The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

‘It’s this godawful heat,’ Jules complained. ‘On days like this, all I want is a liquid diet.’

  ‘Isn’t that every day?’ Tish teased, knowing Jules’s penchant for white wine.

  ‘Funny. Well, since I have a reputation to uphold, do me a favor and don’t let me forget the jug of leftover Arnold Palmerstons in the refrigerator.’

  Tish laughed. ‘Don’t worry. There’s a bunch of stuff in there that I need to bring back to the café. We’ll make sure the Arnolds are included. Celestine, you have your leftovers?’

  ‘Yep, dinner for Mr Rufus and me.’ She removed a reusable shopping bag of foil containers from the refrigerator. ‘Two nights off from cooking in a row. I can’t remember when I last had it this good.’

  Jules and Tish escorted Celestine to her minivan and wished her a good night. As the baker drove off for home, Jules and Tish continued across the parking lot. ‘While you’re checking in on Zadie Morris, do you mind if I pop in on Mrs Wilkes? When I left her, she still had a headache. I want to make sure she’s properly hydrated.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tish allowed. ‘It’s been ridiculously hot.’

  ‘And Mrs Wilkes is a bit frailer than Zadie. Hard to believe they’re only a few years apart in age. Are you sure Zadie’s as old as you say she is? She looks so much younger than Mrs Wilkes.’

  ‘Better not let Mrs Wilkes hear you say that,’ Tish teased. ‘Zadie’s made a lot of money out of looking good, so I’m sure she’s tried every skin serum out there. But, yes, I’m certain she’s around eighty years of age. She has to be. You remember those big loud commercials for her Grunge line back when we were teens, don’t you? She had a few streaks of silver in her hair even then.’

  ‘She might have been going prematurely gray,’ Jules suggested as he typed something into his phone.

  ‘Not too premature. That was nearly thirty years ago, so she would have been about fifty.’

  ‘Thirty years? Please. No numbers. It’s far too depressing. Let’s see … Zadie Morris.’

  ‘Are you Googling to see how old she is? You honestly don’t believe me?’

  ‘I do believe you. However, as a journalist, it’s my duty to fact-check. Ah, here we go. Wikipedia.’

  ‘Wikipedia is hardly what I’d call fact-checking.’

  Jules ignored her and read aloud, ‘Zadie Morris. Born Vera Ruby Waterston, November 6, 1940, is an American businessperson and philanthropist. You’re right, she is nearly eighty.’

  Tish felt a sharp pain deep in her gut, as if someone had leveled a blow directly to her stomach. ‘What did you say her birth name was?’

  ‘Vera Ruby Waterston. She was born in Richmond, too. Huh. I always thought she was a native New Yorker.’

  The photo of the young boy, the image of a young woman and a child standing on Shackleford’s doorstep, the Richmond makeup counter, the quick getaway by Shackleford’s murderer. They all started coming together in Tish’s mind, but the story they told still wasn’t entirely clear.

  ‘Hey, you OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘I think I have. I, um, I need to get to Zadie’s. I’ll meet you at the lifestyle center later?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be hanging with Mrs Wilkes. Just text me when you’re done. Unless you want me to come with you.’

  ‘Thanks, Jules, but this is something I need to do on my own.’ Tish gave his hand a squeeze and jogged off. Shortly thereafter, she arrived at Zadie’s front door. Determined to find answers. She pressed hard upon the front doorbell.

  Zadie answered within a matter of seconds. ‘Tish, come on in.’

  Tish entered the hallway and watched as Zadie, her face scrubbed clean and dressed in a pink floral housecoat and slippers, shut the door behind them. ‘What brings you here?’

  Tish was pulling no punches. ‘William. The boy whose photo is beside your bed. He was your son, wasn’t he?’

  The glow that had graced Zadie’s face – that last rosy vestige of youth that gave the businesswoman a livelier appearance than her contemporaries – vaporized into the ether. ‘Yes,’ she nodded. She wandered into the living room and sat on the sofa. ‘I knew I’d told you too much this morning. What gave it away?’

  Tish stood in the living-room doorway, her arms folded across her chest. ‘Vera. Vera is your real name. Jules found it on Wikipedia.’

