Ashes of Roses

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “You’re doing great,” I encouraged him. He didn’t respond, but he did retrieve a large key from the pocket. We both watched as it slowly rotated in front of us.

  “Would you care to guess which room this unlocks?” Miles asked grimly. As the key turned, the label was revealed.

  “Twenty-seven west,” I read, as a cold feeling crept to the pit of my stomach, and clutched it tightly. “The room assigned to you. So who gave it to him?”

  “Our list of suspects consists of those who had access,” Miles replied. “That may or may not narrow it down much.”

  The key came to rest on the wallet, then both slid back into the pocket, and the coat flap settled in place.

  “Will there be anything else?” Miles asked.

  “I can’t think of anything,” I answered.

  “Good,” Miles replied, and I stifled a laugh. “Once the crime scene is back in order, I’ll call Edmund.”

  Harry Price returned to his place on the rose cuttings, then the shroud of shredded branches and leaves condensed, and covered the body once more. Except for the soles of his feet. Otherwise, what reason would we have to believe there was a body buried there?

  “We’ll need to act surprised when we hear who the victim is,” I said. “Or is that lying?”

  “Stick with somber concern for the loss of human life,” Miles replied. “That’s truthful enough, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I agreed, as he turned and hugged me, before scrolling through his contacts list for Sir Edmund’s number.

  “Act like you’ve had enough for one day,” Miles added. “You have, haven’t you? Then again, you weren’t the one ordered to riffle through a dead man’s clothing…”

  Miles tapped the screen of his phone, then held it to his ear. A moment later, the sound of Sir Edmund’s voice sounded faintly, as he answered.

  “Hi Edmund, it’s Miles.”

  Sir Edmund replied, but I couldn’t make out his words.

  “Quite possibly,” Miles responded.

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then a sharp retort.

  “No, I’m not joking. Contact the authorities, and tell them we need forensics back out here. There’s a body buried in one of the compost piles.”

  There was another exclamation.

  “Anika and I were checking out a theory. No, this isn’t what we expected to find. We did, however, and the sooner forensics examines the scene, the better. Yes, we’ll wait here, though I won’t promise to look neither to the right nor to the left, as we do. True, but if there are bodies to be found, wouldn’t you prefer them to be? Ignorance isn’t bliss in that regard. Not for long, anyway. Alright. See you then.”

  Miles ended his call, then reactivated the flashlight app, and aimed the beam at the building.

  “Good thing you didn’t promise,” I remarked.

  “That wouldn’t be very kind now, would it?” he replied, as he led the way to the door.

  “To who?” I wondered.

  “To you,” he said, as the knob turned easily in his hand. “If your curiosity hasn’t kicked in yet, it’s only a matter of time.”

  The door swung open, and with a click, the outside light burst forth. Miles panned the beam of his cellphone in a slow arc around the inside of the building, and it caught the cords hanging in a row from the ceiling. With several more clicks, the interior and its contents were revealed.

  Bags of lawn, tree, and other fertilizers occupied pallets on one side of the room, along with wheelbarrows, carts, and tools of various kinds. Cabinets filled one wall, as did a large utility sink, and a closed door led to a walled-off section of the large space. A chipper shredder, lawnmowers, weed-whackers, a Bobcat—

  “Oh! The tire tread,” I pointed, as I tugged Miles in that direction. “Is it the same? I mean, it would have to be!”

  “I can’t imagine the person who buried Harry Price brought their own,” Miles replied. “And yes, the tread matches. There are also fragments of rose leaves stuck to the plow. Now what I’d like to know, is if the key is inside.”

  “Because if it is, it opens up the list of possible suspects,” I understood.

  “If it isn’t, then that narrows it, and supports the theory that destroying the hybrids, killing Harry Price, and burying him in the freshly compiled compost pile, was perpetrated by one of the gardening staff.”

  We reached the vehicle, and Miles looked inside.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “It’s in the ignition,” Miles reported, as he led me back through the building, and outside. The interior light switched off, and he closed the door behind us.

