowed. ‘But he’s been fine out there. Last I checked Biscuit hadn’t gone at all.’

  ‘Probably dehydrated,’ Tish hazarded.

  ‘Or maybe just being around that creepy Shackleford made him nervous,’ Jules proposed.

  ‘Either way, I’ll figure out a way to get him to the café,’ Schuyler vowed. ‘Safe and dry.’

  A man of his word, twenty minutes later Schuyler loaded Biscuit on to a makeshift, backseat wee-wee pad constructed, MacGyver-style, from plastic grocery bags, cardboard egg cartons, kitchen paper, and tea towels, and set off for Cookin’ the Books.

  Tish and Jules, meanwhile, locked up the kitchen and, with a tray of delectable scones in tow, walked to Zadie Morris’s house. As they approached the boxwood- and perennial-lined front walk, Sheriff Reade waved to them from his position outside Shackleford’s house. ‘How nice of you to bring refreshments,’ he exclaimed as he approached.

  ‘We’re bringing these to Ms Morris,’ Tish replied.

  ‘I thought you were leaving for the day, not bribing people with baked goods.’

  ‘I’m not bribing, I’m nurturing,’ she corrected.

  ‘Ah, you know, we should talk about you doing some nurturing – I mean catering – for the Sheriff Office’s holiday party this December.’

  ‘You and your crew wind up at too many of my parties as it is, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe, but if you’d just cook for us in the first place, it would cut out the middleman. You know, the dead person.’

  ‘That might be safer for all concerned. Sure, next time you’re at the café, we’ll discuss it.’

  ‘Cool. Enjoy your, um, nurturing.’

  ‘We will, thanks.’

  As Reade returned to
his post, Tish and Jules continued along the path to Zadie Morris’s front door.

  ‘Hmm,’ Jules remarked.

  ‘What’s “Hmm”?’

  ‘The sheriff was awfully chatty. And he’s doing his hair differently. It’s edgier. Sexier. Did you notice?’

  ‘No, I can’t say that I did,’ Tish denied as they reached their destination.

  ‘Think there might be a particular reason for that?’

  ‘No.’ Tish pressed the doorbell. ‘People change their hair all the time.’

  ‘But what about the chattiness? And the invitation to cater the Sheriff Department’s party?’

  ‘Sheriff Reade is a regular customer of mine. Why wouldn’t he chat or hire me for a job?’

  ‘I don’t know. Still seems odd to me. Like maybe he’s sweet on you.’

  ‘Jules, just this morning you scolded me for not addressing Schuyler as my boyfriend. Now you’re suggesting Sheriff Reade has a crush on me. You make me sound like the Helen of Hobson Glen.’

  ‘No, but you are beautiful, smart, funny, a great cook, and a crime-fighting genius. Why wouldn’t Reade find that absolutely irresistible?’

  There being no reply to the first door chime, Tish pressed the buzzer again. ‘Do you ever think of anything other than sex and romantic intrigue?’

  ‘Of course. I also think of clothes, wine, and food. Not necessarily in that order.’

  Tish rolled her eyes and awaited the arrival of Zadie at the front door. When several seconds had elapsed without a single sound from inside the house, Tish gave the front door a series of hard raps with her right hand. ‘Ms Morris? Ms Morris, it’s Tish Tarragon. I have your scones and tea.’

  ‘I’m here,’ Zadie’s voice floated through a nearby open window. ‘The door’s open. Come on in.’

  Following orders, Tish and Jules pushed open the front door and stepped inside. There, to the left of the entrance foyer, stretched an expansive living room painted a brilliant shade of crimson and featuring a clean-lined mid-century modern sofa upholstered in dark-gray linen and covered with a myriad of colorful pillows and cushions. Above said sofa hung a collection of black-and-white photographs in an assortment of frames.

  Zadie, her face scrubbed clean, sat at the end of the sofa nearest the front window with her feet elevated on an oversized white ottoman that doubled as a coffee table. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was watching a cardinal that took up residence in the crepe myrtle out front and must have nodded off.’

  ‘No problem.’ Tish instructed Jules to place the tray of goodies on the ottoman. ‘However, I don’t think it’s wise to leave your front door unlocked at a time like this. Not when there’s a murderer lurking in the neighborhood.’

  ‘Locks only serve to keep out honest people.’

  ‘Maybe’ – Tish locked the deadbolt on the front door – ‘but there’s also no point in making things easier for the dishonest ones.’

  ‘I can understand why you might have nodded off,’ Jules commented. ‘It’s terribly warm in here. Do you want me to close the window and put on the air conditioning?’

  ‘Oh, no. The heat doesn’t much bother me and I rather enjoy the sound of that cardinal. They’re messengers from the other side, you know.’

  Tish had heard the legend about cardinals being the reincarnated souls of the departed, but she wasn’t convinced of its veracity. ‘Would you like your scone, cream, and jam now? Or would you like me to save them in the kitchen?’

  ‘I would love them now, if you don’t mind.’ Zadie slowly lowered her feet from the ottoman so as to make more room for the tray and its contents.

  ‘I brewed you a special Earl Grey tea blend,’ Jules announced as he poured the hot beverage from an insulated thermos jug into a porcelain teacup. ‘Do you want milk or sugar?’

  ‘No, thank you. Perhaps just some lemon?’

  ‘At your service.’ Jules extracted a lemon wedge from a small sandwich bag.

  Meanwhile, Tish sliced the scone, spread it with cream, and topped it with jam.

  ‘You’ve both gone to so much trouble,’ an appreciative Zadie remarked.

