The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘Congratulations, Emily,’ Ainsley praised and handed the woman a small loving cup trophy. ‘And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The prizes for garden of the year.’

  The lady Jules had seen walking her little white dog the morning of their arrival at Coleton Creek presented Ainsley with a sealed envelope on a silver salver. Ainsley took it and began tearing at the flap. ‘Our third-place prize goes to … Violet Abercrombie and her cottage garden.’

  Tucker and Violet Abercrombie embraced and shared a kiss before Violet rose from her seat and approached the front of the room. There, she gave Jim a hug and held her wall-plaque trophy aloft for all to see. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed as the sound of her words was drowned out by the audience’s applause.

  Ainsley waited until Violet was back at her seat before announcing the next winner. ‘Our second-place winner for best garden goes to Orson Baggett and his colonial garden.’

  Unlike Violet, Orson appeared disappointed by his win until a grinning Zadie Morris, seated on his left side, threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss upon his cheek. Blushing a bright scarlet, he leaned in and reciprocated with a kiss on the lips that Zadie appeared to greatly enjoy.

  ‘Come get your trophy, Orson,’ Ainsley prodded. ‘You can finish collecting your other prize later.’

  At Ainsley’s comment, the luncheon guests broke into raucous laughter and even more thunderous applause. Still red-faced, Orson jogged up to the front of the room, shook Ainsley’s hand, and held his wall plaque high above his head before returning to Zadie’s side.

  ‘And, finally, Coleton Creek’s garden of the year is’ – Ainsley drew out the pause for maximum effect – ‘Wren Harper’s wildflower garden.’

  While Violet and Orson’s reactions to victory were ultimately joyous, Wren’s was that of complete shock. Her mouth agape, she drew her hands to her face and broke into sobs, prompting her tablemates, including Violet Abercrombie, to flock to her side in tender support.

  Their presence didn’t fully calm the first-prize winner, but it settled her sufficiently enough for her to collect her trophy – a bronze statue of a hand holding a garden trowel – and issue forth an emotionally wrought, ‘You have no idea how much this means to me right now. Thank you.’

  As the residents of Coleton Creek gave Wren Harper a standing ovation, she returned to her seat, drew a handkerchief to her face, and stared down at the table.

  Taking Wren’s silence as his cue, Ainsley stepped to the microphone and called everyone to order. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, although I’m sure she appreciates your accolades, let’s give Ms Harper some space in which to absorb the news of her victory. It’s been a trying weekend for all of us, what with the sudden loss of Mr Sloane Shackleford. Although he was not the most popular member of our garden club, his horticultural work raised the bar on this little competition of ours and it’s my sincerest hope that Mr Shackleford – our neighbor, friend, and fellow gardener – is in a better place.’

  Ainsley’s makeshift eulogy elicited a few murmurs of ‘Hear, hear’ from the crowd. Apart from that, the room was perfectly silent.

  ‘Before we break for dessert, I’d like to thank the judges, gardeners, and everyone else who made this year’s event a tremendous success. And to the staff of Cookin’ the Books – Tish, Celestine, and Julian – thank you for a magnificent luncheon and’ – Ainsley raised his Arnold Palmerston glass in Jules’s direction – ‘a most delicious lesson in British history.’

  The room erupted in a round of cheers and applause, spurring Jules to take several deep bows interspersed with a few blown kisses. Tish and Celestine, meanwhile, curtsied, waved, smiled, and then wheeled their cart to the buffet table to start the dessert service.

  Several minutes later, the patio was filled with the sounds of clanking forks, satisfied ‘yums,’ and quiet conversations.

  Tish used the break in her serving duties to congratulate Wren Harper. ‘Ms Harper,’ she addressed, ‘I won’t keep you from your dessert. I just wanted to pass along my congratulations. I’m glad you won. Your garden is simply divine.’

  ‘Thank you, Ms Tarragon. That garden’s kept me alive these past few months.’ She frowned. ‘It’s almost been like having a child again. Planting the seeds, anticipating them coming to life, providing them with nutrients and care. Getting this award is validation that all my nurturing paid off.’

  ‘Well, I’m very happy for you.’