  “So the list isn’t limited to employees, after all,” I said. “Although that doesn’t mean it wasn’t one, who did all this.”

  “Or a part of it,” Miles replied. “It’s hard to imagine a single individual accomplishing so much, in so little time.”

  At the sound of footsteps hurrying our way, we put off further talk for later. As we watched, the beam of a flashlight appeared, bobbing up and down in the darkness. Soon two more beams joined the first, then Sir Edmund and a couple of officers stepped into the circle of light cast by the building’s outdoor fixture.

  “What’s this about findin’ the missin’ body?” Officer Teddy questioned with concern. I remembered both him and Officer Gordon from last night, and again this morning.

  “There is a body, and you’ll find it right over there,” Miles indicated. “It was buried under the most recent compost pile, and aside from the feet which we inadvertently uncovered, it still is. If it’s the person you’ve been searching for, then there’ll no doubt be injuries consistent with what was found in the greenhouse this morning.”

  The officers nodded, and slowly circled the mound as they examined it and the ground around it, with their flashlight beams. The exterior light wasn’t nearly adequate enough when it came to illuminating the area.

  Sir Edmund turned to look at us.

  “What in heaven’s name possessed you to come all the way out here, and in the dark, no less?” he exclaimed quietly.

  “It wasn’t dark when we got here,” I pointed out. “This wasn’t our original destination, either.”

  “Our intent was to go for a walk,” Miles said. “As we did, Anika and I noticed that a couple of the rose bushes that were in the garden just yesterday, had been removed.”

  “Removed?” Sir Edmund’s eyebrows knit, and he frowned.

  “They were cut to the ground, and the stumps covered over with mulch,” I added.

  “We were certain at least one was a hybrid of Finn’s,” Miles continued. “Considering what occurred at the greenhouse, the missing hybrid sprouts, seeds, record book, plus the timing, we suspected this was more than a case of overzealous pruning.”

  “What in heaven’s name!” Sir Edmund exclaimed in astonishment.

  “We wondered how widespread the removal was,” I said. “Rather than dig through the mulch in every bed looking for stumps, Miles suggested we look for the bushes themselves. Even one or two roses would result in a lot of cuttings, and of course those cuttings had to be somewhere.”

  “Of course,” Sir Edmund agreed, though much as one who’s exceeded his processing limit for the day. Or week. Maybe year.

  “It seemed most likely they’d still be here somewhere,” Miles said. “It was reasonable to assume there was a compost pile on the grounds, and that it would be the least conspicuous place to hide the cuttings. It made sense that the building housing the gardening implements would be behind this stand of trees, and that the compost pile would be nearby.”

  “Perfect sense, of course,” Sir Edmund declared rather desperately.

  “So we found the building, and a very large, very fresh pile of rose clippings,” I said. “It seemed likely those were the remains of Finn’s hybrids. When we realized there were no petals or buds of any kind among the bits of leaves and branches, we were certain. Miles then noticed signs the pile had been moved, or rearranged.”<
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  “Then Anika pointed out the deep tire tracks in the mud,” Miles added.

  “That’s when Miles began to suspect the body might be hidden there,” I interjected. “Moments later, we discovered he was right.”

  Sir Edmund ran his shaking hands through his hair, and struggled to mull that over.

  “It makes perfect sense when you put it that way, but never in a million years would I come to even one of those conclusions!”

  “Well… it’s not like we haven’t had plenty of practice,” I said.

  “Although finding bodies… that’s new,” Miles amended.

  Sir Edmund ran his hands through his hair again. He looked desperate.

  “What in blazes is this all about?” he exclaimed. “What would possess someone to do such a thing? To do any of this!”

  “It’s a reasonable assumption that someone wants the hybrids for themselves,” Miles replied.

  “Then they went about it in a strange way, if they destroyed them all!” Sir Edmund declared.

  “Maybe,” I said. “However, their intent may have been to replicate Finn’s work, and then market the resulting roses as their own. That would explain removing the existing hybrids here at the manor.”

