The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

  What seemed like a lifetime later, she saw the glow of headlights on the road and a familiar figure jogging across the parking lot and to the café door. She swung open the screen to greet him.

  ‘I thought I told you stay inside with the door locked,’ he scolded. His spiky hair was flat on one side, as if he’d been lying in bed, and he was dressed in a basic white tee, jogging pants, and a pair of beat-up running shoes. A holster encircled his waist and his right hand rested on the handle of his service revolver.

  ‘I did. You’re here now so I unlocked it.’

  Reade frowned as he moved his hand from his gun to Tish’s face. ‘God, look at you. Are you OK? Are you in a lot of pain?’

  Tish shook her head. ‘Shock mostly.’

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘I was thinking that I’ve sunk every dime into my café and can’t afford to buy another car.’

  ‘And did you happen to think about how we might replace you?’ Reade challenged as he took her cut hand in his and examined it. ‘There’s a cast-iron skillet and a fireplace poker out there. What if the person who smashed your car windows had used one of those on you?’

  ‘Um, actually, the skillet is mine.’

  ‘You went out there with a frying pan? Were you trying to chase away the perpetrator or cook him?’

  ‘Whatever it took to get him – or her – to stop trashing my car.’

  Reade drew a deep breath. ‘You were lucky. I do, however, think you should be seen by a doctor.’

  The last place Tish wanted to be was a hospital. ‘I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises, that’s all.’

  ‘You may have a concussion.’

  ‘I didn’t hit my head. And I really don’t want to leave Mary Jo and the kids.’

  Reade capitulated with a sigh. ‘Do you have some bandages somewhere?’

  ‘I have a first-aid kit in the kitchen.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get you cleaned up.’

  ‘What about my car?’

  ‘The car isn’t going anywhere, but your wounds could get infected. Now, tell me where the first-aid kit is,’ he insisted, his gray eyes full of concern.

  Tish realized it was fruitless to argue. With a huff, she went into the kitchen and came back with the kit. A few minutes, several applications of antibacterial ointment, and one cup of chamomile tea later, her hand and chin were clean and bandaged, and Tish was feeling far calmer.

  ‘Nice job,’ she complimented as she surveyed Reade’s handiwork. ‘You ever thought about being a doctor?’

  ‘Yes, but med school got too expensive, so I dropped out and joined the academy.’

  Tish felt her jaw drop, much to Reade’s amusement.

  ‘Sousaphones. Med school. I’m full of surprises, aren’t I? Now, let’s go take a look at your car.’

  She obediently followed him to the parking lot, where Reade shone a flashlight on the damaged Matrix. Both the front and rear passenger-side windows had been smashed into thousands of tiny pieces, and there was a large circular crack in the front windshield, but from a cursory inspection, everything inside the vehicle, despite being covered in glass, was still present and intact.

  ‘Was there anything of particular value in the car?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but come on now, Clemson.’

  At the sound of his Christian name, Reade looked up, slightly aghast.

  ‘We both know this wasn’t a case of attempted robbery,’ she continued. ‘Anyone looking to steal the contents of a car or the car itself would simply break a window, reach in, and open the door. They wouldn’t break two windows and then move on to the windshield.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Reade agreed, awkwardly adding, ‘Tish, I admit this whole thing bothers me quite a bit. In my time as sheriff, I’ve seen some vandalism around here, but nothing on this scale. This is …’

  ‘Malicious?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Tish wasn’t one for tears, but she felt like crying.

  Reade, sensing the significance of her silence, wrapped a consoling arm around her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll find who did this. I’m going to put one of our officers on patrol here just to be safe. And as for the car, your insurance will cover it.’

  She nodded.

  ‘You, um, you mentioned you didn’t want sirens and flashing lights and ambulances here tonight because Mary Jo Okensholt and her children are staying with you. You don’t think her husband might have …’

  ‘Come here and smashed up my car because he blames me for keeping his wife and kids from him?’ Tish filled in the blanks. ‘No, I don’t think so. He’s the one who initiated the split. We also invited him for dinner tonight and he declined. Nor has he returned his children’s text messages. No, he’s focused on a new life with his girlfriend.’

