Best-Laid Plants

by Marty Wingate

  Coral made straight for the bed, slipped off her shoes, and arranged herself sitting up straight against a pile of pillows, her full skirt flowing about her, her toes pointed and hands in her lap. She stared straight ahead.

  Pru pulled a chair up and sat. The silence grew heavy.

  “It’s a lovely room,” Pru said.

  Coral glanced at her surroundings, and her eyes settled on a woven tapestry that nearly covered one wall and depicted a landscape—a wide meadow with dark woods on either side and craggy hills in the near distance. Covering the foreground as if at the viewer’s feet, a carpet of lily of the valley, easy to identify with its wide leaves and sprigs of small white, bell-shaped blooms.

  “That’s Mother’s favorite scene, the meadows,” she said. “We would pack up our tea and Uncle Batty would drag a table out, and we would sit at the end of the Long View and admire it. Even before the garden was finished, she loved that spot best.”

  Pru looked at the work more carefully and realized she’d admired that same view on her first day.

  “I told them stories about the fairies in the wood and the creatures in the meadow,” Coral said, her face warming and her eyes lighting up. “A family of harvest mice lives just at the edge, and every autumn they climb the stalks of the ryegrass and it sways back and forth as they gather its seeds.” Coral’s voice, soft and beguiling, began to draw Pru in—it sounded like the beginning of a story, and she wanted to hear more. “Uncle Batty bought them, the meadows and the fields, and said he would keep them for her forever. But nothing lasts forever, does it?” she asked bleakly.

  Pru had held a tight rein on her emotions throughout the morning, but this glimpse into the story of Batsford Bede and Constance Summersun threatened to undo her.

  “Change isn’t always a bad thing, is it, Coral?”

  Dr. Cherrystone’s voice. He stood at the door, and when Coral heard him, she held out her hands. “Oh, Cherry—look what I’ve done!”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “My dear, I’m so very sorry about this. Look at me now.”Coral obeyed, but her eyes remained distant. “You are in shock. This is a natural thing, and of course you want to blame yourself. But you mustn’t. He was old and unwell. But wasn’t he happy to see you again? Wasn’t he?”

  The doctor might’ve wanted to give Coral a bit of comfort, but, astonishingly, his words had the opposite effect. Tears welled up in her eyes. She covered her mouth as a howl emerged, like a siren gathering steam.

  “What was he doing out there?” she wailed. “Why was he in the garden?”

  “Coral, listen to me,” the doctor said. “I want to give you something so you’ll rest. It’ll ease your mind, and you’ll feel stronger after you sleep.”

  “No, Cherry.” Coral shook her head, loosing a few tears, which she whisked away in a sudden businesslike manner. “No, I don’t want to take anything. Please, I don’t want it. Don’t make me.”

  He looked in her face, his eyes stern and seeking. “Of course I won’t make you, my girl. But you do need to rest. And if you decide later you want something, you let me know. All right?”

  Coral nodded.

  Pru, desperate for a useful task, said, “I’ll just go fetch you a cup of tea.”

  “Are you leaving?” Coral asked, reaching out as if to stop Pru in her tracks.

  “Only for a moment,” Pru said, glancing up to find one of the uniforms standing in the doorway. “Look now, here’s someone to sit with you. It’s PC…” Already the names had gone out of her head.

  “Mills, ma’am,” the woman replied. “Inspector Pearse asked me to look in on you and Ms. Summersun.”

  Despite it all, Pru smiled to hear Christopher’s title restored—although she wasn’t sure how it had happened.

  “I won’t be long,” Pru said to Coral.

  Cherry walked with Pru to the kitchen. “She shouldn’t be left alone in this house.”

  “No, of course not,” Pru replied. “Is there anyone I should call?”

  “No one—apart from Noah. Have you seen him?”

  “Noah…?”

  “Elkington. Solicitor.”

  Pru shook her head.

  “With Batsford gone,” Cherry said, “she’s not a soul in the world that I know of.”

  “Well, I’ll see if…perhaps she could…” Pru was at a loss for ideas—she had no right to invite Coral anywhere, but got the feeling she had just been handed the responsibility.