  ‘We’re not done yet.’ Jules extracted his phone from his shorts pocket and, after a few points and clicks, a string-quartet rendition of ‘Autumn Leaves’ began to play, much to Zadie’s delight.

  ‘Oh, I feel as though I’m back at the Palm Court.’

  ‘That was our goal.’

  ‘You’ve succeeded. The tea is a wonderful blend of spice and citrus, and the scone is absolute perfection. Not dry at all, but tender and light.’

  Tish and Jules sat in a pair of neighboring armchairs and watched as Zadie finished her repast with zeal, interrupting only to answer a question or to exchange observations about food, the weather, the neighborhood, and, of course, the garden club luncheon.

  As Jules’s phone moved on to the fourth song in a classic playlist, Zadie swallowed the last bit of scone, dotted the corners of her mouth with the linen napkin provided, and folded her hands on her lap. ‘You’ve made an old woman very happy. Thank you. I’m afraid, as much as I hate the phrase “eat and run,” I’m feeling rather exhausted at the moment.’

  Tish was more than forgiving. ‘That’s fine, Ms Morris. We completely understand. It’s been a difficult past twenty-four hours for everyone.’

  ‘Yes. And as much as I don’t mind the heat, it was a terribly hot day for September. I may have overdone things with my walk.’

  ‘It’s easy to do in this heat and humidity.’ Tish closed the front living-room window while Jules went to the thermostat and switched on the air conditioning. ‘We’ll just pack up the tea tray and be out of your way so you can rest.’

  ‘No, you two run along. You can fetch that in the morning. Unless you need it right away.’

  ‘No, we won’t need that tray until the afternoon.’

  ‘Ah, then it’s settled. I’ll wash up the plates in the morning and get your lipsticks ready, too. Julian’ – Zadie addressed Jules by his full name – ‘what color did your mama wear?’

  ‘What? Me? You mean you’re giving my mama a lipstick?’ Jules asked, his voice a blend of excitement and bewilderment.

  ‘You said she was a Zadie Lady, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘So what color did she wear?’

  ‘I don’t remember the name, but she was madder than a puffed toad when she couldn’t get it any longer. It was pink. Not too light, not too dark – like the color of the roses that grow by the outdoor pool at the lifestyle center.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that would be Pink Organza,’ Zadie declared. ‘I’ll have a tube of it ready for you in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you. Mama will love it!’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Ms Morris.’

  ‘No, it’s I who thank you.’ She rose from the sofa and brushed the crumbs from her lap. As she straightened up to take her first step, her knees buckled, sending her tumbling toward the ottoman.

  Tish and Jules each grabbed one of Zadie’s arms, preventing her from falling, head first, into the tea tray.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Tish asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I guess I was sitting on that sofa longer than I thought. Blood rushed from my head.’

  ‘Here, we’ll help you sit down.’ Jules began easing her back into her seat.

  ‘No, I don’t want to sit any longer. If you wouldn’t mind, could you help me to my bedroom?’

  ‘Of course not. Just tell us which way to go.’

  Zadie led them across the living room and down a long corridor where, just past the guest bathroom, she rallied and pushed aside the helping hands of her escorts. Tish and Jules complied, but stayed close behind as Zadie shuffled along to the spacious master bedroom at the end of the hall.

  With its thirteen-foot-tall ceilings, crown molding, and a set of French doors that opened on to the rear patio, the airiness of the room was, of itself, a marvel, but of particular interest was the king-sized, upholstered back bed tha
t occupied three-quarters of the room.

  Covered with a six-inch-thick quilted silk satin duvet in a glorious shade of blue-green and a bevy of pillows, Zadie Morris’s nightly resting spot was more like something seen in an Arab odah or an old Hollywood mansion than a retirement community in central Virginia.

  ‘Wow.’ Tish breathed.

  Jules echoed the sentiment. ‘Oh, my.’

  ‘Where did you expect a former cosmetics queen to sleep? In a fleece-lined sleeping bag?’ Zadie teased.

  ‘It’s wonderfully glamorous.’

  ‘This bed was my only concession to the “high life.” Most of my things are well made, high quality, and not too flashy, but I figured since this is the room one last sees at night and first sees every morning, some over-the-top furnishings were permitted.’

  ‘It truly is lovely.’ As she watched Zadie perch on the edge of the bed and remove her shoes, Tish’s eyes became drawn to a faded color photograph that rested upon the nearby nightstand. The photo, displayed in an elegant, vintage silver frame, depicted a boy, no older than six years of age, with an overgrown head of wavy, flaxen hair and a slightly mischievous, gap-toothed grin. He was standing on the front stoop of a yellow-shingled bungalow with a black Labrador retriever puppy in his arms.

  Zadie followed Tish’s gaze. ‘That’s my godson.’

  ‘Aw, very sweet. How old is he now?’

  ‘He’s no longer with us. He was just sixteen when he passed. You’re right, though. He was very sweet. That’s why I’ve kept his photo all these years – to remind me that despite all the wickedness in the world, there is some good in it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Not as sorry as I am.’

  Tish suddenly felt like a voyeur. A woman’s bedroom was the secret chamber where she kept hidden love letters, family photos, and the ingredients of her daily beauty regimen. It was not a place for casual visitors. ‘Is there anything else you need before we go? Would you like us to turn down the bed for you?’

  Zadie stretched and yawned. ‘No, thank you. No, I’m not turning in quite yet; otherwise, I’ll be awake at three in the morning. I’m just going to take a little nap.’

  Tish nodded. ‘We’ll lock the door on the way out.’