  ‘Thank you. And thank you for doing the catering. This is the best food we’ve ever had at one of our luncheons. Y’all should come back next year.’

  ‘We’d love to. Maybe put in a good word with Mr Ainsley for me,’ Tish requested.

  ‘I don’t have to.’ Wren pointed over Tish’s left shoulder.

  She whirled around to find Jim Ainsley standing behind her, his dessert plate laden with the remnants of all three of Celestine’s cakes. ‘No one needs to put a word in my ear. If you’d told me last week that I’d be standing here enjoying cakes with flowers baked into them, I’d call you crazy, but here I am. These might be some of the best cakes I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘Thank you, but the glory belongs to Celestine. She’s the one who dreamed them up and baked them.’

  ‘Ah, I’ll go over and pay my compliments. But please do keep us on the calendar for next year,’ he urged before heading off to the buffet table.

  As Celestine and Ainsley chatted, Tish set about clearing additional glasses and used plates and utensils from the guests’ tables and placing them on to the tiered cart. It was an exceptionally hot day and it wasn’t long before every tier of the cart was stacked with glassware. Not wishing to disturb Celestine’s conversation, yet not wanting to leave her alone on the patio without notifying her first, Tish gave a quick wave and pointed a finger toward the door.

  Celestine gave a knowing nod and then went on to describe to Ainsley her recipe development process.

  Tish pushed the cart toward the lifestyle-center door where a kind male guest held it ajar for her. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled as she wheeled past the guest and into the corridor.

  As she steered the collection of glassware over the tiled floors and toward the kitchen, she noticed a deep-blue sedan idling just outside the lifestyle-center front door. Drawing closer, she watched as a familiar blond, dressed in oversized sunglasses, skintight white capris, and a flowy turquoise tunic, opened the rear driver’s side door and tossed a black bag inside.

  Whipping her phone from her back pocket, Tish redialed the number she’d called just hours earlier. This time he answered. ‘Reade.’

  ‘Callie’s here. The lifestyle center.’

  Tish disconnected and, leaving the cart in the hallway, dashed out the front door. ‘Ms Collingsworth. Ms Collingsworth!’

  ‘Can’t talk. I’m in a hurry, Ms Tarragon.’

  ‘Just a minute of your time. Please.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m running late.’

  ‘Ms Collingsworth, please.’

  The woman didn’t answer, but instead opened the front passenger door of the Jaguar and placed her oversized handbag on the seat.

  ‘If that’s even your real name,’ Tish ventured.

  The comment had the desired effect. Callie Collingsworth stopped in her tracks and gazed back at Tish, her face a blend of surprise and horror. ‘I–I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Callie Collingsworth doesn’t exist, so who are you?’

  It was just the delay Tish needed. Before Callie could open her mouth to answer, Reade’s car came barreling into the parking lot. At the sight of the police, Callie ran to open the driver’s side door, but Tish rushed forward to block her entry.

  Callie yanked at Tish’s arms and shoulders in an attempt to pry her away from the automobile, but Tish, her rear end pushed as close to the door handle as possible, could not be moved. ‘Get off of my car,’ Callie screamed.

  ‘You get off me,’ Tish shouted in reply.

  Reade bolted
out of the sheriff’s car, leaving the driver’s side door open. ‘Ms Collingsworth,’ he addressed as he placed a commanding hand on her shoulder.

  Callie tried to shrug off the sheriff’s grasp. ‘Get your hands off me. Anything you need to say to me can be done through my attorney.’

  Reade only tightened his grip. ‘And what name should we give to this attorney? Because it’s clearly not the one you gave us.’

  Tish pointed to the duffel bag in the backseat of the Jaguar. ‘She was trying to smuggle something out of the lifestyle center.’

  With his right hand still holding on to Callie’s arm, Reade used his left to open a rear door of the Jaguar. Reaching down, he unzipped the bag. It was filled with financial documents.

  ‘You can’t do that. You don’t have a warrant.’

  ‘Probable cause, ma’am,’ Reade answered flatly. ‘Between avoiding our interview this morning and living under an assumed name, you’re the walking definition of it.’

  Reade took a few sheets of paper out of the bag. ‘These belong to Sloane Shackleford.’

