She turned up the heat.
***
Lila Jeffries did not have icicles in her house. What she had were bats in her belfry.
She was crazy, but finally she was warm. She had cranked up the heat, put on all her clothes and lay down on the couch and piled on the blankets.
She could feel the heat seeping back into her bones and pushing those microwaves out.
Lila looked over at her plants, swaying with the current of warm air blasting from the furnace. She thought they were dancing.
They were so green, so vibrant. All the icicles had gone.
“You like the warmth, don’t you my darlings?” she cooed. “Mommy is taking good care of her girls, isn’t she?”
She had fed them that morning. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. For the smaller plants, she cut the sandwiches into quarters.
Some of her plants were a bit finicky, so she cut the crusts off.
She was a good momma to her girls.
Lila smiled. She heard the humming of the furnace and thought it was her darling plants singing to her.
“That’s very nice girls,” she said.
Lila Jeffries closed her eyes and died.
***
“They’re going to be here at 11:30,” Trudy-Faye told Gracie, “Are you going to be ready?”
It was the day of the garden tour and all of Huckleberry was coming, if you were to believe Trudy-Faye Gervais.
Gracie didn’t. Having been a regular tour attender in the past, she knew that maybe twenty people showed up. Of that twenty, about five would get lost trying to find the next spectacular garden home, as Trudy-Faye had the advertisement read; another five would get bored and leave. But about ten would hang in there for the luncheon. So Gracie had prepared for twenty. She had many freezer containers on stand-by to package up the leftovers she was sure there would be.
Except for fudge. If there was any leftover it would all go home with Pauline, who even now, with breakfast barely out of the way, was eating her second piece.
“Girl, how do you stay so slim?” Trudy-Faye asked.
Pauline popped the rest of the maple fudge in her mouth and shrugged. “Don’t know; good genes I’d say!”
Gracie laughed. “Too bad Dave wasn’t here, or he would heartily agree!”
Trudy-Faye looked at Pauline who was wearing a pair of straight legged bedazzled denim. Trudy-Faye was confused as usual. Why would Dave be happy about her lineage? Cops were crazy. Just like the ones that showed up at her door about two months ago insisting she was next of kin to a local druggie called Crackhead Billy. Of course she wasn’t.
Her son, William Lawrence Gervais, was overseas in Dubai doing carpentry work for some project in the oil industry. He wasn’t the best communicator; he hadn’t phoned or written in ages, but he was a good boy. Always had been despite what the teachers had said when he was growing up. It was amazing how the most elite schools could hire the stupidest teachers.
She checked her roster. A late entry was hand-written on the bottom of her sheet. Barry Frederickson and Barb Shire.
Oh the scandal! Barry wasn’t even divorced yet from his murderous wife and Barb! Well, Barb had been under house arrest until recently. Still, they brought the group total up to twenty-five. The highest number in years.
Gracie made up two small bowls with each kind of soup for Trudy-Faye to sample.
Trudy-Faye had never eaten cold soup before; but if it was a thing the hoi polloi were doing, she’d give it a try.
“This red soup is surprisingly delicious,” she said after a tentative sip. “Is it hard to make?”
Gracie went over the easy recipe and explained that fresh lemon slices would be added just before it was served. Gracie knew that Trudy-Faye liked to be in control of everything. Something as simple as unexpected lemon slices on soup might cause her to flip out.
“If you heat this one up, it would be a lovely stew,” Trudy-Faye said after she tasted the vichyssoise.
Pauline laughed, but Gracie just smiled.
Trudy-Faye continued to inspect the lay-out of the dining room until Gracie gently took her by the hand and led her to the front door.
“And we’re done now. See you later,” Gracie said kindly, but firmly as she dismissed the garden tour coordinator.
Pauline exploded. “How dare she tell you what to serve! It’s your donation; your home. If I were you I would have decked her!” She quickly added, “But of course I really wouldn’t because as a Huckleberry Police Officer, I maintain self-control and decorum at all times. And dignity; always dignity.”
