Best-Laid Plants

by Marty Wingate

  “Christopher told me to come through,” Natalie said as she set a large hamper on the table. “He saw Bram walking up the lane and Ger Crombie following along, so he’s waiting. Has something happened?”

  Natalie opened the basket and began to unpack. As Pru watched, she completely lost the thread of the conversation.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “Oh, I thought you might take a bit of food back with you to Fabia and have a decent dinner. It’s only cottage pie—I had it in our freezer. And here, Oliver still has a good crop of salad greens, and this bag is washed and ready. I’d just done a run to the farmshop, but I’m sure you need this more than we do, so there’s bread and cheese and meat and a container of soup—lentil curry. A lemon drizzle cake. And a couple bottles of wine. There you have it—your shopping sorted.”

  Pru threw her arms round Natalie. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.” While Natalie arranged a platter, Pru seized a bread knife and made herself a sandwich.

  “Coral has taken a turn,” she explained, but stopped with a stab of worry. “Wait now, let me check on her.”

  Coral sat on her love seat in silence. She declined a slice of lemon drizzle and didn’t want to lie down.

  Pru returned to the kitchen, and Christopher, coming from the front door, followed her in.

  “Bram has talked with Elkington,” he said.

  “So it’s all right…” She lifted her eyebrows toward Natalie, and Christopher nodded. “Mr. Bede had changed his will,” Pru said. “Seven years ago—after Constance died and Coral had left. She doesn’t get the house, the gardens—she doesn’t get anything.”

  “How awful.” Natalie put a hand to her heart. “But she had come back. I thought he’d forgiven her.”

  “So did I,” Pru said. “So did Coral.”

  “Who wins the lottery, then? “Natalie asked. “Who inherits?”

  Pru worked to keep her voice even. “Cynthia.”

  “Oh, Batsford,” Natalie said. “And Coral had no idea?”

  “None,” Christopher said.

  Natalie tapped a serving spoon on the table.

  “But wait now,” she said. “What about the codicil?”

  I’ve become a great admirer of the American wood aster (Aster divaricatus). It weaves its way through the epimedium and round the base of the red twig dogwood knitting together the scheme, forming one picture out of many pieces. An admirable plant, undeterred by its circumstances. BB

  Chapter 25

  “A codicil? There’s a codicil to Mr. Bede’s will?” Pru asked.

  Bram appeared and ducked under the kitchen door lintel. Ger hovered behind her.

  “A codicil?” she asked, her dark eyebrows raised high. “Does it say anything about my land?”

  “I’m sure you’ll want to ask Mr. Elkington about any details of the estate,” Christopher said to Bram then turned to Pru. “Bram has come by to visit Coral.”

  Pru saw his look: Let’s get them out of here so we can talk.

  “I’m sorry, Bram, Coral’s resting at the moment.”

  “Sure, yes, wouldn’t want to disturb her,” Bram said. “We brought a jar of honey—not my own, but from the fellow who’ll give me bees when it’s time. Ger?” She looked behind her, and Ger held out the jar with both hands. He seemed remarkably subdued, and appeared to want to keep Bram between him and Christopher.

  Pru took the jar, warm from his grasp. “Thank you, I’m sure she’ll enjoy it. And I’ll tell her you’d like to stop in for a visit.” Stop in where? Glebe House didn’t belong to Coral.

  Christopher escorted Bram and Ger out—Pru heard a snick as he threw the latch behind them, mostly likely to keep out any other stray visitors wanting to offer condolences.

  When he returned, Natalie and Pru had settled at the kitchen table. “Bram’s quite concerned that there’s no mention of her leasehold in the will,” he remarked.

  “I don’t suppose there would be, if he hadn’t changed it for seven years—that’s before Bram arrived.”

  “What do you know about a codicil, Natalie?” Christopher asked.

