Betty's (Little Basement) Garden

by Laurel Dewey

  “Allowed?” he asked. “I don’t understand.” Apparently, Bert hadn’t gotten the memo from the State of Colorado yet. “We’ve been growin’ in our family for generations. It’s in our blood. I never understood how anything could be illegal that came from a seed.”

  “Aren’t you worried about people finding out?” she asked cautiously.

  “Nah. Two of the local cops and a county judge are my best customers.”

  They spent the next hour giving her the grand tour. Betty got a few new tips on pruning and staking the blooming plants, to encourage better growth of the top cola. All in all, it was an unexpectedly successful side trip. And even though she had to drive back to her house in a “beater” Pontiac with a bad muffler, she couldn’t help thinking that, for all that happened, her fifty-ninth birthday ended well.

  But there was that little niggling detail of how Bert and Ernie happened upon her chocolates. All they could tell her was “a friend knew a friend who kinda knew a friend” who either gave or sold them the treats. She sorted through the possibilities of people who could have shared her chocolates. There was Peyton, but she’d only given him a few chocolates here and there. However, he did admit to selling the remainder of his Aunt Peggy’s chocolates that he’d melted down and mixed with his own cannabis butter. That accounted for at least thirty-five chocolates. Then there was Peyton’s pal, Louie at the automotive shop, who sold her the sweet leaf shake and then decided to get out of the business. She gave him ten chocolates, which he might have given to someone else. And there was Buddy – she had certainly given him a tremendous number of chocolates in exchange for his dutiful labor. That was the extent of her suspects, as she knew that Dottie, Doctor Dave and Jean certainly wouldn’t part with their edible stash. All told, there could have been as many as ninety chocolates bouncing around out there from buyer to seller. And somewhere along that path, her first name surfaced as the creator of the cannabis cacao concoctions that apparently made grown men weep in ecstasy.

  While professional pride took a front seat, the back seat was filled with agonizing anxiety, fear and foreboding. How long would it take before someone she knew ran across a “Betty Bullet” or “Betty Buzz” or whatever stoned alliteration someone invented? As she pulled into her driveway right before midnight, with the Pontiac’s muffler waking up every dog and cat on her street, her mind was in a dither.

  Once inside, she dropped her bags at the door, carved a good teaspoonful of the frozen coconut cannabis oil out of the container and let it melt in her mouth. Sleep would salvage her troubled mind and the oil would make sure of that outcome. But then the phone rang. It was past midnight and the only calls one ever received at that hour were not usually jovial. Checking the Caller ID, there it was again. “Private.” A wellspring of resentment issued forth and she picked up the phone.

  “This is Betty Craven!” she announced in the most officious voice she could muster. “What do you want?”

  “Betty…”

  Betty dismounted from her high horse. “Who is this?”

  “Who in the hell do you think it is?” Her words were slurred and she spoke softly.

  “Judi. Are you all right?”

  “Of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

  “Why are you calling me so late? The Caller ID didn’t show your name.”

  “Huh?” She seemed to be having a difficult time focusing. “Oh, I’m on Roger’s home office phone. He set it to private so his patients can’t track him down. Listen, I was going to leave a message. I thought you were gone for your birthday weekend.”

  “I was away. I just got in now.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Judi, what’s going on?”

  “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday before the day was over…” her voice trailed off before she dropped the phone. It took her a long ten seconds to retrieve it and come back on the line. “I gotta talk to you in person about something I found out.”

  Betty’s mouth went dry. “Tell me now.”

  “No…I’ll see you around ten tomorrow morning.”

  “You mean today. Tomorrow is today.”

  “Humph…tomorrow is today…tomorrow is today…That’s deep, Betty.”

  “No, really. It’s past midnight.”

  “Oh…Right…See you today.” And she hung up.

  Betty hung up and ran her tired fingers through her hair. Noting the red blinking light that signaled a message, she hit the play button.

  “Hey, babe,” Jeff said. “Just wanted to make sure you got home okay. Love you.”

  Betty stared at the phone and hit the play button again. She closed her eyes and fell into the embrace of his comforting voice. And yet, she still struggled.

