The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘As a mother of four, grandmother of six, and wife of a man with a five-inch fish tattooed on his arm, I’ve learned to anticipate the unexpected.’

  Tish laughed. ‘Are you and Mr Rufus joining us for dinner tonight?’

  ‘No, Schuyler invited us, but I have those cakes to frost for the luncheon. I did, however, take him up on his offer to order us a couple of pizzas to take home. Which was mighty generous.’

  ‘Least I can do. I remember when you and my mom would work here all day and then have to figure out what to cook for dinner. I can’t imagine having to do that after being on your feet for hours. And with cupcakes still to finish tonight,’ he explained.

  ‘And I can’t imagine having to deal with some of the ying-yangs that parade in and out of your office,’ Celestine chuckled.

  ‘I guess we’re square, then.’

  At the mention of Celestine’s pizzas, a young deliveryman appeared at the door of the café, bearing a corrugated cardboard box that once contained canned diced tomatoes. Atop the carton rested three square pizza boxes.

  Schuyler paid the young man and returned with their feast. ‘I believe these two are yours, Celestine.’ He grabbed the top two boxes.

  ‘Yep, one veggie delight with extra cheese for me and my daughter, and one pineapple and bacon for Mr Rufus. You know, I swear that man isn’t human. Who, in heaven’s name, puts pineapple on a pizza?’ And with that pearl of wisdom, Celestine made her exit.

  As Celestine made her way home, Schuyler unpacked the rest of the food from the box and distributed it accordingly. There was pasta primavera for vegetarian Charlotte, spaghetti and meatballs for Kayla, oozy, comforting lasagna for Mary Jo, chicken Parmigiana for Schuyler, lemony chicken Française on spinach for Tish, a large tossed salad to share, and, to satisfy the never-diminishing appetites of seventeen-year-old Gregory and Anthony, a large pepperoni pizza and two individual servings of baked ziti. Even Biscuit was given a plain meatball, cut into bite-sized pieces.

  It was not the most cheerful of suppers, but it was light years away from being the most miserable. Schuyler kept everyone’s drinks refilled, while Tish and Mary Jo endeavored to keep the conversation light, focusing on such topics as favorite foods, school, movies, and Tish’s plans for a Halloween-themed menu. It was, overall, what it was intended to be: a comfortable family-style gathering that provided not just proper nutrition to Mary Jo and her children but a sense of warmth, support, and stability.

  When dinner was finished, Mary Jo ordered Tish and Schuyler to relax on the front porch while she and the kids cleared the table and did the dishes.

  ‘But, Mom,’ Gregory whined, ‘Anthony and I were going to go to the skate park.’

  ‘And you still can. It won’t take long to put away leftovers and load up a dishwasher,’ Mary Jo countered. ‘Our family still has rules, number one of which is we clean up after ourselves.’

  Leaving Mary Jo to supervise her clean-up crew, Schuyler and Tish, the bottle of Chardonnay in tow, retired to the porch swing. As the sun began to set, the heat of the day diminished, replaced by a slightly humid, but cooling breeze.

  Tish leaned her head on Schuyler’s shoulder and tucked her feet beneath her as Schuyler poured each of them a glass of wine and placed the bottle on a nearby coffee table.

  ‘To you and your thoughtfulness.’ Tish raised her glass. ‘This dinner tonight was perfect.’

  ‘And to you’ – Schuyler touched his glass to hers – ‘for making thoughtfulness easy.’

  ‘Smooth.’

  ‘Just wait until you hear my poetry,’ he joked. ‘Well, they’re more like limericks really, but I guarantee you’ve never heard anything quite like them.’

  ‘I’m sure I haven’t,’ Tish laughed and took a sip of wine. ‘Seriously, though, you’ve been invaluable. You made what could have been a difficult day a pleasant one.’

  ‘Thanks. I only hope to continue to be invaluable to you in the future.’

  The setting sun reflected in Schuyler’s eyes, transforming them from deep azure to a striking icy blue. Tish leaned her head toward his, her lips slightly parted, but before her mouth could land on Schuyler’s she was distracted by footsteps and kissing sounds coming from the café door.

  Tish and Schuyler turned around to see Gregory and Anthony dashing out the screen door and down the front steps.