  “She has always been a bit high-strung,” Cherry said. “Had a difficult time when her mother died, but she seemed to recover after that. But, the next thing we knew she’d gone off again, leaving Batsford to knock about this place all on his own.”

  An image of frail, old Mr. Bede wandering the corridors of Glebe Hall, alone and desolate, came to her, carrying with it an incredible sadness.

  “Did anyone see that young fellow about the place—that Ger Crombie?”

  The doctor’s question sent a chill down Pru’s spine. “He works for Bram? I didn’t—why? Did he know Mr. Bede?”

  “I worry about Bram, you see,” Cherry said. “She’s too trusting—he seems to me rather…shiftless.”

  Perhaps Bram’s trust was misplaced and possibly Ger Crombie had been lurking, but Pru put those issues aside when Christopher emerged from Mr. Bede’s bedroom down the corridor, and stopped at an open door.

  “Could you both come in here?”

  She and the doctor followed Christopher into a small sitting room and to a large window that let in bright light. He held up a plastic bag, and Pru saw a single clear capsule with grayish contents.

  “It was found on the floor behind his bed. Doctor, is it one of Bede’s prescriptions?”

  “It is not. You’ve collected his medication—this is none of my doing.”

  “Do you recognize it?” Christopher asked.

  “I’ve no idea what the contents are, but I can say it looks decidedly”—he cast a dark look at the bag—“homemade.”

  —

  “You found it behind his bed?” Pru asked Christopher after the doctor had gone. “Something he dropped and didn’t notice? Or”—she recalled the conveniently placed stem of monkshood in the courtyard—“was it put there on purpose? Planted.” A gardener’s word, but uncomfortably appropriate in the circumstances.

  “It’s difficult to tell. We’ll have it analyzed,” Christopher said. “But if it isn’t a prescription, does that mean Bede was in the habit of concocting his own medicine?” Christopher held the bag up to the light, but the capsule gave nothing away.

  —

  Pru took a cup of tea—heavily sugared—back to Coral, who accepted it, took a sip, and set it on the table next to her. She remained quiet and seemingly inured to her surroundings.

  “Did your uncle enjoy the Herb Garden?” Pru asked gently. “Was it a favorite morning walk for him?”

  “There were chives in the corner planted in a rectangular pot. Flowers shaped like lollipops. I wonder does it still grow there.”

  Pru had hoped to obtain useful information from Coral about her movements that morning, but she was thwarted by Coral’s wandering mind. Pru gave up, fidgeting with inactivity.

  “Pru”—Christopher stood in the doorway—“can you break away?”

  With relief, Pru replied, “Yes. Could PC Mills come back in?” She leaned over to get into Coral’s field of vision. “I need to leave for a bit, but PC Mills is going to sit with you. Sleep if you’d like, or just rest. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Uncle Batty had a dog when we first moved here,” Coral said. “The sweetest little thing—Crumpet, he was called. A border terrier. He was quite old when he died, and they buried him in one of the corners of the Pool Garden, under the martagon lilies.”

  PC Mills settled in the chair and said to Coral, “Our border terrier likes to swim. Did Crumpet swim?”

  “Oh,” said Coral, smiling at the PC, “he’d often jump in to join us. And when he came out, he’d shake water all ov
er and we’d laugh.”

  Random thoughts bobbed to the surface of the mind after a death, Pru told herself as she left to stand in the dim corridor with Christopher.

  “We’ve visitors,” he said.

  They walked to the front door, which stood open. At the lane behind the blue-and-white police tape that stretched across the drive stood a line of people queued up as if waiting to get into a concert—Bram, Ger Crombie, and Lizzy Sprackling under her hat, plus two more she didn’t recognize.

  Pru hung back in the shadows. “I wonder what they’ve heard,” she said to Christopher. “Do you think we should say something?”

  He nodded. “Yes. But not much.”

  They walked out just as a PC removed the tape to let the ambulance make its slow and silent way out. After it left and the tape had been replaced, Christopher explained to those gathered that Batsford Bede had died, and the police were looking into it because of the “unusual circumstances.”