  She climbed the stairs and found her stalwart Ronald resting on his favorite pillow on the bed. He lifted his chin just enough to feel her tickle his jaw before he fell back into slumber. “You doing okay, ol’ fella?” She gradually felt the edge of the cannabis oil take hold and slid under the covers. As sleep quickly took over and her body melted into the mattress, she swore she heard Frankie whisper in her ear.

  ~~~

  “So, how was your weekend of reflection?” Judi asked, as Betty directed her toward the kitchen the next morning.

  “Quite reflective, actually.” Betty offered her a cup of coffee.

  Judi handed her a two-foot square box with a huge bow planted in the center. “Happy birthday.”

  Betty unwrapped the gift to find a bevy of gourmet nuts, expensive truffle oil, caviar and canned delicacies from around the globe, all tucked into a sturdy, large, utilitarian, metal mesh tray. She was taken with the offerings, many of which she adored. But the more she eyed the mesh tray, the more she realized it was the ideal tool for drying cannabis bud. “I love it! Thank you!”

  After a few minutes of awkward chitchat, Judi took a deep breath. “Listen, I think I have a buyer for your chocolate making equipment.”

  Betty’s gut clamped down. “Oh?”

  “Based on what I know you paid for it, I think you’ll be happy with their offer.”

  Betty turned to the sink. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “No. I ate.”

  She glanced back at Judi. “Really? You look hungry.”

  “I’m not hungry. Anyway, I gave the guy your phone number, and he should call you today or tomorrow.”

  Betty’s mind went blank. She noticed Judi’s outfit, along with the linen pants she seemed to live in. “I do love those pants. You really scored –”

  “Scored? That’s not usually a term you would use.”

  “Oh? Humph.”

  “Why are you being evasive about the equipment? I thought you wanted to sell it.” She let out a hard sigh. “Jesus, Betty. I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to be your friend. Why…why is this becoming so difficult lately?”

  Betty saw the true distress in Judi’s eyes. For the first time, she also saw the pain that hung there. She walked back to the kitchen table and rested her hand over Judi’s arm. “I’m sorry, darling. I don’t mean to be evasive. Thank you for putting the word out regarding my equipment.” A thought dove into her mind. “But I actually already have a buyer who is interested. I met her this weekend, in fact.”

  “Where?”

  “Where?”

  “Yeah. Where?”

  “Ouray. The hot springs?”

  “You went to Ouray hot springs for your birthday and you didn’t invite me?”

  Betty was perplexed. “I didn’t know you liked hot springs.”

  “I love hot springs. I was born to soak in a hot spring! I used to carry a travel guide that notated every hot spring in Colorado. That is how much I love hot springs.”

  “I had no idea. Well anyway, I met a woman there and mentioned about the equipment, and she was quite interested.”

  “You’re soaking in the Ouray hot springs and you bring up your chocolate making equipment? Really? How does that just slip into the convers
ation?”

  Betty started to come up with another fabrication when the phone rang. She crossed over to check the Caller ID on the phone but couldn’t find where she’d left the receiver. Two more rings and the voicemail came on.

  “Hey, Betty! It’s me, Peyton!”

  Betty pushed every button on the phone unit in an attempt to mute his voice, but instead, she pushed the button that increased the volume.

  “Wanted to make sure you got home from your getaway,” Peyton continued.

  “Peyton?” Judi said. “Isn’t that the kid Renée said you’re mentoring?”

  “Everything looks good at your place. Did a little watering since some of the plants looked dry…”

  “He was your house sitter?” Judi asked, incredulously.

  “No, no, no,” Betty breathlessly offered, still hunting for the receiver. “Just popped in here and there.”

  Peyton continued. “You might want to check Ronald out. He seems kinda out of it. He was makin’ a whistling sound when I was talking to him yesterday morning.”

  “I could have taken care of Ronald for you,” Judi stressed.

  “Oh, and one thing before I forget,” Peyton pressed on. “I had a little chat with Helen on Saturday afternoon….”

  Oh God no, Betty thought, feverishly trying to figure out how to stop this nightmare, short of unplugging the phone and throwing it through the kitchen window.

  “I think you need to keep an eye on her, Betty. Ever since Ronald took a bite out of her, she doesn’t seem normal…whatever normal is for Helen…”

  Judi looked at Betty. “Ronald bit Helen? I never heard this!”

  “I also noticed some white patches on her,” Peyton added.

