“So. Glad. To. Help.” Mabel’s radiant face brightened an already beautiful morning. The ruby throated hummingbird fluttering around the roses behind their bench added to the magic.
It suddenly became quite clear to Darci why there hadn’t been any weeds to pull. “Do you come out this early every morning?”
“Yes.” Mabel nodded. “Early riser. All my life.” Her speech seemed to flow a little quicker as her comfort level rose.
“You know, Hoyt and me had just about convinced ourselves we had garden fairies, sprites or whatever they’re called, since this place hasn’t needed much tending.”
Mabel glanced sheepishly at her shoes, then peered up through dancing blue eyes. A grin twisted the right side of her mouth.
“You’ve been pulling all those weeds for us, haven’t you?” Darci was overcome by admiration for Mabel, amazed by the things she accomplished in the early morning hours all by herself. The exercises her doctors told her to do, Mabel most likely thought of as silly and frivolous; gardening was good honest work, something that obviously made her feel useful.
Mabel nodded. “Love flowers. Always. Gardening, is fun.” She gazed at Darci, pleading with her eyes. “Alright to. Keep on. Helping? Please.”
“Of course it’s alright, Miss Mabel.” Darci patted Mabel’s elbow and struggled to blink back the tears tickling her ducts. “And you don’t have to ask me if it’s okay. You live here, for goodness sake, and seem to be doing a better job than I could. Please keep on doing anything you like.”
Wade rolled down the window when Darci glanced his way, a smirk on his face as he pointed to his watch. She waved to him, then said her goodbyes to Mabel.
When she arrived at the shop that morning, Darci decided it would be a good idea to call Golden Days Retirement Home. Even though Mabel seemed perfectly safe alone, she thought she should let someone in charge know about her habit of venturing outside early each morning. She dialed the number, but felt like a big tattletale and disconnected the call twice before letting it ring.
“I appreciate your calling, but I’m already aware of Mrs. Guthrie’s activities.” Vera Thompkins’ jovial voice made Darci glad she’d dialed the phone. “You see, since many residents keep odd hours, either rising with the chickens or staying up playing solitaire all night, nurses make rounds twenty-four hours a day to keep an eye on everybody. I’m so glad to hear that her gardening doesn’t bother you. Some people would’ve thought she was just some old busybody trying to interfere with your job.”
“Oh, I don’t feel that way at all. I just wanted to let you know she was out and about that early, well, just so maybe you could look out every now and then, in case she overexerts herself or anything.”
“You don’t have to worry about Mrs. Guthrie,” Mrs. Tompkins assured her. “Since she started working with the plants a few weeks ago, you simply wouldn’t believe how much she’s come out of her shell. The partial paralysis made her very self-conscious about the way she moved and spoke. In the fourteen or so months she’s lived with us, she kept to herself. Hardly ever said a word, except when her family came to visit.”
“Oh, that’s so sad. The few times I’ve been around her, it’s been easy to see she’s still full of life.” The lady Darci saw chasing squirrels up a tree this morning certainly wasn’t ready for a rocking chair in some dark corner.
“But that’s just it. These past few weeks, Mrs. Guthrie is a new person. The yard work seems to give her confidence. Bernice-always into everything Bernice, God bless her-caught her pulling weeds one morning. I think the time sort of got away from Mabel that day, since she used to stop around seven to keep from being noticed. Anyway, Bernice told some of the others what had ‘lit the fire under Mabel’s butt’, as she put it. When people start talking to her about gardening and things, she seems to forget herself and loosens up a bit.”
“That’s good to know, that she’s feeling better and letting herself make friends.” Darci smiled, imagining Mabel schmoozing with the other folks she’d met at Golden Days.
“She had a doctor’s appointment last week and he couldn’t believe the progress she’s made. Her speech is getting a little faster, and the extra talking seems to help her facial muscles, too. Her limp hasn’t improved, but she’s gained a bit of mobility in her left hand. She’s always been able to move her arm, she just didn’t have much control over it. Now her wrist is more flexible and she can wiggle her fingers. The physical improvements are wonderful, but it’s the social progress that I’m most happy about. She used to stay in her bedroom after supper each night, wouldn’t join in the evening activities. Now she’s a night owl and watches television in the common room. I think Chelsea Lately is her favorite, if you can believe it.”