  ‘Sorry, but I had to ask. Domestic disputes can get nasty.’

  ‘No, I understand. I’m glad you asked.’

  ‘So, have you thought about how you’re getting to Coleton Creek in the morning?’

  ‘Huh?’ It was an unexpected question.

  ‘You can’t drive this until the windows are replaced. I know you have a luncheon to cater, so how are you getting there?’

  ‘Oh, I guess I’ll borrow Mary Jo’s car. Although she’s covering for me here at the café and she needs to drop Gregory at the rec for a basketball game. I guess I’ll call Celestine.’

  ‘You can’t call Ms Celly right now. It’s too late. And you and Mary Jo don’t need one more thing to do. I have to be at Coleton Creek first thing in the morning. I drive right past the café. Let me give you a lift.’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. I already dragged you out of bed tonight instead of just calling nine-one-one.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’d have done the same thing as you if I had – how many people do you have staying here?’

  ‘Five. And one dog. Speaking of which …’ Tish went back into the café to check on Biscuit and ensure he hadn’t followed her and Reade into the parking lot and wandered off into the dark.

  After several seconds of searching, they found him curled into a ball beside the refrigerator, sound asleep. ‘Some guard dog,’ Tish quipped, although she was relieved to find the little dog safe.

  ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t expect a letter from the K-9 recruitment team anytime soon.’

  Tish laughed. The movement caused her ribs to ache. ‘Ow.’

  ‘You’d best get some rest,’ Reade instructed. ‘Why don’t you go up to bed? I’ll wait until the patrol comes by and lock the door behind me.’

  ‘Don’t you need me for your report?’

  ‘No, I’ve already got your story. I’ll just take some photos of the damage and take the poker as evidence. You can sign the final report in the morning. I’ll be here around seven fifteen tomorrow to pick you up.’

  ‘OK,’ Tish capitulated. She was far too exhausted and sore to argue. ‘It’s been a long day. For both of us.’

  ‘Yeah, but I only had one job. You had two: the luncheon and listening to the residents of Coleton Creek spill the beans about Sloane Shackleford. By the way, I appreciate you telling me about that meeting between him and the Knoblochs. We searched Shackleford’s house and found no fewer than a dozen bags of building materials like the one he brought to that meeting. Each of them was labeled with the name of a location within the Coleton Creek development.’

  Tish’s eyes narrowed, but she was incapable of conjuring a thought. ‘How strange.’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll figure out what it means. In the meantime, thanks for being on the case, even if it’s unofficially.’

  ‘On the case? You saw my car. That’s the work of someone desperately trying to scare someone off. No, I’m not just on the case, Clemson. I’m in it.’

  SIXTEEN

  Tish, wrapped in her robe, top sheet, blanket, and comforter, slept surprisingly well in the few short hours after Reade left the café. So well, in fact, that had the alarm on her cell phone not chimed at six, she would easily
have slept several hours longer.

  Tish switched off the alarm, stretched, gathered her clothes for the day, and tiptoed into the bathroom. There, beneath the steady stream of the showerhead, she let the hot water cascade over her body in an attempt to rinse away the fatigue and strain of last night’s fall. It was not entirely successful.

  After drying off and getting dressed, she applied some moisturizer to her face before returning to her bedroom to make the bed and put on her makeup. As Tish stepped through the bathroom door, she was met by a wild-eyed Mary Jo.

  ‘I just looked out the window and your car—’ Mary Jo stopped as she spied the bandages on Tish’s chin and hand. ‘Oh my God, what happened to your face? Your hand? What’s going on?’

  Tish put a finger to her lips and beckoned MJ to follow her downstairs. Over a pot of coffee, Tish detailed the night’s events.

  Mary Jo took a sip of the steaming hot beverage and then clucked her tongue. ‘I’ve lived in this community since the kids were little and I’ve never heard of a car being damaged so badly during a break-in.’