  “White patches? What? Why was Helen here on Saturday when you were gone?”

  “I’m not sure what the white patches are, to be honest with you,” Peyton offered, “but I think it’s gotta be some kind of nutrient deficiency.”

  Judi furrowed her brow. “So now this kid’s a doctor?!”

  “Where’s the goddamned phone?!” Betty yelled as she tore into the living room searching for it.

  “Please don’t get worked up like you always do and think she’s gonna die,” Peyton said in a reassuring voice. “She’s probably fine, but she’ll always be high maintenance. Maybe she just needs a big –”

  “Peyton!” Betty quickly said, as she found the phone and cut off the voicemail. “How lovely to hear from you! I have a friend here right now and can’t talk, but let’s connect later on today, okay?”

  Peyton hesitated. “Geez, Betty. You sound kinda like you lost your mind.”

  “You have no idea!” Betty said. “Talk to you soon.” She hung up and walked back into the kitchen.

  Judi was waiting with her arms folded. “Helen needs a big what?”

  “Dose of vitamins.” Betty rested the phone on the cradle. “She has seemed a little out there lately, don’t you agree?” She was trying desperately to keep her voice modulated and free of the high pitch that often signaled deception.

  “Helen has always been out there and disagreeable. But if you think she’s sick, you should confide in me, not that kid! I could talk to Roger and he could prescribe –”

  “No! I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about –”

  “White patches? Where are these patches? I’ve never seen them!”

  “You’re sure you don’t want anything to eat, honey?” It was evident to Betty that the layers of deceit were earning interest by the minute.

  Judi got up and started for the front door. “Roger’s annual summer party is this Sunday. Three o’clock. Our house. I expect you to be there for me.”

  Betty didn’t want to go, but the look on Judi’s face disarmed her. “I’ll bring something.”

  “You don’t have to bring anything.” An odd sadness came over her. “Just bring yourself.” There was a heavy pause. “Please.”

  Betty nodded. “I’ll be there. Hey, you said you wanted to talk to me in person about something you found out?”

  “Oh, right. Thought you should know there’s a rumor going around that someone in your neighborhood is growing pot.”

  Betty steadied herself against the kitchen sink. “Who?”

  “I have no idea. But you might want to keep your eyes open. That kind of crap attracts the kookiest people.”

  Chapter 29

  “You’re searching for that rope.”

  Several days passed and Betty’s anxiety didn’t abate. Even with the regularly nightly doses of her trusted cannabis oil, she found her head swimming during the day. The lies were stacking up like old bricks, one on top of the other. One wrong move and it would all come down in a jagged heap. How could rumors about a grow op have gotten out? Then she wondered if there could possibly be someone else in her little enclave, surreptitiously doing the same thing in their basement? But if not, and the rumor was about her, how in the hell did that information leak?

  And Helen and her “white patches”? Every time Betty remembered that, her anxiety peaked again. But she saved the greatest angst for Jeff. He called twice before she finally got back to him. She was polite and thanked him profusely for a lovely birthday weekend, but she knew he wasn’t stupid. Betty wasn’t giving all of herself. She was pulling back, allowing fear to take over. And every time she felt herself holding back, she detected a little voice in her head saying, “Are you nuts?”

  When he finally showed up on Thursday, saw the beater Pontiac in her driveway and then discovered the story behind it, he was clearly upset she didn’t call him to pick her up that night.

  “I wasn’t even halfway back to Paradox,” he told her. “It was no big deal. I could have come and gotten you!”

  “It’s one thing to catch a ride on your bike to go up a short hill,” Betty said, slightly flustered. “It’s quite another hanging on for dear life for almost thirty miles.”

  He observed her carefully, his face slightly troubled. “What’s going on, Betty?”

  She couldn’t say it, so she opted for something else. “My name is apparently now synonymous with cannabis.” She explained the peculiar evening she spent with Bert and Ernie. “And rumors are flying that ‘someone’ in this neighborhood is growing pot!”

  He listened, but she could tell he knew she wasn’t being completely forthcoming. “Well…okay…so it’s time to come clean with your friends.”

  “Jeff, are you out of your mind?” Her tone was harsh.

  “Actually, no. I’m not. Don’t you have enough stress right, now nurturing these plants and keeping up with all your patients’ needs? Why add to it by continuing all this secrecy?”