“Well, she does seem awful spunky.” Darci chuckled at the idea of proper Miss Mabel watching the racy late night talk show.
“And she’s joining in other activities, as well.” Pride rang through Mrs. Tompkins’ voice. “She interacts with some of the volunteers and plays checkers. And you would not believe the beautiful sewing she does with our quilting circle. Her left hand is just mobile enough to hold a thimble under the quilt top and push the needle back up. Her right hand is as talented at stitching as it ever was. You’ll have to come take a look at the gorgeous engagement ring quilt the ladies are working on.”
Darci did just that when she popped by during the middle of the afternoon on her way back from picking up supplies. Mabel, Bernice, and about six other people sat clustered around the television watching General Hospital. The ladies hardly took their eyes off the set, elbowing each other when Luke conned the Quartermaines and blushing during Sonny’s love scene. After the soap opera went off, the quilters were more than happy to show her their latest project.
The quilt was exquisite enough to hang in a gallery, but Darci thought Mabel Guthrie was the most beautiful thing in the room. Standing in the center of her friends, she smiled with the unparalyzed half of her face. The left side seemed to move just a bit more than the last time she’d seen her. Darci hoped it was from all the smiling.
“Aaargh!”
“What the hell is wrong?” Startled out of a sound sleep, Wade sent the alarm clock clattering to the floor when he reached for the lamp on the nightstand.
The light helped Darci orient herself. She sat up in bed hugging her pillow. Sweat plastered her bangs to her forehead.
“Sorry, I just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”
Wade gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned off the lamp. “Night, Hon. Sweet dreams.”
With the covers around her shoulders, she snuggled her back up next to Wade to remind herself she wasn’t alone. She tried to go back to sleep, but blurred fragments of her strange dream crept through her thoughts. There was a coffin with horses walking around it, big red leaves scattered underneath, a jar of bacon fat, and a man wearing a dress and bright pink blusher.
“Oh my God.” Darci bolted out of bed, pulling on her housecoat as she hurried downstairs. “Ricin, castor plant, mole beans . . . . That has to be it.”
Seated in the recliner, she snatched up a book from the coffee table and opened it to the page bookmarked with a Hershey’s candy bar wrapper. Her finger skimmed the paragraphs underneath color pictures of a plant with the genus species Ricinus communis. Castor plant was the name of the leafy vegetation she’d seen when she took the level to Wade at his work site. It grew four to six feet in height and flourished in full sun, with maroon-tinted leaves that consisted of five to nine lobes. People set the toxic plants, commonly known as mole bean, in areas of their yard plagued by pests. The beans, also referred to as seeds, held the most concentrated level of poison, but one nibble on any part of the plant, and the mole, shrews, or any other living thing would drop deader than a doornail. The picture of the plant’s seeds, about the size of a dime, reminded Darci of big fat ticks.
Under the ‘uses’ subheading, she learned the laxative called castor oil came from the mole bean plant. The
word ‘caution’ printed in bold red letters drew her attention, and she gasped when she found what she’d jumped out of her cozy bed to look for. The volume urged people with small children and pets not to plant Ricinus communis on their property, since ingesting even a small piece of any part of the plant could be fatal.
She read the next sentence out loud. “The poison, known as ricin, is similar in molecular structure to anthrax, is one thousand times deadlier than cobra venom, and has no known antidote.” Her voice seemed to echo in the quiet room, which spooked her even more.
Darci fidgeted with the sash on her robe, rolling and unrolling the end into a ball, and mulled over the significance of what she’d just read. After a while, she went to the kitchen and took an antihistamine; she wasn’t having an allergic reaction to anything, but knew swallowing the pill was the only way she’d get back to sleep. It looked like tomorrow was going to be a busy day.
Darci pushed the doorbell, then stood back waiting for the door to open. She shifted the paper bag of extra cabinet knobs she’d asked Wade for this morning, when she explained she needed an excuse to drop by Mrs. Nolan’s to ask for some plant clippings. Of course she hadn’t bothered to tell him exactly why she needed them, since she didn’t have time to listen to a lecture about minding her own business.