  “Are you police?” Ger Crombie asked with a scowl.

  “Ger,” Bram said, pulling off her knit cap, “Mr. Bede is dead, and that’s all you can say?”

  “I have been asked by the Gloucester chief constable to help,” Christopher intervened, his eyes never leaving Ger’s face. “As an investigator.” Lead investigator in the murder of Batsford Bede, Pru thought. Or attempted murder—or natural death followed by…Was there such a thing as attempted murder of a corpse?

  “Investi—” It sounded as if Ger attempted a scoff, but he broke under Christopher’s gaze.

  But it wasn’t only Ger Crombie surprised by Christopher’s statement—Pru noticed the reactions of the others—raised eyebrows, shifting feet, cutting glances at one another. Christopher had not introduced himself as a policeman to these villagers, because he hadn’t needed to—he’d been on holiday.

  “How is Coral?” Lizzy asked.

  “Fragile,” Pru said. Lizzy nodded.

  “What can we do?” Bram asked.

  “I’d like to talk with each of you,” Christopher said. “This isn’t a police interview, only a chat. We’ll go into the house.” He didn’t wait for them to answer, only held the blue-and-white tape up. Bram ducked under, and Lizzy walked through the gap. Ger Crombie stood a few feet away, having that moment lit a cigarette. Christopher kept the tape up and after a few quick puffs, Ger threw the cigarette down and ground it out under his boot.

  “You’ll want to take that with you, I’m sure”—Christopher nodded to the discarded butt—“and throw it in the bin.”

  Yew hedges properly sheared appear black-green in even the brightest sunlight, and offer not only a sense of enclosure to a space, but also a soupçon of mystery—who knows what might happen within these four living walls? BB

  Chapter 14

  Sergeant Appledore left the villagers in the kitchen—where two PCs poured the tea—and stayed back in the corridor with Christopher and Pru.

  “Sergeant, I’d like Ms. Parke to sit in as we talk to each of them. She was first on the scene. She may have some insight.”

  Appledore’s eyes widened, and his glance flickered to Pru and back to his new boss. “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “Is that all right with you?” Christopher asked her.

  Pru felt as flabbergasted as the sergeant looked. In the past, she had inadvertently been involved in cases—she may have even stuck her nose where it hadn’t belonged on occasion—but Christopher had never outright asked her to be a part of an investigation.

  “Yes,” she said, an octave higher than normal. She cleared her throat and continued in a more sedate manner. “Of course it’s fine. I’d be happy to.”

  “Tea, Ms. Parke?” asked a PC.

  “Yes, please,” Pru said. “But no sugar. I don’t need it. I’m fine.” She was not the one in shock. She felt Christopher’s hand on her back, and she looked over her shoulder to give him a smile before accepting the cup of tea the PC handed her. She took a swig and winced. Sugar.

  —

  A makeshift interview room had been set up just off the entry in what might have been a small anteroom of sorts, with four chairs assembled round a table—three on one side, one on the other. A low, wood cabinet sat against a wall, and light poured in from three high windows made of leaded glass with a tulip motif in the center of each.

  Lizzy Sprackling volunteered to go first. She laid her hat on her lap—it covered her like a blanket—and for the first time, Pru noticed her small dark eyes and wiry brown-and-gray hair pulled back into a low braid.

  “Will you tell us how he died?” she asked before Christopher could begin. “We all thought he was on the mend. Was Coral here? Did she ring Cherry?”

  “When was the last time you saw Batsford Bede?” Christopher asked.

  “I put my head in one morning last week,” she answered and shrugged, apparently not minding that she’d been thwarted in her pursuit of information. “Just to say hello. I came over with Cyn and left her with him.”

  Earlier, while waiting for the police, Pru had mentioned seeing Cynthia slip into Mr. Bede’s room only the day before. And they’d heard from Natalie, John, and Oliver that Cynthia and Mr. Bede were acquainted. Curious that Cyn hadn’t been standing in the police-tape queue.

  “How did he seem?”