“One, two, three and…” Gracie paused and pointed to the front door.
Trudy-Faye burst in. “Cloth napkins! You are using cloth napkins?” she demanded.
With an absolute straight face, Gracie answered, “I was up all night trying to make them into swans, but I failed miserably.”
Trudy-Faye walked over and patted her on the shoulder. “Just put them in napkin rings dear, and people will just have to live with them. At least you tried.” She somehow was able to burst out of the front door as she left.
Pauline could not even grasp what had just happened. “Trudy-Faye is so bossy! How could you stay so calm? And you were so nice too.”
“Oh, at the end of the morning, you may want to revise that statement.”
Pauline knew Gracie had something up her sleeve. “Spill,” she ordered.
Gracie walked over to the counter and picked up the advertisement for the garden tour. “You’ve never been on a garden tour before have you?” she asked Pauline.
Pauline shook her head. “I’m not paying five bucks for a dumb tour, no offense. I can see flowers for free as I drive on the job to every corner of Huckleberry.”
“Good point Pauline, but people like to participate to get different ideas and inspiration for their own gardens Typically, you sign up, pay your five bucks and you’re given a map to the private homes. The homeowner may give a little history behind their plants or point out interesting features. But in Huckleberry, we have a kind of tradition for our annual garden tour.”
Gracie handed the tour list to her friend. “Read the first stop on the list.”
Pauline gasped. “The Hospice? Where the team is digging up Emma Bartlett? Oh, this is too good. Trudy-Faye is going to flip her wig!”
Gracie poured them each another cup of coffee and smiled contently. “I may have purposely neglected to inform Trudy-Faye of the, ahem, additional festivities planned for today. So you see, I’m not really nice after all.”
***
He peeked in the window. All he could see were plants blocking the view inside. “Well I’m not breaking in,” he said.
The owner of the home had not answered the door, so he decided to check out the back yard. It wasn’t fenced. Just a dry patch of grass with an old rusted swing set surrounded by cracked and crumbling concrete.
“I feel sorry for the kids who grew up here,” he said. “What a sad life they must have had.”
Conrad Jeffries had so distanced himself from his childhood memories, that he talked about himself and his sister Mary-Anne in the third person.
He had to see his Mother; it was time, but with his record, he wasn’t even going to rattle a door handle and leave his prints behind.
Conrad went to a local coffee shop and considered his next move. He didn’t want to involve the cops at this point. He would need them later to evict his Mother.
The cheery waiter interrupted.
“How’s the coffee? New to town? Passing through or visiting?”
Conrad blurted out the truth. “I’m thinking about moving here.”
“How wonderful! Look, I’ll give you the local paper and a Danish on the house so you can really get to know Huckleberry. We have some beautiful old homes here. Of course, they’re all fixer-uppers, but it will be something to do until you get a job. Or maybe you have a job? What do you do for a living?”
“I’ve recently been re-trained
in accounting. I’m still quite a few courses away from being a CGA.”
The waiter kept chatting despite his promise to get Conrad a Danish. “Are you looking for wirk or work? You know, internet work or nine to five?”
Conrad continued honestly, “I don’t know, perhaps internet bookkeeping? Something I could do from home. I’m not very good with people in enclosed spaces.”
The waiter looked around the cramped coffee shop and quickly decided to go get the pastry and newspaper and leave the scary looking man alone.
As Conrad looked through the paper he noticed a peculiar advertisement in the personal section. It read:
“Did you do something bad, but can’t quite remember? Did your neighbor do something bad and you want to get the goods on them? Contact Gracie Noseworthy Investigations at 555-2368. I sniff out trouble!”
***
Trudy-Faye was apoplectic. Yards and yards of yellow crime scene tape sectioned off most of the Hospice and no one was being allowed on the property except medical staff and families.