“Good morning.” Teresa Nolan opened the door, a smile on her face and a mixing bowl in her hands. She continued stirring but elbowed the door open further. “Come on in, Darci.”
“Sorry to bother you, I can see you’re busy with your baking and all, but Wade asked me to drop off these leftover pieces for your kitchen cabinets.” Darci followed her into the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter. Her nose twitched right before her stomach growled. The scent of chocolate cupcakes Teresa Nolan pulled out of the oven reminded her that she’d skipped breakfast.
“Thank you. You never know when you’ll need spare parts.” Teresa iced a cupcake that had been cooling on the rack, then held it out to her unexpected guest. “Here, I could use a taste tester.”
“Um, tank oo,” Darci mumbled through the huge bite in her mouth. The chocolate cupcake with cherry icing was heaven to her taste buds. “Delicious.” She swallowed. “While I’m here, I wanted to ask you if it would be alright if I took a few cutting from your yard.”
“I could probably do you one better.” Teresa beamed with pride. Like most gardeners, she was more than happy to share the fruits of her labor of love. “I’ve collected seeds for years, so tell me which plants you like, and I’ll fix you right up.” She pulled a cardboard box from a cabinet under the sink, then took the lid off to show hundreds of plastic baggies, each neatly labeled. Some held tiny specks, others whole dried pods.
“I wish I was this organized.” Darci’s fingers glided over the baggies, lost for a minute in some of the rare flower varieties she saw. “That plant with the big reddish leaves has been on my mind since the last time I was here, the one with the spiked pods. And I’d love some of these Chinese House seeds, too, if you could spare a few.”
“Big red leaves,” Teresa said, thinking. “Oh, you mean my mole beans! Sure, I’ve got a lot of those. It’s fun to trade seeds, and I’ve sold some on eBay when I get bored in the winter.” She took a larger bag from the edge of the box. “I’m sure you know, but these are easy as pie to grow. My dad used to just drop ‘em in holes in the yard to get rid of moles and such. The plants just pretty much take care of themselves. Here you go.” She handed Darci an envelope she’d just filled with seeds similar to dried pinto beans, along with another that contained the other seeds she asked about, plus a few four o’clocks Teresa threw in.
On the way back to the front door, Darci decided to ask a question, and hoped she wouldn’t stick her foot in her mouth. “Are your kids and their girlfriends seeds collectors too?”
“No, but I’m hoping to train a grandbaby to, whenever my son finds a nice girl to settle down with. If that ever happens.” Teresa raised her eyebrows. “The ones he goes for only care about collecting clothes and jewelry.”
The phone rang in the Nolan home just as Darci stepped outside, her morning mission accomplished. Seeds worked out even better than clippings, since they’d keep better, plus show which plants had been on the property for at least a few years. She couldn’t wait to show Max.
She sent him a quick text before she pulled out of Teresa’s driveway, to ask him to swing by Petal Pushers when he got off work. Her phone beeped with his reply a few minutes later, but she waited to read it until after she parked beside her shop.
‘Love 2, but I’m busier than a one legged man in a butt kickin contest. :) Rain check til day after tomorrow?’
Well, it looked like she’d have to wait to tell him her news, but that might not be a bad thing. She could mull over the facts and make sure her hunch was right before she spoke with him. Last thing she wanted to do was stir up a stink, pointing fingers at innocent people because she let her imagination run wild, though she was pretty dang sure that wasn’t the case.
‘Sure thing.’ Darci’s thumbs pecked across her phone’s qwerty keyboard. ‘Don’t work too hard. Tell Mae hi for me. Love, Darci’
That afternoon, the printer spit out some papers as Darci logged off the computer. She took them from the tray, tapped the bottom edges on her desk to straighten the stack, then tucked them in the bottom drawer beside the envelope full of seeds Teresa gave her earlier.
