by Teresa Trent
“Seriously, that’s still the dead guy’s dirt out there?” Tyler groaned and covered his mouth with his hand as he laughed.
“What’s the difference? Things die in the dirt all the time. I don’t have a problem with it. I think you’re the one with the problem.” The thought of shoveling all that dirt back into the pile was overwhelming. I could take a little dead guy residue.
“I don’t have a problem, you have a problem,” Tyler pointed his finger at me and then broke into another laugh. Ah, the joys of having dinner with teenagers. It’s easy to do as long as you acknowledge to yourself no matter what the topic, decision, arrangement, you are wrong. You were wrong when you walked in, and you’ll be wrong when you walk out.
“So, when will you tell Daisy?” I asked.
My father drummed his fingers on the table. “Tomorrow, I guess. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Did you ever consider he might have been murdered?” I had to put it out there. It seemed like such an open-and-shut case, but Daisy’s words still echoed in my brain.
“Not really. Sadly, I’ve seen my share of suicides. It had all the hallmarks of one.”
“What about the fact that Wade Atwood didn’t leave a note?” If I was going to end my life and that be the last word I ever uttered, I would leave a note so that my family would not blame themselves. It would be my last chance to explain why I did such a stupid and selfish thing. Leaving a note seemed mandatory to me.
Leo nodded, “A guy contemplating suicide doesn’t always think to document his last thoughts. He might have been caught up at the moment, you know.”
“I’d leave a note,” Zach said.
“Of course, you would,” Tyler snarled. Would this sibling banter ever end between these two?
“Well, I’d never get myself into a situation where I’d want to kill myself. So, no need for a note.” My father stared down at his plate. He hadn’t touched a thing.
I added, “I just worry for Daisy. She has so much on her shoulders right now. Did you know she never even finished high school? She has to support Anna on a waitress salary. It’s going to be hard on her. I told her I’d do all I could.”
I felt Leo’s hand touch my back. When I looked in his eyes, there was a slight smile playing on his lips. “We know you’ll help her Betsy. That’s what makes you the Happy Hinter. Always there to make other people’s lives better.”
Whether they like it or not, I thought.
“Ugh. That’s enough of the lovey-dovey at the table,” Tyler said, squirting the remainder of the ketchup on his fries.
My dad smiled at Tyler’s reaction and then continued our earlier conversation. “In answer to your question, I’ll probably head over to Mrs. Atwood’s house just as soon as they are about to officially rule suicide. I figure the sooner she knows, the sooner she can try to sort things out without any financial support coming her way.”
I leaned my head on Leo’s shoulder. Even though being a single parent had been tough, and I was doing fine when I met Leo, I was thankful to have him here with me every day. “Poor Daisy.”
My dad picked up his homemade hamburger. “You just never know what life is going to throw ya.”
CHAPTER 5
As I sat in the meeting room of the community center, I tried not to think of the mess that was my garden. I had been summoned to attend the first of a series of meetings for the gardeners who would be participating in the First Annual Pecan Bayou gardening contest. I arrived a little early, planning to scope out the room and watch the other gardeners as they came in. Of course, Enid Sanford was the second to arrive.
This woman had been gardening for her entire life, as could be seen from her hurt hand and weathered face from spending so many hours in the sun. If I remembered what Rocky told me, she was the one who was famous for a super okra crop. The large bag she carried had strawberries embroidered on the outside, and her hair looked slightly flattened from what I can only guess was a giant floppy gardening hat. As she drew closer, I raised a hand and waved.
“Hi.” She uttered a polite hello back and took her seat. Shortly after, Pastor Green from the community church came in. He wore his standard black clerical shirt with a white collar at the top. Under his arm was his trusty iPad that he now used in every facet of his life, from his sermons to taking notes in a gardening meeting.
“Well, hey there, Betsy. Hey, Enid. Betsy, I didn’t know you gardened.”
“I don’t, actually, but Rocky asked me to do it because the newspaper is sponsoring the contest.”
Enid looked at me suspiciously. “You mean to say you have never gardened?”
“That’s about it. I guess I fit the bill when they say amateur gardening.”
Enid Sanford couldn’t hide a slight smile that played on her lips. You could tell she thought she had this whole contest thing in the bag.
“I think that’s great,” Pastor Green said. “What an excellent opportunity to learn a new skill that will benefit you and your family.”
I’m glad he was happy about it. I tried to stop the image going through my mind of the upturned seeds. I had a feeling that gardens were supposed to be neat and organized. Mine was going to look crazy.
Pastor Green continued, “If there’s anything we could do to help you at all, let us know. Isn’t that right, Enid?”
She pressed her lips together as if being forced to answer in a positive way. “Of course.”
Several more people came in. Enid was joined by Delta Haney, the other woman Rocky had mentioned. Immediately upon sitting, the two of them put their heads together and began to whisper. I was trying to fight my paranoia but was sure they looked back at me a couple of times and whispered some more. Then they giggled. They were sticking together like a pot full of roots. I thought gardeners were kind and loving people who enriched the land around them. Apparently, I was mistaken because these two ladies made me feel like an errant weed about to be eviscerated by a shiny new hoe.