  “We took a turn round the courtyard. He talked about you”—Lizzy nodded at Pru—“and he seemed happy that Coral would think to look you up. Although, a bit chagrined, I suppose—you know, at leaving the garden to its own devices for so long.”

  “You’re just down the lane, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Did you see anything unusual this morning?”

  Lizzy shook her head. “After your run-in with the bull”—she glanced at Pru—“I went back indoors. I had a pan of bullaces on the boil for plum jam, and it doesn’t do to leave them too long.”

  Christopher’s head whipped round to Pru at the mention of the bull. Her face-to-face with Custard had gone clean out of her head until that moment, but now, it came back to her in full force, and she felt his hot, grassy breath on her face. She shook her head at Christopher as if to say it was nothing, and took a long drink of her tea, grateful for its sweetness.

  “You go out walking every morning,” Pru said, “don’t you?”

  “I do indeed—Cyn, Fabia, and I are out at seven o’clock. Except this morning, we didn’t have Cyn. Apart from that, there was nothing unusual.”

  “And how was it that Cynthia missed today’s daily walk?” Christopher asked.

  Pru didn’t know how he managed these police interviews so calmly. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep her face neutral and her eyes on Lizzy.

  “She takes these breaks, you see, three times a year,” Lizzy answered. “Has them all planned out. She calls them her Thirty-Six Hours of Solitude.” The way she said it, Pru could see the title on a leaflet. “Retreats of a sort. Totally on her own. Doesn’t see anyone, doesn’t talk. That’s where she is now—won’t be back until early tomorrow.”

  “We’ll need her details before you go,” the sergeant said. “And also, your walking route.”

  “Shall I draw you a map?” Lizzy asked with a grin. “I’m good at that.” But Appledore didn’t smile back. “Yes, Sergeant, will do. So,” she said to Christopher, “you think someone’s done this to him? But how?”

  “The manner of Mr. Bede’s death has yet to be determined.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone’s thought to ring Noah?”

  —

  Bram changed places with Lizzy. She had little to offer, except condolences.

  “This is a terrible thing. I’m sorry for Coral—did she just come across him and he was already dead?”

  “I found him,” Pru said.

  “How awful for you, Pru! Here in the house?”

  “Where were you this morning, Ms. Bramwell?” the sergeant asked.

  Bram’s gaze darted to Appledore. “I’ve been in the far field since six o’clock. I ha
d no idea something had happened until Ger saw the ambulance up here in the lane.”

  “Was Mr. Crombie with you all morning?”

  “He arrived about eight. Look”—Bram leaned over the table—“has anyone told Mr. Elkington? It’s only, I’d like to speak with him.”

  “We’ll be in touch with the solicitor,” Christopher said.

  Two red spots appeared on Bram’s cheeks. “There will be matters to settle, you see. Mr. Bede’s estate. And what about Cynthia? It’s only that, I didn’t see her this morning.”

  Christopher raised an eyebrow as if mildly surprised. He’s that good, Pru thought.

  “Is there a reason Ms. Mouser should be informed of Mr. Bede’s death?”

  The redness of Bram’s cheeks spread to the rest of her face. “No…I mean, that is…well, you know. It’s the village.”

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Bede?”

  “Oh, er.” Bram’s face scrunched up in concentration. “I’d say it was last Thursday. He liked to keep up with the farm. He liked to hear about my plans.”

  “Thank you,” Christopher said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “You’ll tell Coral I’ll stop in when she’s feeling up to it,” Bram said before she left.

  —

  When Ger Crombie himself came in for his chat, he moved his arrival time at the field an hour earlier. “I was there by seven,” he said gruffly. “Bram wanted the far meadow cut, and I got busy. I don’t know why you’re talking to us about an old man dying—old men die all the time, don’t they?”

  The sergeant straightened his shoulders, and Pru squeezed her hands together in her lap. Christopher didn’t blink.

  “Have you met Batsford Bede?”

  “No.” More snarl than answer.

  “Never?”

  “What would the likes of him be doing with the likes of me?”

  “Where do you live?” Christopher asked, ignoring his question.

  Ger paused. “I’m in a caravan the other side of that copse near Bram’s cottage.”

  “How long have you been in the area?”