  ‘That’s what I get for not being part of the digital age,’ she chortled, but she was not smiling.

  ‘Was Sloane Shackleford William’s father?’ Tish demanded.

  ‘No. I met Sloane Shackleford when William was five years old. The age he was when I snapped that photograph. William’s father, Calvin – my husband at the time – was abusive, both emotionally and physically. I wanted desperately to take William, leave town, and divorce him, but I had nowhere to go and no money with which to start a new life. We barely earned enough to feed and clothe ourselves. There was no way I could save anything out of the household budget.

  ‘When William started preschool, Calvin allowed me to keep a part-time job to help pay the bills,’ Zadie continued. ‘But there were strict guidelines. The job couldn’t interfere with my housework, my getting supper on the table at six, or taking care of William, and it couldn’t put me in touch with male co-workers or customers. It took some time, but I finally found a job at the cosmetics counter at Miller and Rhoads department store in downtown Richmond. Needless to say, I loved it. It got me out of our tiny rented house and gave me an opportunity to interact with other women and experiment with cosmetics. Naturally, I had to wipe off any makeup I put on during the day before I went home since Calvin viewed the stuff as “prostitute paint.”’

  With a grimace, Zadie repositioned herself on the sofa cushion.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Tish asked.

  ‘Just arthritis,’ she dismissed and went back to her story. ‘You’re probably too young to remember, but department stores back then, particularly in the South, had tearooms. Miller and Rhoads was no exception. One day, during the pre-Christmas rush, a waitress called in sick. Our cosmetics counter was well staffed, so I was called upon to go up to the fifth floor where the tearoom was and replace her. That was where I met Sloane Shackleford. It was a Friday and Sloane was there for his weekly Missouri club sandwich and chocolate silk pie. I was his waitress.

  ‘I could tell you that Sloane Shackleford was handsome or dashing or exceedingly well dressed, but he was none of those things. What he was was talkative, flattering, and charming. And I – well, I was lonely. He complimented me on my looks and my figure. Told me some jokes to make me smile. And I, starved for attention and affection, devoured every word. At the end of that lunch, he left me a generous tip and asked if he could see me again. I said yes. The following week, I coordinated my break so that I was available after he ate his lunch. I ate my lunch in his car and we talked. However, it wasn’t long before we were meeting at least twice a week, sometimes in his house, and neither of us was doing much in the way of talking.’

  ‘Were you in love with him?’ Tish inquired.

  ‘Passionately. I thought, for once, I had found someone who truly cherished me. I was wrong. It was a Sunday in February, two months into our affair, when Calvin, after drinking beer and watching boxing all afternoon, spotted William playing with a doll our neighbor’s daughter had left behind. Calvin,’ Zadie sobbed, ‘took it from William’s hands and began beating him with it while calling him a “sissy boy” and “faggot.” I begged Calvin to stop, but it only incensed him further. I threw myself in front of William so that Calvin would beat me instead of him, but he picked me up and tossed me into the television stand. He then began beating William with his fists. The more William screamed and cried, the angrier Calvin became. He was so angry that he picked William up and threatened to hurl him through our front picture window. I couldn’t let that happen, so I went into the kitchen and grabbed a metal stepladder from beside the refrigerator and smashed it over Calvin’s head. I’m not sure if he blacked out or not, but he let W
illiam drop to the floor. I scooped him up, grabbed our coats and my handbag, and ran out of the house for the bus. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I should have called the police. I know I should have, but I wanted to find a safe place away from Calvin. I wanted my little boy to be somewhere safe where I could clean him up and hold him and he’d never be afraid again. I was also afraid I might have killed Calvin. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to see Sloane. I figured he’d know what to do.’

  ‘You didn’t realize he was married,’ Tish guessed.

  ‘It was more than the fact he was married. He shouted at us. He called me crazy. He pretended not to know me and told me to take “that brat” and get lost. That brat who was visibly bruised and his mother who was so obviously desperate that she showed up on his doorstep with not even a suitcase. I understand that he was surprised and upset to see his mistress at his front door, but he could have handled it differently, humanely. I wasn’t looking for him to throw his arms around me and tell me he loved me. I was looking for sanctuary. Instead, he sent both of us back into the sleet with not even a second thought as to what would happen to either of us.’

