Garden Gazebo Gallivant Copyright © 2016 Shondra C. Longino. All rights reserved.
This eBook is intended for personal use only and may not be reproduced, transmitted, or redistributed in any way without the express written consent of the author.
Garden Gazebo Gallivant is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, organizations, real people - living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. All other events and characters portrayed are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Cover Design by Shondra C. Longino
Prologue
Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue . . .
Old sayings sometimes get a bad rap. Being in use for hundreds of years, they started as an easy and memorable guide for life. But the smarter we got, the sooner those old adages began to be regarded as unscientific or incorrect, even downright silly. And being pinned superstition, or equally as condemning “old wives tales,” certainly didn’t help advocating for anyone to take heed.
And sure, you won’t get stomach cramps if you go swimming less than an hour after eating, or get a windfall of money if the palm of your right hand itches. But c’mon, there must be something to them if they’ve hung around for generations and generations.
So, if we're honest, we all should be able to agree that there are sayings that do have some truth to them. Like “an apple a day, keeps the doctor away”, or “honey calms a cough.”
And some saying have been modernized, and now openly adhered to by millions, for example: “Association brings on assimilation,” is now all the rage under the law of attraction’s maxim “like attracts like.” Thousands follow the saw, and proclaim by just putting good vibes out in the air, good things will come your way.
But what about the old sayings about love? “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” “You can’t buy love.” “You can’t find love, it will find you.”
They too were made to help lovers heal broken hearts, endure love’s entanglements, and to guide them through what every soul longs for. And as of late, I’ve begun to believe that there's something to them. I’m beginning to see that love makes the heart and person strong. Strong enough to make it through anything.
It was Maya Angelou that said “Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.
I think that that's true, even when the road to that destination is paved in murder . . .
Chapter One
Thursday, 6am
Three days before the wedding . . .
It sounded like a dog wailing compilation.
It was sunrise, a pinkish sky still hung over the horizon. The air was crisp and filled with the smell of magnolia from the abundance of trees dotting the greens of the town square that sprouted the flower. I’d taken Cat, Miss Vivee’s wheaten Scottish terrier, and we’d walked to the center of town.
I pulled out my cell to check the time, and noticed the reminder I’d set. I smiled. It was only three days until the big day.
I’d thrown on a pair of sweat pants, a T-shirt and grabbed my dark blue windbreaker jacket to endure the morning chill. Short on time, I still just had to see the progress on the wedding gazebo. After a quick “looksee” as Miss Vivee would say, I’d go back to the Maypop, eat and shower before going to the airport in Augusta. My mother and brother were flying in for the big celebration.
I just couldn’t get enough of visiting the spot where the ceremony would take place. A garden gazebo wedding.
What could be more beautiful?
I walked toward it wanting to see the flowering plants Miss Vivee had directed be put around the gazebo, and the tree we’d planted to commemorate the marriage. I was so excited to see how it was being transformed.
Well I had been . . .
Until the wailing started.
Cat, head tilted, ears perked, tail wagging on high, looked up at me and I looked at her.
“What’s going on, girl? Who’s doing all that barking?”
She let out a bark of her own and took off running.
“I didn’t mean for you to go and see,” I yelled after her. “Cat! Come back here,”
But I don’t think she could hear me over the yelping of the other dogs.
What the hey . . .
“Cat! C’mere, girl,” I yelled out and started chasing after her. But I didn’t get far. I hadn’t even gone twenty-five feet when a pack of dogs (okay maybe not a pack, but more than I cared to see) rounded a corner and came romping my way.
They sprang from the other side of the street, around a slow moving (thank goodness) black car with tinted windows up onto the square greens, and across the grass toward me.
Crap!
I did a U-turn, head in the air, arms pumping, I zigged-zagged across the town square trying to get away from them, but it didn’t take long for them to overtake me. Trying to hop out of their way, the blue, nylon leash of a Saint Bernard loping past wrapped around my ankle, knocked me over, and dragged me a foot or two before the restraint unraveled from my leg. My cell phone went up in the air, and one of those canine creatures loping past, leapt and caught it like a Gold Medal Olympian Frisbee Flying Champ, and was back in the pack without missing a beat.
Crap!
I glanced down to make sure my engagement ring hadn’t been lost in the commotion. My chunk of gems was still new, and I felt for it often. I hadn’t gotten used to it yet. I sighed in relief, the sun refracted off of it and the sparkled created winked at me letting me know it was still there.
“Stop! Stop!” I heard a female voice coming toward me. “Please stop!” it squealed.
I rolled over on my belly and watched a twenty-something, dark haired, baggy jean-wearing, and from the way her arms were flailing, clearly frustrated girl running toward me. “Are you okay?” she asked hurrying over to me. “I don’t know what happened. They just kind of got away from me.” She reached down, anchored her foot into the grass, and pulled me up by my arm.
“They did get away from you,” I said correcting any doubt she had about what happened. Upon standing, I brushed the dirt off, and turned to see the dogs run back across the street from where they originally hailed.
“Why do you have so many dogs?” I said and turned back to her.