  ‘See you later, Aunt Tish. Bye, Schuyler. Don’t have too much fun. We have a date on the basketball court in the morning,’ Gregory shouted, a devilish smile upon his face. ‘Oh, and thanks again for dinner.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ Anthony echoed.

  The boys hopped on their skateboards and rode down the quiet, macadam-paved street toward Hobson Glen’s new skate park.

  When they were out of sight, Schuyler remarked to Tish, ‘There have been several moments in my life when I’ve regretted not having children. That wasn’t one of them.’

  Tish laughed and leaned in again, only to be interrupted by Mary Jo screaming through the screen door.

  ‘Gregory! Gregory! Gregory? Oh, that boy had better be home by ten thirty; otherwise, I’ll …’ Her eye landed on Tish and Schuyler snuggled tightly on the porch swing. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought Gregory was still out here. Um, just ignore me and go back to whatever you were, um, doing. I’ll be upstairs with the girls watching The Greatest Showman. Hey, is it OK with you, Tish, if the girls and I shower tonight? This way we’re ready to open the café and won’t be in your way when you need to get out to Coleton Creek.’

  ‘Yeah, that would be ideal, actually. As long as you’re comfortable with that.’

  ‘More than comfortable. We’re gonna make some popcorn later and enjoy the movie in our pajamas. You’re welcome to join us but … um, yeah, you two enjoy yourselves. Goodnight, Schuyler, and thanks again for everything, including taking Gregory to play basketball tomorrow. He’s really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Anytime, MJ. I gave you my number. If you ever need me, don’t hesitate to give me a shout. Although I hope to be around here more often than I have been …’ Schuyler gazed at Tish and pulled her closer.

  ‘Ah, that would be nice. Well, I’ll leave you to … I’ll leave you alone.’ Mary Jo gave the thumbs-up and OK sign to Tish before departing with a wink.

  ‘The Okensholts aren’t a subtle bunch, are they?’ Schuyler observed.

  Tish smiled. ‘Well, they’ve been waiting quite a while for me to meet someone … worthwhile. Someone who knows I take my Italian food with spinach instead of pasta.’

  ‘I might have been looking for brownie points there.’

  ‘Well, you got them.’ Tish tilted her head toward Schuyler’s. This time their lips made contact in a slow, delicious kiss.

  ‘Schuyler Thompson, y’old scallywag, I never thought I’d see you out here necking on your mama’s front porch again!’ came a shrill cackle from the road.

  The sound shook Tish and Schuyler from the pleasant haze of their romantic interlude and sent them crashing back to reality. Wine splashed out of their glasses as they struggled to disentangle themselves from each other.

  Standing at the entrance of the parking lot was an elderly woman. She was small, withered, and dressed in a purple-and-lilac housedress with a belted waist, a ragged beige cable-knit cardigan, and a pair of white lace-up wedge-heeled shoes. Her yellowish silver hair was piled high on to her head in an elaborate bun, the wayward tresses of which were being groomed by the small green parrot that sat upon her shoulder.

  ‘That’s the same reaction you had as a boy, too,’ the woman continued to screech. ‘Sitting up quick and pretending to be all proper.’

  ‘Hello, Ms Kemper. Hello, Langhorne,’ a blushing Schuyler greeted.

  ‘Schuyler, you seem to have taken temporary leave of your manners. Show some respect,’ she chastised.

  The eccentric daughter of the inventor of lip balm, Enid Kemper was a spinster whose only family members had passed away long ago. Serving as friend, family, and sole c
ompanion, Enid’s beloved green conure, Langhorne, was expected to receive the royal treatment wherever he traveled. Able to say ‘hello’ in ten languages, Langhorne was given frequent bubble baths, ate with Enid at the lunch counter at Tish’s café, was permitted entry to the local movie theater, and even held his own bus pass.

  ‘Good evening, Langhorne.’ Tish made certain to give the conure top billing. ‘Evening, Ms Kemper.’

  ‘At least one of you has sense. Though sense don’t help much if you don’t have luck. I heard there was a murder where you were working today, Ms Tarragon.’

  ‘Yes, it’s quite unfortunate. It’s definitely cast a pall over tomorrow’s luncheon.’

  ‘Hmm, sounds like I’d better eat at your café while it’s still around. News like that can take a business down. You serving tomorrow?’

  ‘We are, yes. Mary Jo, Kayla, and Charlotte will be covering for me and Celestine.’