  ‘To say my car was broken into implies someone was trying to steal something, Mary Jo. That’s not the case here.’

  ‘You think someone intentionally trashed your car? But who would do such a thing and why?’

  ‘I can think of just two possible reasons: to either scare me off the Shackleford case or to keep me away from the garden club luncheon.’

  ‘Wait, I’m confused. Why would anyone resort to such measures to keep you away from the luncheon when they could just fire you?’

  ‘Because the people who hate the luncheon, hate the garden club, and hate gardening in general aren’t the people who hired me.’

  ‘OK,’ Mary Jo sang. It was clear she was still quite confused. ‘And the Shackleford case? You told me you weren’t on it. You told me you didn’t want to get involved.’

  ‘That was my original response to the whole thing, yes …’

  ‘But?’

  Tish placed her mug on the table and folded her arms across her chest. ‘I can’t help it if the residents talk to me.’

  Mary Jo replied in typical motherly fashion. ‘No, but you can help how you respond to them. Like by not asking questions that encourage them to talk even more.’

  Tish pulled a face and drank her coffee in silence.

  ‘You’re right,’ Mary Jo sighed. ‘I forgot who I was talking to. You simply can’t help yourself, can you?’

  Tish shrugged. ‘I like to know what makes things and people tick, that’s all. It’s like tasting a recipe and breaking it down into its individual ingredients.’

  ‘Except that recipes don’t send warning messages by damaging your private property. So what now?’

  ‘What do you mean, “What now?”’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to cater the luncheon and, at a more reasonable hour, make a call to my insurance company.’

  ‘You’re still going ahead with the luncheon?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But what if the person who damaged your car tries something else?’

  ‘Reade and his team have set up shop at Shackleford’s house. They won’t have far to travel if I need them. Oh, speaking of which, I’d better get ready. Reade will be here soon.’

  ‘Sheriff Reade is coming here? Didn’t he get everything he needed last night?’

  ‘He did. I just need to sign the report. Oh, and he’s giving me a ride to Coleton Creek.’

  ‘Why? I’m here. I can easily drive you.’

  ‘I appreciate your offer, MJ, but it’s enough that you’re helping with the café today. Also, you need to have a talk with Gregory this morning.’ Tish described the young man’s condition upon arriving home late the previous evening.

  ‘I certainly will have a talk with him. I’m sorry you had to deal with that,’ Mary Jo apologized.

  ‘It’s OK. I was stern with him and might have played the Southern mama for a bit, but my main objective was getting him and Anthony off to bed.’

  ‘Whatever you did is fine. Thank you for waiting up and dealing with the situation, but you shouldn’t have had to. It’s not your job. I’m his mother.’

  With Mary Jo’s words, Tish’s mind traveled, once again, to the photo on Zadie’s nightstand. It’s not your job. I’m his mother.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Mary Jo asked.

  ‘Yeah, you just reminded me of something that’s been nagging at me.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ she frowned. ‘Anyway, I hope that conversation with Gregory goes well. I’m sorry I won’t be around to hear it. Actually, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much at all this weekend. Why don’t we make a date for tomorrow? The kids will be in school, and you and I can sit down and talk about your next move. How does lunch sound?’

  ‘Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. I’ll call you later to find out what time you want to meet.’

  ‘Meet? You and the kids won’t be here?’

  ‘No. I fell asleep before I could tell you, but Glen texted last night. He’s moving in with Lisa and said we can stay at the house. He’s willing to foot the bill for us right now, but eventually we’ll have to negotiate who’s responsible for what.’

  ‘Sounds like we’d better get you an attorney and fast. Schuyler’s giving me a list of divorce lawyers. We’ll go over it tomorrow at lunch and then maybe we’ll do a little retail therapy to settle the nerves?’

  ‘I do need to pick up some odds and ends for the kids. Those back-to-school lists are endless.’

  ‘I need to hit up the garden center for a new planter for out front. Preferably wood or terracotta.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the ones you have? I think they look nice.’

  ‘Yeah, they do, but the concrete is turning—’ Tish stopped talking and wandered toward the front door.