  “It’s possible the perpetrator believed all they needed in order to take credit for Finn’s work, was the book in which he kept a record of his hybrids’ seed and pollen parents,” Miles added. “What they probably didn’t count on, is that he used a code to prevent that very thing.”

  “Then…” Sir Edmund replied, with an uneasy glance over his shoulder, at the shredded heap of once beautiful rose bushes. “It’s Finn buried there, isn’t it.”

  He looked sick, but we couldn’t afford to correct him.

  “We’ll know once the body’s identified,” Miles replied seriously, and I looked appropriately solemn, and concerned. It wasn’t difficult, because I was. What happened to Finn? Where was he? Miles glanced at me. He looked concerned too, and hesitated for a moment as he put his arm around me. His eyes were serious, as he looked back at Sir Edmund. “Make certain the rest of the compost piles are checked.”

  Sir Edmund ran his hands through his hair again, as he looked around.

  “Why weren’t they in the first place, I should like to know!” he exclaimed. Miles looked sympathetic.

  “Well… the rest of you are new to this.”

  “Or were, rather,” Sir Edmund replied wryly.

  More officers arrived on the scene. Miles went over our reason for searching there again, then with the approval of the officer in charge, the two of us headed back to the manor.

  “How are you holding up?” Miles asked gently, as we followed the now moonlit path into the roses once more.

  “Okay, I guess. Just struggling to remember that everything will turn out alright,” I admitted. “Even though that doesn’t always mean it’ll turn out the way I want it to.”

  “And therein lies the struggle,” Miles sympathized.

  “It’s another opportunity to trust, as you always say,” I recalled. “And we’ve got so many reasons to. So I’m going to. And now, I want to talk about something else.”

  “Agreed,” he smiled. “Do you have a topic in mind?”

  “Yes. I need to text Mom, and tell her to get Katharine’s diary from my sister,” I said.

  “Then while you do that, I’ll give Doreen a heads up,” Miles agreed. “I doubt she’ll be inclined to hand it over, otherwise.”

  “No kidding!” I declared.

  We selected a moonlit bench, and composed our texts. Mom was more than happy to collect the diary, and read it for us. Like most women would be, she was thrilled at the opportunity to see a glimpse of the past through another woman’s eyes. Someday my sister would be too, but she had a lot of growing up to do before then.

  I felt much better knowing Katharine’s account of her new marriage and life with James was in my mother’s hands, and out of my sister’s. As for Doreen, nothing made her want to hang onto that diary as much as being told to hand it over to Mom. I don’t know everything she said, but her texts made Miles laugh. A lot. If I wasn’t busy answering Mom’s many questions, I would’ve been reading over his shoulder! Whatever he said in response, my sister decided ultimately to allow our mother to assist.

  I put my phone back in my pocket, and rubbed Miles’ back as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

  “Your sister,” was all he said, with a shake of his head.

  “Will I find her texts as funny as you do?” I wondered, and he smiled.

  “Read them before bed. I have a feeling you’ll find them more exhausting than amusing,” he replied, and I laughed.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Besides making you laugh, did she report anything useful?”

  “She did say it’s possible to profit from developing hybrids. There are growers who will pay for the right to produce, market, and sell promising new strains.”

  “How much can one profit?” I questioned.

  “I suppose that all depends on just how promising a new hybrid is deemed to be,” Miles answered. “Regardless of individual worth, with as many as Finn developed, I expect it would amount to a lot.”

  “Finn’s book was loaded with photos of successful hybrids,” I recalled, and sighed. “It’s some consolation to know that copying those photos is as close as anyone will get to replicating them. Although… what about the seeds? And the young hybrids?”

  “The Isle of Camden likely has some sort of equivalent to a US patent,” Miles replied. “Regardless of the means offered to protect a developer’s intellectual property, without identifying the seed and pollen parents, it will be impossible to obtain.”