  ‘Tell them to reserve our spot. Langhorne and I will be in for sweet tea and that pimento cheese and fried chicken sandwich of yours after church.’

  ‘The Zelda Fitzgerald. Sure, I’ll let them know.’

  ‘Only this time we’ll have it without the biscuit. Langhorne and I are watching our carbs.’

  ‘Oh, well, I hardly think you need to—’

  Enid put a hand to the side of her mouth, separating her face from Langhorne’s. ‘It’s for his sake, really. A bit too much millet lately.’

  ‘Ah, I see. I’ll tell them to put it on a bed of lettuce – extra lettuce.’

  Enid nodded and winked.

  ‘And maybe keep the biscuit to the side, just in case you change your mind. If you don’t eat it, you can take it home for later. What time can I tell them to expect you?’

  Enid tilted her head toward Langhorne as if to confer. After several seconds had elapsed, she announced, ‘Around twelve thirty or so. Church lets out at noon, but Langhorne wants to stop home first to freshen up his feathers.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tish nodded.

  Enid Kemper wandered away from the café, as was her wont, without a lick of a farewell on her lips.

  ‘Night, Ms Kemper,’ Tish called after her. ‘Always a pleasure.’

  Enid gave a slight wave of her hand and trudged off toward the Bypass Road, where the decaying Kemper House had stood for over a century.

  ‘I have to hand it to you,’ Schuyler praised. ‘Enid Kemper might be the most ornery woman in Henrico County, but you handle her as if she were a newborn puppy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go quite that far. I just try to put myself in her shoes. If I were living alone in a dilapidated house with nothing but a parrot to keep me company, I wouldn’t be too jolly either.’

  ‘Yeah, but she seems to take to you. You actually got a wave goodbye. I’ve lived here my entire life, and in those forty-one years she’s never once lifted a finger at me in greeting.’

  Tish broke into a broad grin. ‘How can you be sure? Maybe she did wave to you and you were too busy here on the front porch kissing to see it.’

  Schuyler blushed again. ‘You’re not upset by Enid Kemper’s story, are you? That was a long time ago and I wasn’t out here as much as she’d have you believe.’

  ‘No, don’t be silly. What happened in your past is your past. Besides, I’m the lucky beneficiary of all that practice.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t that much practice,’ Schuyler maintained and then, realizing he’d missed his cue, leaned forward and closed his eyes.

  Again, before their lips could meet, they were disturbed by the sound of footsteps in the street and a man clearing his throat.

  The pair looked up to find Daryl Dufour, the town librarian, pacing back and forth outside the parking lot, as if deciding whether he should stop and say hello or hasten along his journey.

  Tish smiled and waved. ‘Hello, Daryl.’

  ‘Hey, Daryl,’ Schuyler echoed.

  Daryl Dufour stopped pacing and gave a tentative wave. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed y’all.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. We didn’t anticipate there being so much traffic,’ Schuyler explained.

  Dufour looked puzzled. ‘Traffic? I haven’t seen a car on this road yet.’

  ‘Foot traffic.’

  ‘Ah.’ Small in stature and bespectacled, Daryl Dufour had the kind of face that had looked middle-aged even in youth. His sandy, not-quite-brown, not-quite-blond hair was cropped close to the head and graying ever so slightly at the temples, and his weekend outfit of tucked-in polo shirt, baggy pleated khakis, and loafers would have looked more at home during the 1990s than it did in 2019, but he was a good man dedicated to returning the Hobson Glen Library to its days of glory.

  ‘I was just on my way down to the Bar and Grill to watch the game with Edwin Wilson. The grill’s serving up Nashville hot chicken and the Washington Nationals are playing against the Atlanta Braves. The Nats might make it all the way this year. Y’all are welcome to join us,’ Daryl invited and then gestured to the wine bottle on the porch table. ‘But it looks like you have your bases covered. See what I did there? Bases covered?’

  ‘Clever,’ Tish acknowledged.

  ‘Thanks. Hey, did you have time to think about that children’s storytelling and cooking program I’d like to do during the winter school break?’

  ‘I did. I love your idea of getting the kids and their parents engaged in reading and proper nutrition. I already have a menu in mind for the program launch. I was thinking some Cloudy with a Chance of Mini-Meatballs, a sandwich platter featuring Harriet the Spy’s tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches, green egg sandwiches and ham sandwiches—’

  Daryl narrowed his eyes. ‘What makes the eggs green?’