It was outrageous! No one had informed her that they would be digging up the gazebo looking for, of all things, a dead body!
She had demanded to speak to the Officer in Charge, and sure, Detective Sergeant Ted Bailey had walked up to her, but he had stopped her complaints before she had opened her mouth.
“I’m sorry Trudy-Faye; no one is allowed on the property. Your tour of this facility is cancelled.”
And he walked away.
As Trudy-Faye stood there stewing, she realized she hadn’t been this angry since two months ago when those cops played that horrid prank on her. Her Son was in Dubai, not dead in the morgue!
Even her normally milquetoast husband was in on the sick joke.
“It’s him. I saw him. They’ve matched his fingerprints and everything.”
“No.” Trudy-Faye refused to believe it. Just as she refused to believe William junior’s teachers and many employers over the years; just as she refused to listen to rumors about her precious Son living in Munson not Dubai. Living in an apartment with a woman!
No. She had his letters he sent every week. Well, not every week, because he was so busy. Every month or so, he would send a letter asking for money because the company kept screwing up his paycheck, what with the exchange rate and all.
Trudy-Faye had a busy life; she couldn’t keep track of every little detail. That’s what she told her husband when he asked her why the letters were mailed from Munson.
“Oh something about a buddy of his who works internationally but lives in Munson and a courier bag or something. I can’t pay attention to every little detail for heaven’s sake.”
If Trudy-Faye had been paying attention, she would have realized that it had been over a year since she had received a letter asking for money. And it had been more than fifteen years since she had seen her son.
Right now, she was more concerned about a strange feeling of impotence. A scream was building inside her and she was frightened. She knew if she started to scream she wouldn’t stop.
Just then, Barbara Shire came up to her. True love had changed Barb. She gave Trudy-Faye an uncharacteristic hug.
“You were so brilliant to put the Hospice as the first stop on the list! This is fascinating.”
Trudy-Faye was numb. She looked at the pile of boards flung to hither and yon, completely crushing the carnations. She looked forlornly at the taped off entrance and at the knot of staff and patients watching the deconstruction of the gazebo. On a mound of dirt, the Director of the Hospice was talking to Detective Bailey and pointing to a huge piece of machinery.
“Look at the size of that crane! I heard they are just going to tear the whole gazebo down! The Detective is probably telling the Director that she will need to keep the facility locked down longer if the whole gazebo is going,” Barry Frederickson said as he came up to where Barb and Trudy-Faye were standing.
“Oh this is going to be so interesting!” Barb continued to gush. “This is the same crane they used to pull my concrete planters out of my pond. It’s amazing how precise they can be! They’ll probably just cut the support posts and lift the whole top off.”
A large truck stopped on the other side of the gazebo.
Other members of the garden tour group were gathering around Trudy-Faye, Barb and Barry. They too, were offering a play by play commentary on the action.
“See, now the driver is going to ask where they want him to park so they can load gazebo on the flat deck.”
“Look at that! They only have one guy with a reciprocating saw cutting through the posts. It’s going to take forever!”
“They can’t do anything until they get the body out.”
“Did they get the body out yet?”
Barb Shire yelled over to Ted Bailey, “Did the meat wagon do a pick up yet?” True love may have changed Barb into a more affectionate person, but it certainly didn’t refine her.
Anderson Payne, who had inched a little closer to Barb when she said ‘pond’, answered, “I came early and saw the Coroner’s vehicle leaving; so yes, they have picked up the body.”
There was a collective groan in the tour group, but they continued to watch the events with fascination. There was even a round of applause when the top of the gazebo was lifted and placed on the flat deck truck.
Trudy-Faye was congratulated so many times for having the Hospice as the first stop on the tour, that she lost count. She also lost her urge to scream so that by the time the group arrived at Gracie’s home, Trudy-Faye was in such a sunny mood that she ate a bowl of potato leek soup without heating it up.
The cats were not in a sunny mood. All through the meal they were yowling about the indignity of being locked up in the spare bedroom.
