The Garden Club Murder

by Amy Patricia Meade

‘Nah. Cooking for one these days. I’m donating most of this to the local soup kitchen. Zadie suggested it a few days ago.’

  ‘Then donate mine, too. But if you don’t mind, I would like some flowers for my tables.’

  ‘Sure thing. Sweet William?’

  ‘Sweet William.’

  Tish collected her flowers from Orson Baggett and, after giving him a hug and getting him to swear to visit the café, returned to Wren Harper’s house. Wren was still in the garden, seated on a wooden bench.

  Tish approached, a large bunch of Sweet William in her hand. ‘Zadie Morris was an idol to me, but more than that, she had become a friend. A few days ago, Ms Morris advised me to stay true to who I am. In order to do that, I simply can’t let you go scot-free.’

  Wren looked up, tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, I agree. I can’t keep it secret anymore. I don’t know if I can even look my grandchildren in the eye, knowing what I’ve done. I told you: like Zadie, I want to do my penance.’

  ‘But I also don’t want to deny Zadie her penance. When she left Richmond all those years ago, it was as a “fallen woman.” She left her home under a hail of accusations and insults. She wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to you.’

  ‘This neighborhood has already dragged Ms Morris’s name through the mud,’ Wren acknowledged.

  ‘I’m suggesting that we call Sheriff Reade to explain the situation and see what he recommends so that you can confess to the crime, quietly, with dignity. And also so that you can deal with your grief, privately and with dignity.’

  Wren grasped Tish’s hands. ‘Do you think he can help?’

  ‘I know he’d do everything in his power to do so.’

  ‘Then let’s call,’ Wren agreed.

  Minutes later, Reade appeared at the rear garden gate. ‘Ms Harper,’ he greeted in a gentle tone. ‘I’m going to take your statement, and then, when you’re ready, a plain-clothes officer in an unmarked car will take you to headquarters to booking. There will be no handcuffs. No fanfare. And I will make no public announcement about your arrest. As far as the news outlets are concerned, Mr Shackleford’s murderer died yesterday. That won’t change.’

  ‘Then I won’t have to give up my garden trophy?’ she cried.

  ‘No one in the garden club would have reason to ask you to do so,’ Tish confirmed.

  Wren appeared momentarily elated. ‘But how will I tell my daughter-in-law?’

  ‘I’ll be with you when you make the call. I’ll be at your side through all of it. Just like Zadie would have been.’

  Reade gazed down at Tish as she nestled beside Wren on the garden bench, his face a blend of surprise and admiration.

  ‘How will we explain my absence? I mean, that I’m no longer here?’

  ‘I’ll explain to everyone that you’ve gone for treatment for your grief and your nerves.’

  Reade cleared his throat. ‘If you don’t currently have an attorney, Ms Harper, we can have one appointed to you. However, as the mother of an officer killed in the line of duty, you may be able to call on the military for legal aid.’

  Tish looked up at Reade and mouthed a silent ‘thank you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ echoed Wren Harper. ‘Thank you for helping me through this. For promising to keep this private.’

  ‘I promise not to tell another soul. Just promise me that when this is all over and when you get to your new home and new garden, that you plant these.’ She handed Wren a few stems of Sweet William.

  ‘I will,’ a tearful Wren swore. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank us. Thank her.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tish spent the remainder of the day distracting herself the best way she could – by cooking. After mixing up biscuit dough, bread dough, scone dough, and muffin batter for the next morning’s bake and cooking up spicy tomato-and-pepper sauce for the egg-and-grits special, she turned her attention to the beautiful butternut squash Opal had provided.

  But not before making an important phone call.

  ‘Hey,’ Schuyler’s rich voice came lilting over the phone line. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m OK. I was thinking, how would you like to have dinner tonight? I mean, if you’re not busy.’

  ‘I’m never too busy for you. Where do you want to go? What are you in the mood for?’

  ‘Oh, I thought I’d cook here. I want to test my butternut squash and sage risotto recipe.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’ve been working all weekend. I can pick something up or I can even try cooking.’

  ‘I’m positive,’ Tish confirmed. ‘Cooking is my therapy. Just as long as you don’t mind being my guinea pig.’

  ‘Are you kidding? Test away. How about I pick us up a nice bottle of wine?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Is there anything else you need? Dessert? Bread? Salad?’

  ‘No, I’ve got everything here. All I need is you.’

  ‘Likewise.’ Tish could hear the smile on Schuyler’s face. ‘I have a few things to finish up before I leave the office, but after that I’m on my way. I should be there no later than six thirty.’

  ‘Sounds great. Um, Schuyler?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Maybe you could stay tonight?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, if that’s what you’d like. I hope you know I wasn’t pressuring you Saturday night.’

  ‘No, I know you weren’t.’ Tish had spent much of the afternoon reflecting upon Zadie’s sage words: Look to the living. ‘I just want to be close to you, that’s all.’

  ‘After I pick up the wine, I’ll stop by my place for a change of clothes for tomorrow. Then I’m all yours.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it, too.’

  A man of his word, Schuyler Thompson, bottle of wine and duffle bag in tow, arrived at Cookin’ the Books at approximately twenty-five minutes past six. Tish was on the swing waiting for him.

  As he stepped on to the front porch, she rose to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

  ‘Hey,’ he greeted as he returned the embrace with his free arm and clutched the wine with the other. ‘How was your day?’

  She looked at him, her eyes glassy with tears.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘No. Just hold me.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  The couple embraced on the front porch for several seconds before Tish led Schuyler inside.

  Meanwhile, just a hundred yards away, Sheriff Reade’s car stood idling in the road. Having witnessed Tish and Schuyler’s affectionate display, Reade berated himself with a few choice words and, turning the car around, drove instead to meet his band mates at the Hobson Glen Bar and Grille.

  Beside him, on the passenger seat, rested a bouquet of stargazer lilies.