  ‘I’m sneaking some mashed avocado in there. I’m also subbing the mayonnaise in all three sandwiches with yogurt.’

  ‘A Southern sandwich without mayonnaise? Heresy!’

  ‘No one will miss it,’ she winked. ‘I’m also doing The Very Hungry Caterpillar fruit salad, miniature Babar the Elephant ears pastries, and Paddington’s marmalade tarts. The desserts will be sweetened with agave syrup instead of processed sugar.’

  Daryl was incredulous. ‘Ms Celestine agreed to making pastries with agave?’

  Celestine had been Daryl Dufour’s childhood sweetheart. A sweetheart for whom he still held a torch. ‘Yes, she actually tested the healthier treats on her grandkids and marveled at how they didn’t have that hyperactive reaction they usually got with sugar. She’s a convert … for the grandkids, anyway.’

  Schuyler chimed in, ‘Yeah, just the other day she told me I could have her sweet tea when I pried it from her cold, dead hands.’

  ‘Ha! That’s the Celestine I know,’ Daryl cried in admiration. ‘Well, it sounds as if the winter break program is in very capable hands. I love your book selections and the foods you’ve chosen sound as though they’ll go down well with both kids and parents.’

  Tish nodded. ‘Each day of the program I’ll read one of the selected books and then have the children help me prepare the dish associated with the story. If the library wouldn’t mind, I thought we’d print out the recipes so parents can recreate the dishes at home. I’ll email you everything this week.’

  ‘Perfect. I’d best be getting along before Edwin starts drinking without me. Have a good night and, by the way, y’all look good together.’

  Tish and Schuyler thanked Daryl and wished him a pleasant evening. ‘He’s right, you know,’ she stated. ‘We do look good together.’

  ‘We do, but you look a lot better than I do.’

  ‘Not from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘Oh, now look who’s being smooth.’

  The couple laughed, sipped their wine, and were cuddling some more when they were interrupted by an older woman on a bicycle, crying, ‘Awww, how sweet!’

  She was dressed in spandex yoga pants, a flowy floral-printed off-the-shoulder top, and a pair of Birkenstocks. She brought the bike to a halt in the parking lot, a cell phone poised in her hand a
s if preparing to snap a photo.

  ‘Opal,’ Schuyler shouted. ‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I can’t be seen on one of your book covers. I’m an attorney. People don’t want their wills drawn up by Fabio-wannabes.’

  Opal Schaeffer, under the pseudonym of Marjorie Morningstar, was the seventy-year-old author of nearly twenty bestselling romance novels. ‘I won’t use your faces, darlings. But the pose is perfect. Such warmth and passion. It will look terrific on the cover of my latest work, which finds a young woman running away from a convent in Florence to find love with a pizza maker.’

  ‘Dare we ask the title?’

  ‘Under the Tuscan Nun.’

  ‘Ah, a classic for the ages.’

  Tish jabbed Schuyler with her elbow. She wasn’t a fan of romance novels, but she quite admired the perseverance and creativity required to write not one but twenty of them. Nor was she in any position to criticize Opal’s pun-laden titles. ‘As flattered as I am at the possibility of being featured on the cover of one of your novels, I’d also prefer that you didn’t use that photo. I’d rather customers came here for the food than to catch a glimpse of the model who posed as your Italian nun.’

  ‘OK, OK. I’ll delete it.’ She pressed a finger against the screen of her phone twice in a row and then turned the display around in gallery view for Schuyler and Tish’s approval. ‘See? The latest shot is of my garden.’

  Schuyler was appreciative. ‘Thanks, Opal.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Tish seconded. ‘And what brings you out and about this evening?’

  ‘This.’ Opal reached into the basket of her bicycle and produced a canvas shopping bag. Handing it to Tish, she announced, ‘My first butternut squashes of the season.’

  Tish took the bag and peered inside to find two unblemished, ochre-skinned fruits of equal sizes and proportions. ‘Oooh! They’re beautiful. How much do I owe you?’

  Opal was an avid gardener whose vegetable patch produced far more food than a single woman could consume, pickle, or can, so she sold the surplus to Tish and at local farmers’ markets. ‘Nothing. That’s a sample. If you like them, you can purchase more. I have a bumper crop on the way. Oh, and I’ll have more peppers for you too. Both sweet bell and chili.’