Glory McGiver stood at the front of the room and tapped a gavel on the podium. “May I have your attention, please? Attention please?” she continued, barely overcoming the chatter in the room. “Attention, please.” Her eyes searched the room again, and then she slammed the top of the gavel down on the podium. Bam! The room instantly quieted. She smiled and spoke as if she had just taken in a healthy portion of helium, “Thank you so very much for coming today, everybody.” She glanced toward the door.
“We have so many things to talk about for the First Annual Pecan Bayou gardening contest.” She glanced toward the door again. “Rocky Whitson is supposed to be here any minute. He apologizes for being late. Issues at the newspaper.” She said the last part as if she was treating the dirt turners to the exciting underbelly of the newspaper business.
Glory started passing out papers as she spoke. “I guess we can go ahead and get started. The early bird gets the worm.” The assembled crowd tittered at her gardening humor. “We will be doing our contest over two months’ time. As you can see from the calendars that I’m passing out, we will be doing a check at your individual gardens each week on Sunday afternoons. This will run for eight weeks. We figured that would give you enough time to get your plants to their most beautiful and healthy state. We will be judging on the number of plants and vegetables you have to offer. Everybody has to plant the same type and amount of plants. We’ll be looking at the aesthetic value of your garden. That is for all my would-be designers. And then we will have a couple of prizes for the gardener who spent the least amount of money and the gardener who spent the most amount of money. The grand prize will be for the person who has accumulated more points in all of the categories.”
Rocky came running in during Glory’s speech. “Here’s Rocky now. I just explained to them about the judging parameters of the contest, and I was wondering if you would tell our gardeners about the prizes and the exposure they will get in the Pecan Bayou Gazette.”
Rocky, who looked like he was slightly out of breath, stepped up to th
e podium. “Hello, everybody. Sorry I’m late. Like I always say, headlines wait for no man.” The crowd smiled and nodded appreciatively. Each one of them was possibly dreaming of having their garden above the fold in living color in the Pecan Bayou Gazette. “I would just like to say how tickled pink I am that so many of you are here for the contest. The Gazette has put in its own contestant, Betsy Livingston Fitzpatrick, sitting there in the back row.” He extended a hand toward the crowd; after spotting me, everyone clapped politely. “Now you don’t have to worry about Betsy here. She is a novice gardener, but I wouldn’t underestimate her either. Betsy is someone who spends her life finding better and easier ways to do things. I figure planting a garden would be right up her alley. We can’t wait to see your plants. Have you put any extra things in for your family that will not be a part of the contest? Something special like radishes or maybe Brussels sprouts?”
I was pleased he didn’t mention anything about finding Mr. Atwood in my dirt pile. That was not a subject I wanted to discuss with the ladies from the garden club. I tried to play along. “Yum.” I answered simply, getting approving nods all around.
“If you read the latest edition of the Pecan Bayou Gazette, you know that Betsy’s garden is off with a bang.”
I couldn’t believe he had just said that. Number one it was insensitive, and number two it was just mean. Still, he couldn’t resist a headline. I saw Enid and Delta whispering again, no doubt retelling the story of the man in my dirt.
Rocky continued, “You will probably be pleased to know that each time the judging committee comes around, I will have my photographer there to take pictures of your efforts. So, ladies, make your appointments at the Best Little Hairhouse in Texas because you will be famous.” The crowd rustled again, as excited as a group of junior high girls going to a pop music concert. “I guess I’m the one who gets to say on your marks, get set, plant.”
More polite applause ensued for Rocky’s words. Eunice stepped to the podium and announced to the gathering, “We’ll see all of you soon. We are so looking forward to seeing your beautiful gardens.” As the people started to disperse, Rocky came over to me.
“I just wanted to tell you that interview of yours really zoomed the old circulation. Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“Only that you are an idiot. I can’t believe you just told them what I found in my dirt. The last thing I needed was something else to make me not fit in around here. I don’t know, Rocky, maybe this isn’t right for me.”
“What are you saying? Of course it’s right for you.”
“Don’t you think finding Mr. Atwood in my dirt might have been a little bit of an omen?”
“And now you are the one who’s being an idiot. It’s nothing of the sort. It just happened. A fluke. That’s all.”
My phone buzzed in my purse. I had turned it off before Glory started talking. I read the screen and wasn’t sure who was calling me. I answered it quickly and efficiently just in case some telemarketer had gotten my cell phone number. “Hello.”
“Is this Betsy?”
“Yes, it is.”
I realized it was the voice of Daisy Atwood. “Sorry. You didn’t sound like yourself, Daisy.”
“Daisy Atwood?” Rocky’s ears perked up like a bloodhound on the trail.
“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just didn’t know who else to call.”
“What’s the matter?”
“We just got the coroner’s report back. They’re planning to rule it a suicide. A suicide.” Her voice began to crack. I’d known this was going to happen from my conversation with my father at dinner.
“What am I going to do?”
“I don’t know. Have you learned anything new about Wade’s last days that could give us some answers?”
