The Diva Digs Up the Dirt

by Krista Davis

  Francie stood by, watching.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Olive paused, her face flushed the color of cherry peppers. “I’m pulling up the monkshood that nearly killed my boy. I won’t have it happen to anyone else. When I planted the monkshood, I was so proud to have an unusual specimen in my garden, and look what it’s brought us—nothing but heartache. Who could have done such a cruel thing to my poor Audie? I won’t let them do it again.”

  I understood her desire to do away with the poisonous plant, but it was Roscoe who had died, not Audie. Digging up the monkshood wouldn’t bring Roscoe back. Then again, maybe she just had to do something. People coped with grief in different ways. “Maybe you could rip out the monkshood in the evening when it’s cooler? Or early tomorrow morning? It’s getting pretty hot out here.”

  “No, it has to be done now.” Olive kept at it. “Francie, watch out for the poison ivy on those hostas.”

  I looked around to be sure I didn’t accidentally brush up against the poison ivy. The three-leaved plants were growing on trees ten feet away but none grew where we stood. “I don’t see any poison ivy here.”

  Olive gestured toward our feet. “It’s scattered through the flower beds. Those hostas one inch from Francie’s feet are loaded with it.”

  I bent over for a closer view. Had she lost her mind? There was no poison ivy growing among the hostas. Clearly, Olive was grieving, and I didn’t see the point in arguing with her about something as unimportant as poison ivy.

  “Don’t you think Audie has been through enough?” I asked. “He just lost his father. Do you want Francie to have to tell him that his mother keeled over and died, too?”

  Olive swatted at a mosquito that buzzed near her ear. “You’re not very tactful, are you?”

  I had to suppress my desire to laugh. Olive wasn’t very good at taking a hint.

  “Honey,” she said, “you are going to have poison ivy on your legs if you let those hosta leaves touch your calves.”

  “Olive, I’m not the expert gardener you are by a long shot, but I’m pretty sure hosta leaves can’t cause a poison ivy rash.”

  “They can if somebody sprinkled them with poison ivy!”

  “Sprinkled? What do you mean?”

  Olive exchanged a desperate look with Francie. “I mean that if a person happened to chop up poison ivy leaves and vines and sprinkled them over plants, that a person dumb enough to rub up against those plants might get a rash from it.”

  I quickly scooted away from the hostas. Never in my life would I have imagined such a thing. “Why might someone sprinkle poison ivy on other plants?” It made no sense to me. As far as I knew, animals weren’t sensitive to it. It wouldn’t keep bunnies from eating plants.

  “Well now, if a person thought her gardens were going to be brutally dug up and entombed under concrete, she might just try to make the garden assassin regret ever having stepped foot into that garden.”

  Francie giggled. “Did it work?”

  Olive pointed a finger at me. “I’m trusting you not to give away my secret. They tell me that Princess Mindy has a raging rash on her right arm.”

  I gulped air. “That’s what I saw on your plants. I thought someone had been weed whacking, but it was bits of poison ivy!”

  Francie and Olive cackled like kooky witches.

  “Exactly when did you do this?” I asked. “Not before the party, I hope. There were children playing back here.”

  “For heaven’s sake! I would never want children to get poison ivy. I snuck back here early in the morning after the party and scattered it. Do you know how many of my friends called to tell me that the new shrew was going to ruin my gardens by pouring concrete over everything?” She gazed around. “It’s all so beautiful and so defenseless. I just helped the garden get even with Mindy. But watch where you step—it will still cause a rash, even all dried up like it is now.”

  The garden had already attacked several people, and it might have placed them at the scene of a crime. I needed to talk to Kenner.

  “You two go inside before you land in the hospital, too. You wouldn’t want to end up sharing a room with Princess Mindy.”

  Olive tied the bag closed and heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at a loss without Roscoe. Heaven knows what Mindy will do to my beautiful gardens now that he’s gone.”

  Francie held out an arm to her, and the two old friends slowly walked across the grass and disappeared around the side of the house.