  ‘You’re quite perceptive, Sheriff,’ Callie taunted.

  ‘Where did you get these?’

  ‘From Sloane’s gym locker. He never trusted banks. Said people all over try to rob banks, but a gym locker’s different. No one breaks into a gym locker expecting to find anything other than a pair of smelly running shoes.’

  ‘So you broke into his locker?’

  ‘No, he gave me the combination. Said if something were to ever happen to him, I’d find all his banking and other important information in there. I just waited until today to retrieve it. Figured, with the luncheon going on, I could sneak into the men’s locker room with minimal risk of walking in on someone.’

  ‘Why would Sloane Shackleford trust you to take care of his estate?’ Reade quizzed. ‘And why did he make you the beneficiary of his will? Who are you? A forger? A confidence trickster?’

  ‘Oh, Sheriff, what a vivid imagination you have,’ Callie laughed. ‘No, I’m Caroline Shackleford. Sloane’s wife. Well, ex-wife, really.’

  ‘Can you prove that?’ Tish challenged.

  ‘Of course. I have our old marriage certificate and the divorce papers back at my house.’

  ‘Why the assumed name?’ Reade questioned.

  ‘Oh,’ Caroline sighed. ‘It’s a complicated story.’

  ‘Go ahead. I’m a complicated guy.’

  ‘It was 1968 when we got married. I was eighteen, Sloane was ten years older. I’d always known Sloane was a flirt. He’d chat up waitresses, the girl at the bakery counter, flight attendants, but it wasn’t until we’d been married half a year that I realized he was doing far more than just flirting. It was a blustery, rainy Sunday in early February when she showed up on our doorstep.’

  ‘She?’ Tish prompted.

  ‘A woman. I only saw her through the window. I couldn’t tell you how old she was or how pretty. She had a young child with her and she was under the impression that she could move in with Sloane. She was under the impression that he wasn’t married. Sloane blew up at her, called her crazy, and sent her away, but it was clear what had happened. If the woman had the impression that Sloane wasn’t married, it was because that was the impression he had given her. Our marriage didn’t end then and there. Sloane engaged in multiple affairs before I finally got wise to the fact that I would never be the only woman in his life.

  ‘Sloane and I divorced,’ she continued, ‘and I went on to marry twice more. Neither marriage was particularly good or happy, as I mentioned outside the kitchen yesterday, Ms Tarragon.’

  Tish nodded.

  ‘I did inherit a bit of money along the way – as Pepper Aviero was quick to point out during our scuffle – but nothing earth-shattering. Through it all – the marriages, the deaths, the break-ups – Sloane and I remained friends. I had fun with him, you know? When the whole marriage and fidelity thing was out of the equation, we got along amazingly well. So well, in fact, that when my third husband died, Sloane suggested I move closer to him.’

  ‘Is that when you moved here?’ Reade asked.

  ‘Yes, Sloane gave me the cash outright to purchase my home.’

  ‘But you didn’t move in with him?’

  ‘No, that would have caused problems. I’d lived apart from both my previous husbands and had developed a taste for doing whatever I want whenever I want. I’m also more of a traditionalist style-wise – chintz, florals, animal prints – whereas Sloane was all about sleek and modern. Most of all, though, my living with Sloane would have cramped his style.’

  ‘The women?’ Tish clarified.

  ‘Yes. That’s why I’m Callie Collingsworth. I’d been Caroline Shackleford since our marriage. I never changed it with my subsequent marriages. I always remained a Shackleford. I liked the name, and I think Sloane liked that a little part of me still belonged to him. But when I moved here, it wouldn’t do for him to explain to his latest conquest that his ex-wife lived in the neighborhood and that we were “friends with benefits,” so we changed my name and got fake IDs made up. Sloane had always called me Callie – an amalgam of Caroline and my favorite flowers, Calla lilies.’

  Tish felt her jaw tighten. It was just like Shackleford, a man who so obviously enjoyed wielding power over others, to retain ‘possession’ of his ex-wife and then, when it no longer suited his purposes, request that she hide any such relationship. ‘And Collingsworth? Where did that come from?’

  ‘Oh, that was the name of a character on some night-time soap opera I was watching at the time.’