  ‘What did happen to you?’

  ‘I took William to the emergency room to be examined. The staff there called the police. Calvin, however, had already called them and told them I had gone on a rampage, beaten William, hit him with the stepladder, and then kidnapped our child. William was taken from me and I was thrown into jail. Fortunately, the public defender got the charges dropped. However, I never regained custody of William or even visitation. Calvin found out about my affair with Sloane Shackleford from one of my co-workers. He used that and my stepladder attack on him to have me declared an unfit mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tish whispered.

  ‘Thank you, although some might say I had it coming, given what I’d done,’ Zadie lamented. ‘Richmond wasn’t quite the cosmopolitan city it is now. It was more like any other Southern town in the 1960s. When news of my affair and divorce broke, I lost my job at Miller and Rhoads and no other shop downtown would hire me. Thankfully, my supervisor at Miller and Rhoads cosmetics counter was sympathetic to my situation. She was older, single – a spinster, some might say – but she was kind. She let me stay at her apartment after Calvin kicked me out. And when I lost my job, she called a friend of hers in New York who ran a cosmetics shop. I didn’t want to move that far away from William, but I also couldn’t afford to stay where I was. So I accepted the offer and took a tiny studio apartment in the East Village. That was before the Village became trendy. The rents were low back then, so my neighbors were artists, students, and hippies. All I did, however, was work. Whatever money I could tuck away, I did, so that I could mount a legal war against Calvin.’

  ‘Did you eventually regain custody?’

  ‘No. My living in New York was another strike against me. Calvin’s lawyer depicted me as a shrewd, calculating career woman with no interest at all in children. The fact I hadn’t remarried didn’t work in my favor either, if you can believe it. The judge cited it as evidence that I wasn’t looking to provide a stable environment by settling into a “woman’s natural role as wife and mother.” Oh, and being in the cosmetics field did no favors, either. It proved that I was in the business of deception.

  ‘I went on fighting and appealing, but soon William was old enough to weigh in on the case. Calvin clearly told him that I’d abandoned him. I also have no doubt he probably threatened to hurt William if he sided with me. I’ll never forget seeing William in the courtroom that day. I hadn’t seen him in six years. The baby face was gone, and so was the innocence. He had a haunted look to him, a deeply rooted unhappiness. The judge asked him if he wanted to see his mother and he said “no,” but as the officer led him past me out of the courthouse, William looked at me and I could see he was torn.’

  Zadie pulled a lace handkerchief from the pocket of her housecoat and blew her nose. ‘I spent the next five years trying to file appeals and have the court’s decision overruled. The last hope was William’s sixteenth birthday. In Virginia, sixteen is the age of emancipation, meaning that William could decide for himself whether he wanted to see me or not, and there was nothing the court could do about it. So I drafted a letter and sent it, via my attorney, to William as I wasn’t allowed to contact him personally. Several weeks later, my attorney called. The letter had been returned to him unopened. When he investigated the matter, he discovered that William was dead. He had died, by hanging, on his birthday. The verdict was suicide as there was a note found by his body. What was contained in that note, I don’t know. I was never permitted to read it, nor were the police able or willing to share it.’

  ‘You said that Vera died that day,’ Tish mentioned.

  ‘She did. Both literally and figuratively. I was not the same woman. Everything I’d lived for those sixteen years – everything I’d planned, dreamed, and hoped for – died along with my son. In the months that followed, I seriously contemplated suicide. However, Camille – my boss, my gracious friend, and mentor – had recently retired and had left the cosmetics boutique to me.’

  ‘You worked at the same boutique all that time?’

  ‘More than worked. Camille put me in charge of creating new products and scents. She taught me about marketing and packaging and everything one needs to know about the industry. After all Camille had done for me, how could I throw away everything she’d built? So I cast aside my old life and threw myself into my work. As a symbol of that rebirth, I changed my name. Zadie in honor of my paternal grandmother and Morris for my maternal grandmother. I launched a new line of cosmetics under that name as a sign that Camille’s was entering a new phase with a new woman at the helm. That line sold out in days and then the next and the next. The rest, as they say, is history.’