“It’s my job,” she said almost indignantly. “I’m the dog walker.”
Not a very good one.
“My pho-” But before I could finish my sentence, she took off.
“I have to go,” she said running. “I have to catch the dogs.”
“They have my phone!” I yelled after her. “And my dog.”
She turned to face me and hunched her shoulders.
What did that mean? Are they just lost forever?
I watched her until she disappeared around a small watershed at the far corner of the square. Then I just stood there, unsure of what to do next – until I heard the dogs. Again. Then I saw them. They were coming my way. Springing from behind a bush at full throttle, they must’ve circled around.
Crap!
I took off zigzagging across the lawn. (I don’t know why because that strategy hadn’t worked for me the first time.) I turned to see them gaining on me, Cat leading the pack. I crisscrossed through the small grove of magnolia trees, headed in the direction of the gazebo, and dived over a bank of bushes. Once I hit the ground, I tucked and rolled landing underneath the gazebo. Out of sight and out of breath. I sucked in gulps of air and tried to keep
as quiet as I could so as not to give away my position. I figured I’d just wait them out. Inept Dog Walker Girl would have to get control of them at some point.
Then I thought about Miss Vivee’s dog. She would kill me if anything happened to Cat.
“Ugh!” I grunted. “I have to go and get that dog.”
I crawled out of my hiding place, stood up and raked the dirt of my hands and backside. Then I listened for the thundering herd of paws, and headed in that direction. Picking up my pace with every thought of Cat taking to the road with the pack, never to be seen again, or worse, coming to a tragic end in a fight with a vicious pit bull. I was nearly at a full trot when my trek came to a sudden, screeching halt. There under a large magnolia tree, right behind the wedding gazebo – face up, one arm splayed – was a dead body.
Crap!
Chapter Two
It was a girl. Young. She looked the same age as that dubious dog walker. She was dressed in a bright yellow jogging suit, the jacket zipped up to her neck. She had a long ponytail that was now sprawled out from her head with a yellow ribbon tied around it. Her right hand holding her left arm.
I absently reached for my phone inside my jacket pocket to call the Sheriff. I wrapped my fingers around it, and yanking it from my overstuffed jacket pocket, a crumpled brown bag fell to the ground, almost on top of Dead Girl.
Geesh! I’ma mess up the crime scene . . .
I looked at my hand, I was holding my wallet. Oh crap! I’d forgotten. I’d lost my phone to the dogs. I bent down to pick up the bag I’d dropped and a bee came buzzing by. I swerved out of its way, and dropped my wallet.
Oh goodness.
I managed to pick up both the paper bag and my wallet without touching Dead Girl and secured both back inside my pocket. I stepped over Dead Girl and plopped down on the black and white wrought iron bench that sat next to her and let out a loud sigh.
I looked down at the body. Her mouth opened, eyes wide, it was like death had been a painful, unexpected surprise.
I nudged her with the toe of my tennis shoe. Nothing.
Darn that Miss Vivee and her destiny divinations. I just can’t deal with anymore dead people.
This just couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not right before the wedding. And I could tell from her face, and age, that it probably wasn’t death by natural cause. It was murder.
I glanced over at the gazebo - now a crime scene – and covered my face with my hands.
“Aaahhhhhh!” Came a scream from behind. It startled me. I jumped, nearly falling from my seat, I caught myself and hopped up. I spun around and saw the dog walker standing at the edge of the bench. She had rounded up the dogs, and somehow got them to stick with her. Then I spied my nearly new, iPhone6 in the mouth of that same St. Bernard that had bowled me over.
Dog Walker Girl covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes as big as Dead Girl’s. “No! No! No!” was her muffled wail. And the dogs echoed her every cry. From scratchy throated howls, to high pitched yowls, they were her back-up chorus. Still whimpering, she backed away and stumbled over one of them.
“Watch out!” I tried to reach forward, over the bench, to catch her from tripping, I was too far away and she spilled over and fell to the ground.
The yowls turned into wails.
Oh my gosh! They’re going to wake up the whole town.
I rounded the bench, and it was my turn to help her up. “Are you okay?” I said.
She nodded. “Yeah. I am.” She sniffed and glanced at Dead Girl. “Is she alright?” she asked me.
“Nooo,” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh!” she moaned and dropped to her knees.
I didn’t know what to say. She seemed pretty upset, and having a hard time staying on her feet. “Did you know her?” I asked and reached down to help her up. Again. This time I walked her to the bench and sat her down.
“Yes,” she said as if it should be obvious to me. “That’s Kimmie.”
“Okaaay. Well we need to get someone over here to help Kimmie.”
She stared at the body and then up at me. “Get her to a hospital?” She started nodding vigorously. “Yeah, that’s a good idea” She swallowed hard and sniffed back her tears. “Can you call 911?”
I glanced over at my phone. It was full of dog saliva. “Yeah,” I said. “We can call for help. I can call the Sheriff-”
“And an ambulance,” she said interrupting me. She swiped her hand across her eyes. “Tell them to hurry.”