  I returned to the den. Mars was seated at Roscoe’s desk talking on the phone, the doorbell was ringing, and I could see at least ten people talking quietly in the living room.

  Mars covered the phone and said, “This place is going to be a madhouse soon. Both Mindy and Audie are being released from the hospital.”

  “So quickly?”

  “Mindy’s ready to come home. If I understand the doctor correctly, Audie is showing symptoms of being his father’s son—he’s demanding to come home against his doctor’s advice.”

  “But we think Mindy might have poisoned Audie! Isn’t Kenner going to arrest her?”

  “Shh.” Mars finished his phone conversation and turned to me. “What a pain. I can’t have Mindy and Audie in the same car. I’m picking up Mindy. She’ll be thrilled, I’m sure. Cricket is on her way to pick up Audie.”

  “Deftly done. We’ll need food,” I said. “I’ll see if I can get a couple of people to help serve beverages and man a little buffet, then I’ll go to Old Town and pick up some platters.”

  I pulled out my phone, but between the ringing of Roscoe’s phone and the doorbell, it wasn’t easy to hear. I cut through the living room, and perched on a rocking chair on the front porch. That didn’t work out any better because people kept stopping to chat.

  In spite of the midday sun, I strolled to the shade of the ancient tree towering in Roscoe’s front yard. Happily, I managed to reach Bernie, who promised to deliver platters of assorted cheeses and fruit, a raspberry almond baked brie, a platter of bruschetta topped with pesto and yellow cherry tomatoes, and a large smoked salmon with cream cheese, onions, and bagels. He suggested he include turkey and ham sandwiches for family members who would need something substantial to eat and promised to bring along a couple of tea and coffee urns as well as jugs of sweetened iced tea.

  My next call was to Big Daddy’s Bakery. He said he could put together a tier of cupcakes if we were willing to take what he had on hand—classic coconut, raspberry with chocolate ganache, and lemon meringue. It sounded terrific to me. When he suggested bourbon vanilla, tears came to my eyes. Roscoe would have loved those.

  In the driveway, Mars hopped into his car, no doubt on his way to pick up Mindy.

  I leaned against the trunk of the old tree and buried my face in my hands. I’d kept it together until then, but when Big Daddy mentioned bourbon, the reality of Roscoe’s death finally hit me, and tears cascaded down my cheeks.

  I wiped my eyes and watched people mingle on Roscoe’s front porch. Only a few days ago, he’d been bigger than life, enjoying his friends there.

  Olive and Francie had joined the little crowd milling about the porch. Olive might not like parties and social functions, but it looked to me that she was very much in her element—back in her old home and surrounded by friends. I wondered what would happen when Mindy arrived.

  Taking a deep breath, I braced myself to return to the house. I gazed up at the clear blue sky, hoping Roscoe was watching his friends celebrate his life.

  A curtain moved in one of the dormer windows on the third floor, and suddenly I thought Roscoe might not be the only one watching us.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Dear Natasha,

  I’m into the repurposing movement. Do you have any suggestions for alternatives to store-bought trellises?

  —Wisteria Fan in Beans Cove, Pennsylvania

  Dear Wisteria Fan,

  Discarded wooden ladders are adorable for
that cottage chic look. If you’d like something a little more space-age, look for an old TV antenna. The kind that stood on a roof. Or how about chairs without seats in them?

  —Natasha

  I studied the dormer window where I thought I’d seen movement. Violet was prone to watching from windows. Had she retreated to her room?

  Trying to act casual, which I felt I could do, no matter what Natasha claimed about my acting abilities or lack thereof, I walked up the stairs to the porch, into the foyer, and glided up the stairs to the second floor as if I lived there. I paused for a moment before continuing to the attic floor, where the dormer windows were located. I caught my breath and listened. All the sounds gave the impression of coming from downstairs.

  Glad that I had worn rubber-soled shoes that allowed me to sneak around, I started up the stairs, walking slowly. The third-floor landing wasn’t much to speak of. A hallway branched off to the left and the right. By my calculations, I’d seen movement in a window to my right.