  “I witnessed it,” she answered. “Last Monday week. Batsford rang and asked if I could come to the house and bring my husband along, because he needed two witnesses. My first thought was, oh God, he isn’t marrying Cynthia, is he? But then he said he needed us to witness his signature. Well, John was in London, so I asked if Oliver would do, and Batsford said fine, yes.” Natalie’s face drew up as if remembering. “In fact, what he said was, ‘The gardener—even better.’ ”

  “And you are sure it was a codicil to his will?”

  Natalie nodded. “He told us it was, and we could see that written at the top—but of course, we aren’t required to read the whole thing, only witness his signature with our own. Two pages, handwritten. We initialed the first page after he did, and signed the second along with him.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In his room—the one off the courtyard.”

  “Where was Coral?”

  Natalie raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know—I didn’t see her car.”

  “Monday morning,” Pru said. “She goes to Oxford, has her nails done, reads a story to the children at the bookshop, and does the shopping. That’s where she was the morning he died.”

  Christopher acknowledged the alibi with a brisk nod. “Did you see what he did with the codicil?”

  Natalie stared off into space and then shook her head. “No. He turned it over after we’d signed, thanked us, and said he would take it from there. He seemed reasonably well—dressed and sitting in a chair. Oliver mentioned the hedges being trimmed and Batsford said yes, wasn’t it fortunate that yew is so forgiving of a bitter old man. And that was that.”

  “So, when Elkington put him off,” Pru mused, “Mr. Bede decided to write up the change himself. He really did it this time. But where is it?”

  “And what does it say?”

  Christopher left the kitchen, already on his phone, calling out the Stow constabulary for a new search.

  Pru hurried to finish her sandwich and looked up to see Coral at the door, round eyes vacant and hands hanging limply at her sides.

  “Pru,” she murmured. “I was afraid you’d gone. Hello, Natalie.”

  “Natalie has brought a cottage pie to take back to Mrs. Draycott’s—isn’t that lovely?” Pru asked. But the implied comment about dinners at the B&B didn’t generate even a flicker of recognition from Coral. “Look, I’ve a quick errand to run. Natalie will stay with you.” Pru looked at Natalie hopefully.

  “Shall I put the kettle on?” Natalie asked Coral as she guided her to a chair.

  Thank you, Pru mouthed and caught up with Christopher outside the front door.

  “Appledore rang about Danny Sheridan,” he said.

  It took Pru a moment to place Danny Sheridan, so immersed had she been in Coral’s trials and tribulations.

  “Horse & Groom,” she reminded herself. “What about him?”

  “As it happens, Bede went into the pub on Mondays—Danny’s day off and the day Mick’s on his own.”

  “And so that’s it? Danny’s name off the suspect list?”

  “Sometimes it really is that easy,” Christopher told her. “Now, I need to notify Elkington of the codicil. We had already searched Bede’s room, but we’ll take another look. Probably it’s in the office upstairs.”

  “I want to talk with Cherry before he sees Coral,” Pru insisted, worried that the woman teetered on the edge of some abyss. “But not on the phone. Coral seems to pop up just when you think she’s somewhere else, and I don’t want to upset her further. He doesn’t live far—I can go out through the garden and across the meadows. I’ll bring him back.”

  “You know the way?”

  “Yes. Probably. If I get lost, I’ll send up a flare.”

  —

  Once across the ha-ha and down a well-worn path into the meadows, Pru took in her surroundings. She could see u
p to the gate at the end of the Long View and imagined Mr. Bede, Constance, and little Coral having their tea there in the afternoons. The magnolias he had planted forty years ago had matured and Glebe House was obscured, while the lower gardens were encased in yew. But she could see the lane—it ran along the top of the shallow ridge. She watched as the panda car headed for the house—the PCs arriving to search for a codicil. Pru also saw Lizzy in the lane—the woman stopped, bent up her awning of a hat, and waved. Pru waved back.

  Cherry had worn the footpath to hardpan on his daily visits to Glebe House—through the two meadows and the copse. When Pru emerged on the other side of the wood and climbed over a stile and into the lane, she could see down a drive—a long, winding drive, ending at a massive red brick house set on a rise. White-framed windows, flush with the walls, marched along its face in two rows. A portico at the door stood out as the only three-dimensional piece of architecture on the front of the house.