  Tish recalled Jules’s comment about Callie Collingsworth’s name being like that of a soap opera star. ‘It’s like he has a pop culture sixth sense,’ she marveled beneath her breath.

  ‘Everything OK, Tish?’ Reade inquired.

  ‘Yes. Sorry. Don’t mind me.’ She waved to Reade to continue the interrogation.

  With a raised eyebrow, he complied. ‘If you and your ex-husband were on such good terms, Ms Shackleford, then why were you in competition with Pepper Aviero?’

  ‘That was … oh, that was me just being insecure and foolish. Sloane didn’t love Pepper and I knew that.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But she was different from all the others. She wasn’t looking for Sloane to wine and dine her and lavish her with gifts. She wasn’t looking just for fun and sex. She was cooking him dinner and baking him treats and planning weekends away to visit her family. Pepper Aviero was playing for keeps.’

  ‘And so you competed with her, cooking chicken and dumplings and trying to win your ex-husband back,’ Tish presumed. ‘And you believed you had the upper hand until the two of you confronted him and he cast you both aside.’

  ‘Is that why you murdered him?’ Sheriff Reade presented. ‘Because he dumped you?’

  ‘He did not dump me,’ Caroline shrieked. ‘He was angry because I had been jealous and acting ridiculously. I knew the rules when we made our arrangement. I knew I wasn’t to interfere with his dalliances, just as he wasn’t to interfere with mine. Sloane had every right to be angry with me, but I know we would have made up later. We always did. And as for killing him, I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on that man’s head. Despite everything we’d been through, all our ups and downs, I never once wished him ill. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Oh? Is that why you went out of town and didn’t show up for our meeting this morning? Because you didn’t hurt him? Or were you afraid I’d find out you murdered your ex-husband because you were so angry you couldn’t see straight?’

  ‘I needed space in which to grieve,’ she shouted before breaking into sobs. ‘I know it might seem odd to you, but I loved Sloane. I truly loved him. And for the first time in over fifty years, I have to learn to live without him.’

  ‘Where did you go for this grieving?’

  ‘A friend of mine has a loft in Richmond. She plays the golf circuit and is rarely home. I stayed there.’

  ‘Alone?’

&nbs
p; ‘Yes, of course alone,’ Caroline was indignant. ‘I have the key on me. I’ll give you the address. You can go check if you like.’

  ‘I would love the address, when we’re done. And why did you come back here today?’

  ‘I already told you, to collect Sloane’s papers. His bank and most of his other business dealings were in Richmond. Tomorrow being Monday and me being his next of kin, I thought I should start notifying credit card companies and such about his death. Sloane’s lawyer is also in Richmond; I thought I’d stop by and pay a visit.’

  ‘You’ll have to settle for a phone call,’ Reade instructed. ‘This is a murder investigation. No one is to leave town.’

  ‘Technically, I didn’t leave town. I just relocated.’

  ‘Uh-huh. You can un-relocate as soon as I take your statement.’ Reade escorted Caroline to the squad car and placed her and the bag of paperwork in the backseat. ‘Thanks for your help, Tish. I’ll see you later.’

  Tish gave Reade a brief wave and then went back into the lifestyle center to tend to the dirty luncheon dishes, but something in Caroline Shackleford’s account of her marriage to Sloane raised a question in Tish’s mind.

  NINETEEN

  It was quarter past five when Tish, Jules, and Celestine finished the last of the dishes, stacked them back in the lifestyle-center kitchen cabinets, and gave the countertops one last wipe down with disinfectant cleaner before inspecting their work.

  ‘I think it’s even cleaner than when we first got here,’ Jules stated, his hands on his hips. ‘Good job, team.’

  Celestine gave him a fist bump. ‘Tish, honey, can I give you a ride home?’

  ‘Under normal circumstances, I’d say yes, but I need to pick up Biscuit.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ Jules offered. ‘I have no one waiting for me at home.’

  ‘Are you sure? I also want to stop in on Ms Morris. She didn’t seem herself this afternoon.’

  ‘Yeah, I cleared her plate away.’ Celestine frowned. ‘She hadn’t eaten much at all.’