  I passed an open door to a bathroom. Ahead, the doors on both sides of me were closed. I tiptoed to the first one, bowed my head, and jammed my ear against the door to listen.

  A hand swung over my mouth, the door opened, and I was dragged into the room. I fought to open my mouth and bit down hard on the hand.

  It fell away immediately. I turned to find I’d bitten none other than Tommy Lee Kenner.

  He examined his hand and whispered angrily, “You bit me!”

  “You mugged me!” I whispered back.

  “I’m lucky you didn’t draw blood!”

  “Not that lucky. I haven’t had my rabies shot.”

  I whirled around, painfully aware that someone had opened the door for Kenner.

  And there, before my eyes stood Roscoe, back from the dead. A squeal almost escaped me, but Kenner clamped a hand over my mouth again. I kicked backward into his shin, and he grunted.

  Roscoe grumbled, “You two cut it out. We have work to do.”

  I didn’t know whether to smack him or hug him. “How could you do this to your family?” I hissed. I relented and hugged him.

  “They’ll get over it. Don’t forget one of ’em is trying to do the rest of us in. I’m doing this for my family.”

  “We need a favor,” said Kenner, massaging his hand. “To think I was worried about your dog biting me.”

  Roscoe rolled his eyes. “When Mindy gets here, you go downstairs and let people make a fuss about her for a little bit. Then we want you to make a production out of sending her to rest. Got that?”

  “Okay. But I’m not following you. How’s that going to help anything?”

  Roscoe looked glum. He whispered, “Call me a stupid old man, but I don’t want to think that my lovely Mindy tried to kill my only child. Marrying me for my money—I get that. She’s younger and attractive. All I have going for me is money. But trying to murder my son? I don’t think she did it.”

  Kenner sat down on a ladder-back chair. “Whoever poisoned Audie was very determined. We found the same assortment of chopped flowers in a bottle of salad dressing in the guest house. Bits and pieces were also in the trash can. As close as we can tell, the poisoned dressing was made in the guest house kitchen. We’ve replaced the tainted bottle of salad dressing with plain old salad dressing of the same brand. On the way home from the hospital, Mars is going to fill her in about Audie—with a few special details. He’s going to say they don’t know what poisoned Audie because Cricket took care to bring food from home. If Mindy is the one who tampered with the dressing, she’ll want to dispose of the poisoned Italian dressing in the guest house.”

  “But everyone already knows that’s what made Audie sick. She’d be a fool to do that,” I protested.

  “She doesn’t know,” said Roscoe.

  “How is that possible?”

  “She was already in the hospital when Audie was poisoned,” said Kenner. “She knows he was sick, but she doesn’t have any of the details. She didn’t hear you ask what he ate or see you wrap up the trash. She hasn’t heard your theory about her chopping up flowers randomly.”

  “Wait a minute. Are Olive and Francie in on this?” I asked.

  “No one except you and Mars knows about this plan,” said Roscoe.

  I wanted to chew him out for putting Olive, Francie, and Violet through the anguish of believing he was dead. But they would surely do that themselves once the jig was up. I stared at Kenner. “Did you forget that Francie knows all about my theory? I’d be very surprised if she hadn’t told Olive.”

  Roscoe hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I don’t believe this.”

  Kenner settled his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. He lifted it after a minute. “Maybe it will still work. We just have to tell Mars to keep Olive and Francie away from Mindy.”

  “Good luck with that!” I had visions of Olive leaping through the living room with a dagger in her hand, accusing Mindy of trying to kill her baby.

  “Could you call Mars and give him a heads-up about that?” I asked.

  Kenner checked his watch. “Too late. He probably has Mindy in his car by now.”

  “One more little thing,” I said.

  “Aw, what now?” Roscoe slumped into a chair as if he couldn’t take another problem.

  I tapped my wrist. “You probably picked up that poison ivy when you were working around Heath’s corpse. It seems that Olive was afraid Mindy would destroy her garden, so she chopped up poison ivy and sprinkled it through the flower beds.”