  ‘And now? Did you come back to Virginia to look for Sloane Shackleford?’ Tish questioned.

  ‘No. I’d thought of him, of course, and wondered what happened to him. I wondered if he was even still alive. And, yes, I secretly hoped he’d met some sad, tragic fate. However, my motive for moving back here was more mundane. Simply put, I’d retired and was growing tired of New York City winters. I also suppose it’s true what they say, that we all long to return to our roots as we age. I looked at some condos and older homes in the downtown area, but city life no longer held the allure for me that it once did. I wanted quiet and green spaces for my walks, so I began looking outside the metropolitan area to the suburbs. That’s when my real estate broker showed me this place.

  ‘To say that I was shocked to find Sloane Shackleford that day would be the understatement of the century,’ Zadie described. ‘At the sight of him, all the anger, all the pain, all my disgust and regret and shame came surging back. And yet, deep down, somehow I had expected to see him again. Deep down, I knew there was unfinished business between us. I went back to my hotel that evening – I was staying in a suite at the Jefferson while house-hunting – and thought about what to do. I liked this house, of course, but there was something karmic in finding Sloane again after all these years. It was as if the universe was sending me a message.

  ‘When I moved in, I received my second shock. Sloane Shackleford didn’t remember or recognize me at all. Indeed, he came over to welcome me to the neighborhood and proceeded to hit on me by inviting me back to his house for a drink.’

  ‘A long time had passed since he’d last seen you,’ Tish reasoned.

  ‘I acknowledge that I’ve aged and that my appearance has changed with time. I’m also far more worldly, confident, and mature than I was back then. However, I also dropped the occasional hint along the way: that I used to live in Richmond, how much I loved the old department stores downtown, that I left town in 1969. Nothing.’

  ‘Some memory loss can be expected with age,’ Tish continued to allow. ‘How old was Mr Shackleford? Seventy-nine? Eighty?’

  Zadie shook her head. ‘No, that man was sharp as a tack. He recalled his house on Chu
rch Hill – the house he was living in when William and I made our unexpected visit – and Miller and Rhoads, and Thalhimers and their Santa displays, but I could see in his eyes that he didn’t remember me. It wasn’t forgetfulness either. I’d accepted years ago that Sloane Shackleford was never in love with me, but seeing him that day and observing his behavior with other women here at the Creek made me realize that I was absolutely nothing to him. Not a name or a face, but just another body for him to use for his own amusement.

  ‘It got to me,’ Zadie admitted, a tremor in her voice. ‘Seeing him harass that poor Ms Hilton up at the lifestyle center. Listening to him berate his gardeners for trimming his lawn too short. Spotting Pepper Aviero and Callie Collingsworth sneaking in and out of there at all hours. Watching him inappropriately touch, flirt, and fondle nearly every woman in our community. Sloane Shackleford was an abuser and bully. He ruined lives – lives like mine – and he needed to be stopped. So I hatched a plan to kill him. I devised a plan to murder Sloane Shackleford.’

  Zadie’s words hit Tish like a thunderbolt. She had suspected Zadie had known Shackleford and had possibly been intimate with him, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Zadie Morris – this icon from her youth – could commit so violent a deed. ‘No! No, that’s not possible. You’re too smart. Too self-possessed. You wouldn’t have simply smashed his head in with a shovel. That … that’s not a plan.’

  ‘That’s because it wasn’t the plan. Just when I’d come up with the best way to do away with Shackleford and just when I’d resigned myself to actually doing it, my life suddenly found meaning again.’

  ‘Orson Baggett,’ Tish guessed.

  ‘Yes. You may find it difficult to believe, but I’d sworn off men and relationships after my split with Calvin. All I wanted was my son, and then after he passed away, all I wanted was for Camille’s business to be a success. I’d gone all that time thinking there were no good men left on the planet, at least not for me, and then I come here to find him. I know Orson’s gruff and a bit rough around the edges, but he’s decent and kind and loving. He’s made me very happy.’