After she stood up and stretched, still sleepy from being up half the night before, Darci spotted Paxton’s mitt in the corner of the shop, right where he’d left it between yesterday’s Little League practice and fishing with his dad. When she picked it up, a baseball nestled inside plopped out and rolled across her foot.
She ran her fingertips over the rawhide stitching. Paxton spent a few minutes the night before each game polishing his glove with the neem oil his coach recommended. The boy convinced himself that if he skipped this ritual, they’d lose for sure. Each win meant free ice cream from the coach, with three in a row guaranteeing a pizza deliveryman would show up after the game, toting cheese and pepperoni pies for the whole team. Darci thought it was cute, and realized she was lucky Paxton didn’t copy some of the stranger quirks from the big league guys, like not changing his underwear when they were on a winning streak. She shuddered, imagining the nastiness of two-week-old underwear on a pack of little boys. Yuck. She slipped the mitt onto her hand and tossed the ball into it.
Hoyt walked in through the side door. He’d been out making deliveries, but grinned when he noticed the sports equipment. “Gearing up for a ball game, Boss Lady?”
“Not exactly.” Darci giggled at the thought of her clumsy self on a baseball diamond, fumbling the ball each time she touched it. “Paxton forgot this when he left. Here, catch. And don’t call me Boss Lady.” She pitched him an underhanded toss, which he easily caught.
Hoyt pitched it back to her, apparently forgetting she had no sports skills whatsoever. The phone rang as the ball slid out of his grip, rocketing to the place where his boss had stood until she moved to answer the ring. “Uh oh.” The ball crunched into the wall. Darci made a shushing motion when he tried to get her attention, so he trudged over and inspected the damage.
The ball was stuck in the drywall. When Hoyt touched it, it fell through to the inside, where it bounced a few times, ricocheting off the beams before coming to a rest.
“Damn, it’s cold in here.” Hoyt rubbed his bare arms, then crossed the floor to check the thermostat. “Hey, I think this thing’s broke,” he said, but Darci frowned and shushed him again. He shrugged, but waited for her to get off the phone.
“Um, sorry about that.” He pointed toward the wall when she finished jotting down the order and sat the pencil down on the counter beside her notepad.
“Eww.” Darci’s face matched Hoyt’s wince. “Guess we’re both grounded, huh.” She took a deep breath, reminding herself she slept with the carpenter who’d be fixing the hole. Lucky to dodge an added o
ut-of-pocket expense, she smiled at Hoyt, then noticed he wore the same wide-eyed frown Paxton did when he knew he was in trouble. “Kidding! It was my fault anyway, so don’t look so worried. Wade can fix this the next time he has a few free minutes. We’ll just cover it up until then.”
She reached under the counter to pick up the previous month’s copy of her favorite gardening magazine and a pair of scissors. “I know just the perfect camouflage.” She flipped through the glossy pages until she came to a full-page photograph of an English knot garden, then snipped it out and placed it face down in front of her. She looped Scotch tape into little circles to function as double-sided adhesive, which she put in each corner, smoothed the pin-up over the hole, then turned to Hoyt. “Voila. Nobody will be the wiser.”
She called to Hoyt again before he walked out back to water the vegetable slips. “We might not ought to mention how this happened in front of Paxton. I sort of have a rule about not playing ball inside, and I don’t want to give the boy any excuse to break it.”
“No problem. I got your back.” Hoyt winked and pointed to her with both index fingers. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t know anything except that hole was a work related mishap.”
“Way to cover for your boss there, Hoyt.”
Bright and early the next morning, Darci muttered a few choice words as she stomped across the yard to the outdoor display set up on the porthole side of the shop. As she drove up to Petal Pushers, she’d noticed the upside down flowerpots that were supposed to be on top of the straw bales, the cute Back to School sign she made from an old chalkboard now cattywampus on the ground between them.
Hand on hip, she shook her head at the mess. The last storm blew through days ago, and the slight summer breeze that barely moved the leaves overhead was far too weak to budge full terra cotta pots. Probably just some kids’ bad idea of a prank, or maybe a few damn drunken morons couldn’t find anything better to do last night.
Poison, Perennials, and a Poltergeist (The Petal Pushers Mystery Series) Page 11