  Kenner shuddered. “I’m lucky I only have it in one spot.”

  “Exactly. But you’re not the only one. Mindy must have picked it up on her arm when she was gathering plants for the poison.”

  “Interesting speculation,” said Kenner. “By the way, the police are not in possession of Mindy’s scotch decanter. Someone else must have taken it.”

  “There’s another person who suffered the wrath of Olive’s poison ivy—Cricket.”

  “Now don’t you go bad-mouthing my almost daughter-in-law,” said Roscoe.

  “It’s on her leg,” I explained. “The day Mars and I had lunch with Roscoe and Cricket, Mars thought Cricket was playing footsie with him under the table.”

  “Hah!” Roscoe clamped a hand over his mouth. “I hope nobody heard that,” he whispered.

  “Then, when Mindy fell down the stairs, Cricket came by to pick up Violet. She had a big bag slung over her shoulder, and she kept standing on one foot so she could scratch the back of her leg with her other foot.”

  “A big bag?” said Kenner.

  “A quilted designer duffle bag. They’re very popular.”

  “Big enough to hide a scotch decanter?” Kenner’s eyebrows raised.

  “Plenty big enough.” For once, I thought I could see what he was thinking. “You mean she came by to pick up the evidence, thinking everyone was already at the hospital. She didn’t count on Nina and me being here.”

  Kenner slid his hand along his jawline. “What would Cricket have done with it?”

  “She might still have it.” I had their full attention. “Think about it. She had Violet in her car, so she couldn’t dispose of it on the way to the hospital. She called Audie a little bit later and said the police wanted to talk to him. Good grief! Then she put together a wedding in a big hurry. They had to get a marriage license and arrange for the minister and the violinist—she didn’t have time to drive out in the country and drop it over a bridge like I would have.”

  Kenner squinted at me. “You scare me.”

  I bared my teeth like Daisy. “She didn’t dump it last night because she spent the whole night at the hospital. I think it’s a good bet that it’s still in her car or apartment.”

  Kenner focused on Roscoe. “Is the car in her name or Audie’s?”

  “Audie’s, I think.”

  Frustrated, I whispered, “Who cares?”

  “I do,” said Kenner. “If it’s her car, I need a search warrant. If it’s A
udie’s car, he might give us permission to look inside.”

  Kenner jumped up and strolled to the window.

  “Better be careful,” I cautioned. “That’s how I knew you were up here.”

  Kenner turned to face us. “They’re here. It’s showtime.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Dear Natasha,

  My daughter will be having a tenth birthday party this summer. She’s into being a princess, so that will be our theme. I wanted to plant special annuals in our flower beds that would say “princess” to set the scene, but I’m not coming up with any clever ideas.

  —Princess’s Mom in Maple Shade, New Jersey

  Dear Princess’s Mom,

  How about creating a flower tiara by planting marigolds in the shape of a crown? If you have the room to make it five to seven feet wide, it will create quite an impact.

  —Natasha

  I scrambled to my feet.

  “Don’t forget to tell Mars to keep Olive and Francie away,” said Kenner. “I’ll let you go first, then I’ll sneak down to the guest house and wait.”

  I had my doubts about the plan. It seemed like too many things could go wrong, and an awful lot of it depended on Mars’s performance in the car on the way home from the hospital. Nevertheless, I tiptoed down the stairs, right into Violet.

  “What were you doing up there?” she demanded.

  “I needed a bathroom.” I hurried down to the foyer and out the front door.

  Mindy paraded from the car to the house, acting like a princess. She greeted people and made sad eyes at them.

  I darted to Mars, placed a hand squarely on his chest, and propelled him backward a few steps. “Kenner says you’re to keep Olive and Francie away from Mindy.”

  “Why?”

  “So they won’t give anything away and alert Mindy.”

  “That sounds like they know…”

  “They do, sort of. Go! Go, go, go!”

  I watched Mindy play the role of shattered wife on the porch. She drifted inside, air kissing people. I hurried up the steps.