  “Good,” I said with grim satisfaction. “Because there’s nothing intellectual about what happened here last night.”

  “No, but despite that, I feel satisfied with all we’ve learned today,” Miles replied. “Bit by bit, we’re making sense of the senseless.”

  “You’re right, we have learned a lot,” I agreed.

  “What does your Mom expect to learn from Katharine’s diary?” Miles questioned. “I’ve no doubt you gave a reason for asking her to read it.”

  “I said we think James and Katharine may have visited here when they went to Europe on their honeymoon. Sometime after that, the families lost touch. If the diary contains anything about their visit, or the Carlisles, we’d like to hear about it.”

  “Excellent,” Miles approved. “Did you offer an explanation for how your sister came to be in possession?”

  “No,” I rolled my eyes a little. “I didn’t offer. That didn’t stop her from asking.”

  “And at that point you ceased texting, or…” he prompted.

  “What, and risk being put on the spot by a phone call? No way,” I declared. “I told her the truth.”

  “The truth,” Miles repeated. “And… she’s not calling. You or me, anyway. I suppose she’s still laughing?”

  “Probably,” I replied. “She thinks I’m hilarious.”

  “Well… you are, sometimes,” he smiled. “You’re also brilliant, as well as brave. Despite my initial concern, being fully truthful with your Mom has made life much easier.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” I dismissed the thought with a wave of my hand, as I relaxed against Miles’ shoulder, and looked up at the stars that glittered brightly in the night sky. “I knew you wouldn’t let anyone institutionalize me.”

  “I pity anyone foolish enough to try,” he said grimly, as he wrapped his arms around me.

  I couldn’t help laughing a little.

  “That’s not the truth,” I declared. “If anyone did, you’d have no pity. Not for them.”

  Miles considered that.

  “You are absolutely right,” he agreed. “I’d have no pity, whatsoever. Whoever they are, they better find something else to do with their time.”

  I smiled, as I scooted a little closer. The night air was decidedly nippy, but between my coat and
Miles’ arms, it wasn’t unpleasantly so.

  “You make me feel safe,” I said.

  “To the best of my ability, I’ll see that you stay that way,” he vowed.

  “That’s the truth,” I smiled.

  We sat watching the stars as they continued to multiply. The fragrance of roses was strong, despite the chill, and I was in no hurry to go inside.

  I felt Miles sigh quietly, and concern immediately kicked in.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he quickly assured me, and I was relieved to know that was the truth.

  “Then what is it?” I questioned.

  “I suppose I feel somewhat haunted by your latest broadcast from the past,” Miles admitted.

  “Oh. Me too,” I understood. “But that isn’t us. I would never do that to you, and you didn’t do that to me.”

  “I know,” Miles assured me. “I’m not personalizing it. But I am bothered by it. Or haunted, might be a more apt description. I fear I shall forever be…”

  I looked up sharply. The light of the moon didn’t reveal all, but Miles looked concerned.

  “Honey…” he said. “Is it just me, or does everything look kind of like it’s… shimmering?”

  My eyes widened and my mind raced, as I turned and wrapped my arms around him.

  “It’s not just you. Hold on, and pay attention!”

  Douglas Carlisle’s heart pounded with pain and rage, as he left behind the woman responsible for inflicting both. He hurried his pace, as if in so doing, he could escape the feelings that tortured. Grief tore at him, and betrayal haunted each step, thwarting any such hope.

  Up one path and down another he strode, caring little as to destination. In time he would seek out his Father, but not while his heart ached with the loss Helen herself imposed.

  Fresh grief assailed, and he hurried on, chased by the memories that declared Helen would never purposefully choose a life apart from him. And yet… fresh memories assured him, she had.

  Afternoon waned as he continued his relentless pacing, then evening took its place. Still he kept on, but as darkness fell, Douglas’ energy at last was spent. Weariness of the physical sort demanded rest, and his body was determined to have it. If only his mind would be so accommodating, he thought ruefully, as he sank onto the nearest bench and took note of his surroundings.