  “You know the answer.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said with a somber tenor. “You’re searching for that rope.”

  “What rope?” she questioned, feeling the tinge of resentment.

  “You jumped off the cliff but you landed on a ledge, and now you’re looking for the rope so you can climb back up to the top instead of seeing if you can fly.”

  “Please don’t assume you know everything that’s going through my head. You don’t. You have no idea.”

  His blue eyes traced hers with a subdued gaze. “Don’t do this, Betty,” he said quietly. “Remember what you felt like three months ago? You want to go back to that? Mrs. Elizabeth Cragen? She’s safe, isn’t she? Nobody knows who she is. She can smile, even when she’s dying inside. She can laugh, when all she wants to do is cry. And she can crawl under the covers and hide, until her house falls down around her.”

  “Stop it, please.”

  “Goddammit, Betty,” he said, slight ire building.

  “You’re upset. Maybe you should go.”

  He let out a sigh. “I have to work on Saturday doing inventory. How about on Sunday we go out and –”

  “I can’t. I promised Judi I’d attend their annual summer party.”

  “Right. Judi. She was in the store recently picking up lunch.”

  Of course
, he knew her. This whole relationship started over a jar of “Mama’s Muscle Mojo” that Judi enthusiastically endorsed. He seemed to be waiting for an invitation to join her at the party, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Let’s talk next week when everything’s calmed down, okay?” she stated, feeling the pain of her false smile.

  The next day, she got a call from Jean’s husband Arthur, asking if Betty could whip up fifteen more chocolates with double strength doses in each one. Betty’s heart ached at his request, knowing it wasn’t a good sign that Jean needed another batch so soon. When she told him she couldn’t drive out to their place until Monday, he offered to come to her house on Sunday to pick up the order. Betty stayed up late that night, making Jean’s chocolates. While she was at it, she made a platter of thirty regular chocolates for Judi’s summer soirée.

  Betty spent the entire morning on Saturday tending to her girls. All of the ones in bloom were showing their beautiful buds and starting to exude a scent that resembled a mixture of fruit, berries and skunk. As unappealing as that sounded, Betty loved to breathe in the aroma. There was something revitalizing about it, coupled with the calming hours spent spoiling and talking to her girls. Her front garden might not have had the same crisp, blue-ribbon gleam it usually enjoyed each summer, but her basement full of “weeds” shone like a silver cup. At night, their wide leaves tended to slightly droop as if to signal sleep. But each morning, they lifted upright like chalices, eager to drink in the light. She did spend a little extra time with Helen, the Centennial Blueberry that looked like it was developing into a low hedge, thanks to Ronald’s intensive chew trimming. She noted the vague white patches on a few of Helen’s leaves Peyton had mentioned on his voicemail.

  Out of curiosity, she walked into the veg room and brought Helen’s young clones into the main room, where the natural light made it somewhat easier to check the leaves. To Betty’s dismay, there was another small white patch on one of Helen’s clones. Taking it just outside the sliding glass door, she tried to discern, under the blaze of sunlight, whether she needed to intervene with a spray or resort to another sulfur burn. After debating for another twenty minutes, she decided to bring the young clone upstairs to the kitchen, where she could spend the day soaking in the natural solar rainbow rays that filtered through the custom windows with handcrafted etching. The seven-inch-tall progeny in the one-gallon, black-plastic pot seemed to enjoy the special attention as she caught the heat and colorful reflections whirling melodically around the kitchen. Betty gathered the two separate trays of frozen chocolates and carried them outside and upstairs to the large room above the garage she’d jokingly started calling “The White Violet, Le Deux.” With the precision of an electrical engineer, she patiently decorated each chocolate with refined silver and gold swirls. In the background, Colorado Public Radio’s classical station played a rousing Strauss waltz. She was so deeply engrossed in the moment that she didn’t hear the car pull up behind the beater Pontiac. Nor did she hear the knock on her kitchen door. However, she did hear someone calling her name, just as the kitchen door slammed.