No need for an ambulance, I wanted to say. She didn’t seem like she comprehended that “Kimmie” was gone and I didn’t want to be the one to say it out loud.
“I need to use your phone,” I said and stuck out my hand. “I don’t think mine is operable.” I nodded my head toward the wet, sticky Apple glob that Mr. St. Bernard held on to.
“I don’t have a phone!” She was nearly yelling, the realization hitting her like a brick. “Oh, my God, no!” She started shaking her head. “Oh, it was Kimmie!” She looked up at me.
“What was Kimmie?”
“The dogs don’t like my ringtone. I was going to change it, but Kimmie-” she looked at the body. “Kimmie knew how much I liked it and she told me don’t change it, just leave my phone at home. ‘What could happen?’ she had told me.”
“It’s okay,” I said. I didn’t know if I should pat her, or hug her. “Sheriff’s office is right across the square-”
“You can’t leave Kimmie!”
“I have to,” I said. “I have to get help.” I looked at the body and back up at her. “What’s your name?”
“Seppie.”
“Seppie?” I asked.
She sniffed and nodded. “Short for September.”
“Okay, September. I’m Logan.” I pointed to myself. “You stay here with Kimmie.” I pointed to Dead Girl. “I’ll go get help.”
“You go get help,” she said between sobs.
“You can stay here,” I said.
“I’ll stay here,” she repeated. The sobs were getting louder.
“And don’t touch the body.”
“Aaahh, haahhh,” she started wailing. “I won’t touch the body.”
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned “the body.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said.
She nodded. “What about the dogs?” she shouted at me, as if she wasn’t two feet away. She took the bottom of her shirt and wiped her tear stained face.
“You keep the dogs,” I said in a normal voice, wanting to keep us calm. “Except for Cat, I’m taking her with me.” I took off trotting. “C’mon Cat.” She barked and came running. “And try to keep them under control,” I shouted to September over my shoulder.
I don’t think it’s her ringtone that upsets those dogs, I thought as I jogged across the square to the sheriff’s office. She is just a bad dog walker.
And poor Kimmie . . .
“Oh crap!” I said. I’d realized that as soon as Miss Vivee got a whiff of a murder she’d want to try and solve it, wedding be damned. She’d have me pick up her notebook from Hadley’s, her No. 2 pencils, and we be off on a suspect hunt quicker than a cat could lick its behind. Special day, or no special day. And of course, she’d want to drag Mac along.
Why is this happening to me?
I counted up the dead bodies and I sprinted along.
One, Gemma Burke. Two, Oliver Gibson. I numbered them on my fingers. Three, Aaron Coulter. Four, Laura Tyler. Five, Jack Wagner. And I can’t forget Jairo Zacapa. Shoot. I need another hand to count. Jairo is number six, well actually he was numero uno. He was the first dead body I’d seen that hadn’t been two thousand years old.
And now Kimmie.
Number seven.
I slowed down, out of breath from going faster than my usual turtle’s pace. Trying to even out my breathing I knew that this was going to take all of the joy out of my day.
How did my life go so wrong? I thought as I walked the last few feet t
o the police station. Archaeologist turned amateur sleuth? This couldn’t be what was meant to be for me to do.
My mother would have a cardiac arrest if she knew.
I was the only one of her three children to follow in her footsteps and now I’d taken a really bad detour.
My mother! Crap. I had to go and pick her up at the airport. I reached in my pocket for my phone to check the time, but of course it wasn’t there. “Oh. Man.” I thought about that phone chomping dog. I was sure, by now, the inside of my cell phone had been fried. No bowl of rice could ever dry that thing out.
I reached the sheriff’s office, picked up Cat, putting her in my arm, I turned the knob to the door. A tinkle from the little bell over the door announced my arrival.
“Who’s dead now?” Sheriff Lloyd Haynes glanced up at me. He said it as soon as I walked through the door.
How could he know?
I dropped Cat out of my arms and looked down at myself to make sure I hadn’t somehow magically obtained a sign that read, “I Found a Dead Girl at the Gazebo” then turned around and looked behind me to make sure September hadn’t followed me carrying one.
“How’dya know?” I asked.
“That’s the only time I see you, Logan,” he said.
I scrunched up my nose. Not a good impression of anyone to have of me.
“So?” he said. “What you got?”
“It’s Kimmie,” I said.
“That’s who’s dead?”
I nodded. He looked at me for a moment, over at his dispatcher, and then back at me. “Kimmie Hunt?”
“I’m not sure of her last name,” I said.
“How do you know her name?” he asked as he walked over to the coat rack. He plucked his four-dented hat from the knob and placed it on his head.
“Seppie . . . Uhm, September told me.”
“Seppie Love?”
I held up my hands. “I don’t know her last name either.”
“Call the Coroner, Mae Lynn,” he said to the dispatcher. “And no one else,” he seemed to emphasize. “I don’t want no onlookers until I can get her identified and remove the body from the scene . . .” he looked at me up and down spotting the dirt all over me. “Where is she?” he asked.
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