Gracie asked all her guests if they would mind if the cats were let out, and they all said it would be fine.
Zoey and Frank skittered across the hardwood floor and ran to the front door, where they each began a love affair with the footwear. Frank tried to stuff his whole body into a pair of boots while Zoey lay contently on a pair of loafers while she sniffed a pair of flats.
For those people who had never seen hairless cats, it was another worthy experience in a day of unique events. Some actually thought Gracie had released large rats from the room! Others fell in love with the warmth of their skin when the kitties decided to visit and deigned to be patted.
Anderson Payne, in particular, was converted. Zoey and Frank showed him such extra love that he got down on his hands and knees to talk to them, just as he did with his fish. Both felines head butted him several times to show their approval of this nice smelling man.
But when the phone rang, it broke the spell. The cats retreated to the spare bedroom, dug under the covers of the bed and went to sleep.
“Is this Gracie Noseworthy? The investigator?” the husky voice asked.
“Yes, please hold for a minute.”
Gracie thanked her guests for coming and asked them to sign the guest book and show themselves out.
“And, oh, please take some rhubarb and strawberries home with you! I have some bags filled at the front door. First come first served!”
She too retreated to the spare bedroom, grabbed a pen and paper and returned to the call.
“Go ahead please.”
“Hi. This is Conrad Jeffries. My Mom lives here. She’s not answering her phone or her front door when I went over there today. I’m wondering if you could see why.”
“Hello Conrad Jeffries. Could it be that she just wants some alone time and is ignoring you?”
Gracie heard a big sigh. “That’s the problem in a nutshell,” said Conrad sadly, “She told me this week she needed to be alone to fight a battle only she could fight.”
“Yes?” Gracie prompted. She heard another big sigh.
“Mother told me the ‘microwaves’ were taking over and trying to freeze her to death. Every week it’s something else. Last week, her plants were terribly sick; too sick for co
mpany. The week before the ‘neighborhood hoodlums had stolen her car’ and she had to file a police report. Mom has never driven in her life. She doesn’t have a car. I’m trying to get her into a care home, but she isn’t opening the door to anyone, let alone a Community Nurse to assess her. She distrusts any medical professional and for good reason. She’s had quite a turbulent history with them.”
“I’m so sorry Conrad and please call me Gracie. Have you asked the police to do a wellness check?”
“I would, but I’ve had problems with the police in the past. I’m afraid they wouldn’t take me seriously. Gracie, I think they would think I’m trying to kick my poor old Mom out of her home so I would have somewhere to live.”
Gracie heard her company leaving. She also heard the embarrassment in Conrad Jeffries voice.
“Please Conrad, tell me the whole story so I can see if you should hire me and why you think the police won’t believe you.”
“I just got out of prison. Many years ago, with my Mom in and out of mental hospitals, my Sister Mary-Anne and I decided that living anywhere would be better than living at home.”
“How young were you when you made that life decision? I take it your Dad was no longer in the picture?”
At the mention of the word Dad, both cats peered out from the covers. Gracie and Ted had fallen into the habit of referring to Ted as their Dad. They loved Ted and raced out of the room to look for him. Gracie ran out as well to make sure the front door was firmly shut. It was.
Not finding Ted at the front door, the cats continued to search. They checked under each dining room chair and hopped up on the table to sniff around a flower arrangement just to make sure Ted hadn’t fallen in. While Gracie continued to talk to Conrad, Frank was able to sneak up on the kitchen counter and stick his nose into the dishes that had been cleared from the table, but not washed. Not finding Ted, he jumped down and headed to the front door again and began checking Gracie’s shoes in earnest. Zoey sat down, looked over her shoulder at Frank, pronounced him an idiot and began an extensive grooming session.
Other than therapy in prison, Conrad hadn’t discussed his upbringing with anyone. He found it easy to talk to this Gracie Noseworthy.
Gore in the Garden Page 8