  ‘What? What’s out there? Is someone here?’

  ‘No. No, it’s the concrete. The concrete is turning my plants yellow. Yellow – just like the plants and lawns at Coleton Creek.’

  ‘It has been an unseasonably warm September,’ Mary Jo remarked.

  ‘No, it’s not the heat. Nor is it Biscuit. It’s never been Biscuit.’

  At the sound of his name, the little white dog came scampering down the stairs.

  Tish leaned down and scratched Biscuit’s ears. ‘You tried to tell me it wasn’t you, didn’t you? What a good boy.’

  ‘Um, Tish, are you OK? You didn’t hit your head when you fell in the parking lot last night, did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t hit my head,’ Tish mimicked. ‘The yellow spots at Coleton Creek are due to the cement. The cement, nails, and other building scraps Shackleford brought to his meeting with the Knoblochs.’

  ‘Umm, OK. If you say so.’

  ‘It’s not because I say so. It’s what happened. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’ Tish gave Biscuit one last pat on the head before chugging back the rest of her coffee and picking up her phone.

  ‘Who are you calling?’

  ‘Sheriff Reade. I have to tell him about the concrete.’

  ‘Why are you calling him? He’ll be here in just a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh! That’s right.’ Tish shut the phone off and put it in her rear pants pocket. ‘He’s already on his way.’

  Mary Jo frowned. ‘Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?’

  Tish ignored the question entirely and sprinted toward the steps. ‘I have to get ready. Check in with you later today?’

  ‘Yes, please. And take it easy today, will you?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she promised and then sprinted up the steps two at a time, Biscuit close at her heels.

  Mary Jo flopped back in her chair and hoped that her friend didn’t trip. ‘Yeah, see, Tish. That’s not trying.’

  It was fourteen minutes after seven when Clemson Reade’s white sheriff’s car pulled to a stop outside the front porch of the café.
Tish, dressed in her typical catering day outfit of black tee, black crop pants, and leopard-print loafers, stood on the front stoop, a box of trays, serving pieces, and Cookin’ the Books aprons in her hands. Alongside her stood Biscuit.

  Reade exited the car and approached the front steps. ‘Mornin’. That’s a nice little Johnny Cash-inspired ensemble you’re wearing there.’

  Tish found it impossible to be her usual chatty, welcoming café-owner self; there was no time to waste. She looked down at her outfit and then thrust the box of supplies into Reade’s arms. ‘Thanks. I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  Tish watched as he loaded the box into the trunk of the patrol car and then waved him on to the front porch. ‘Look,’ she instructed.

  Reade looked around in bewilderment before settling his eyes upon the white creature at Tish’s feet. ‘Um, it’s a dog.’

  ‘No, not Biscuit. But he’s coming with us this morning. I hope you don’t mind. Mary Jo is going back home today and she really doesn’t need him under her feet.’

  ‘Fine with me.’ He gave Biscuit a vigorous head rub. ‘So, what am I looking at that’s so important?’

  ‘Those lilies outside the door.’

  ‘Ah … nice. My mother had those in our garden when I was growing up.’

  ‘No, look at them. Really look at them. Does something seem wrong to you?’

  Reade shrugged. ‘The leaves look a little yellow.’

  ‘Exactly!’ The expression on Tish’s face was intense and slightly deranged.

  ‘Are you OK? You don’t have a headache from last night’s fall, do you?’

  ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that? No. I’m trying to point out that the planter on my porch is made of poured cement.’

  ‘Uh, yes. Yes, it is.’

  ‘The same stuff found in bags all over Sloane Shackleford’s house,’ she prompted, hoping that Reade would fill in the blanks.

  He remained obtuse. ‘Yes … I don’t see what you’re getting at.’

  Tish rolled her eyes. ‘Get in the car. I’ll explain it on the way to Coleton Creek.’

  An obedient Reade did as he was told. As he started the engine, Tish picked up Biscuit and placed him on the backseat of the car before climbing into the passenger seat and buckling her seatbelt. ‘Alkaline poisoning,’ she announced.