“No. Not really. It’s been a little crazy here. I guess I’ve been having a hard time with everything. There’s so much to do with the funeral plans and dealing with the insurance, I just haven’t had time. Have you learned anything?”
“Not yet.” I couldn’t imagine the pain she must be going through at this moment. One day she had a husband, and the next day she didn’t.
“Anything that you can find out from your father would be helpful. Okay?”
“Okay. Can I do anything for you right now?”
“No. I’m with my mother. She’s really been wonderful.”
“Okay. But if you need anything, let me know. I promise I’m going to start looking into this, and if there’s any evidence that could point the police in a different direction than suicide, I’m going to find it. I promise.”
“Okay. I have to go. The funeral home wants me to decide on what color suit to put Wade in.” Her voice began to crack again.
“I’ll do all I can Daisy,” I whispered.
“Thank you.”
After getting rid of Rocky, I headed for the Pecan Bayou Police Department to find my dad. The small one-story police station had been home for me for most of my life. Mrs. Thatcher, the police dispatcher, sat filing her nails.
“Good morning, Betsy.”
“Is my dad back there?”
“He’s been swearing at the coffee machine. It seems after thousands of cups of coffee the darn thing has decided to give out.” My dad without his morning coffee was a sure warning sign of incoming clouds. Maybe I could back out and pick him up some coffee before I approached him with my request. Daisy Atwood’s face flashed in my mind. No, I needed to talk to him now.
“Dagnabit.” That didn’t sound too bad. I tentatively approached him.
“Hey, Dad.” He turned, his hands on his hips and his face flushed.
“Just trying to get some coffee.”
“Didn’t you get any at your house?”
“Of course I did, but that was my early morning coffee. Now it is time for my midmorning coffee.” Not to be confused with his afternoon or late-afternoon coffee.
“Let me look at the coffeemaker.”
“I don’t know what you could do that I haven’t done. I’ve already exhausted my vocabulary.”
I went to my father’s computer and pulled out a little can of air he kept in his desk to blow out the dust out of his computer. I returned and sprayed the heating element to remove dust. I restarted the coffeemaker, and it began to perk. “You need to clean your coffeemaker. Add vinegar and water—half and half—and let it run through the cycle. Then let it sit for ten minutes before you rinse it. It should run better after this.”
After I finished my little fix, my dad looked eternally grateful. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted across the room, and my father held his coffee cup directly under the drip.
“Well, you helped me out. What can I do for you today?”
“I just spoke to Daisy Atwood on the phone. She said that she was told her husband’s death was going to be ruled a suicide.”
“That’s right. We are still waiting on the stomach contents. Once we get that, we close the case. I hated that it ended up this way. But, as I said before, that’s where the evidence points.”
“Daisy asked me if there was anything at all that could contest the findings.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Do you still have Wade Atwood’s belongings here?”
“Yes. Investigative professionals call that evidence.”
“If I promise to be extra careful, would you mind if I look at the evidence?”
My dad stroked his chin, contemplating whether he should let me, a civilian, take a look at the belongings of a potential crime victim. I was sure it was against the rules. “How about if you look at the evidence, and I look over your shoulder. That can’t be violating anything.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Come on.”
I followed him into the evidence room, and he pulled out a box with Wade Atwood written on the front.
“Shirt.” He slapped a plastic-wrapped shirt on the counter. “Pants. Underwear. Socks. Shoes. Watch. Cell phone. Wallet. The fin
al effects of Wade Atwood.” I stood with my hands behind me but studied each object. When I came to the cell phone, I asked, “Can I see who the last person was he called?”
“It was Joe at the nursery.”
“And before that?”
“Frankly, I don’t know if we need to know that.” He put on a plastic pair of gloves from a box and pulled the cell phone from its evidence bag. Pulling up the call section, he turned to me. “Grab a piece of paper. Here are the last five numbers he dialed. Why don’t you try to give these numbers a call? Maybe you’ll pick up on something. Now don’t you go and tell anybody where you got these phone numbers, understand? You could endanger any ongoing investigation.”
“I didn’t think it was an investigation. Suicide right?”
“I guess.”
I stuffed the numbers into my wallet, vowing to look them up on the Internet as soon as I got home.
“How was the gardening meeting?”
“Great, if you like feeling like an outsider.”
“No doubt. Some of those folks have better relationships with their roses than with their own families.”
“I suppose.” My phone buzzed. I hoped it wasn’t Daisy Atwood again. To my relief, it was Chickadee’s Learning Academy.
“Betsy, you need to come and get your daughter.”
“Oh no, biting again?”
“Yes. You need to take your child out of the environment again. This is two strikes.”
After promising to get her, I put my phone back in my purse.
“Trouble at Chickadee’s?”
“Biting.”
“Who did she bite?”
“That information has been purposely omitted from the conversation. Miss Aileen is more concerned with punishing the biter. She will only say Coco bit somebody.”
“Who?”
“Like I said, that part is none of our business.”
“Innocent until proven guilty.”
“I don’t think that quite applies to the toddler set. Everybody is guilty of something.”
CHAPTER 6