  Georgian, but not quite—an annex on the left side of the house sported a copper domed roof above an oriel window and on the far right stood a series of rounded openings reminiscent of cloisters. Pointed Gothic windows had elbowed their way into the middle section. Behind the cloisters on the far right, a two-story false arch had been built using alternating white and red stone, like some medieval cathedral. The sort of house that catches your eye, but not in a good way.

  Next to the door a brass plaque affixed to the wall read: DR. CHERRYSTONE’S SURGERY IS LOCATED IN THE VILLAGE OF UPPER ODDINGTON NEXT TO THE POST OFFICE. This was followed by the surgery hours and ended with, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB.

  Pru’s hand hesitated in midair, inches from the knocker, which took the form of a lion holding a shiny brass ring in its mouth. The sign didn’t exactly engender a welcome—also, it was outside of surgery hours and this wasn’t even his doctor’s office. As she waffled, men’s voices drifted out the open window next to the door.

  “I’m not accustomed to being unable to do as I please, if you take my meaning.”

  The voice wasn’t totally unfamiliar.

  “It won’t be a problem.” There—the second voice was Cherry’s.

  “I’ve no use for this sort of thing. The circumstances—I don’t like it. And I’ve got my reputation to think of, you know. Should I have a word with the woman?”

  “No, I have it all in hand. You just do as the doctor ordered.”

  A doctor’s appointment? Horrified at overhearing what should be a private exchange, Pru backed away, missed the step and tumbled off, landing on her bum.

  When the door opened, Pru lay splayed on the gravel like a turtle on its back. She looked up at Dr. Cherrystone—his eyebrows raised—standing next to a fellow in his mid sixties with thinning, spiky ginger hair and a grin easing its way across his face.

  “ ’Allo, ’allo,” he said. Ah yes, from the pub—the fellow who tried to put the moves on her. Now she could slap a name to the voice. Seamus Sheridan.

  A day’s work in the hot border. We planted out the canna—paddle-shaped leaves, gaudy flowers. A bit over the top. BB

  Chapter 26

  “I’m so sorry.” Pru scrambled up with the help of Seamus, who attempted to brush the dust off her backside before she moved away. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and I…it’s only that I wanted to chat with you, Cherry, about Coral. Should I come back later?”

  “Yes, Pru, that might be a good idea.”

  Flustered, Pru had made the offer out of courtesy, but as soon as she had, she thought of Coral sitting in the kitchen of Glebe House, all hope of redemption lost. Instantly, Pru regained her courage.

  “Actually, it would be only a quick word.”

  “You can’t say no to her, Doctor—I know I couldn’t.”

  “Thank you, Seamus,” she said. Ick.

  “Well, all right, Pru—come in.”

  She and Seamus exchanged positions, and he winked at her as he said, “I’ll be seeing you.”

  She resisted replying, “Not if I see you first.”

  The door shut on Mr. Throwback, and Pru found herself in a vast entry, open to the next floor, full of white marble and gold gilding. “What a lovely house,” she said but only to be polite.

  “Yes,” Cherry agreed smugly. “New construction, my own design. I’ve an eye for this sort of thing.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Cherry,” Pru said, anxious to get to the matter at hand, “but it’s Coral. You see, Mr. Elkington arrived.”

  “Well, where is the man? I rang him earlier, and I’ve heard nothing.”

  “I don’t know. But Coral—can you come see her?”

  At last, the doctor seemed to pay attention to Pru. “Certainly I’ll go. But as you’ve seen, she resists my interfering. And I won’t force her to take medication she doesn’t want. Not as long as she’s in her right mind. I hope to God no one’s persuaded her to try some herbal remedy.”

  This brought Pru back round to a conundrum she’d yet to work out—where was Cynthia when Mr. Bede was killed—when someone offered or forced upon him a poison in the form of that capsule? Where did this Thirty-Six Hours of Solitude take place?

  Pru had already worked out how Cyn could’ve done it. Those empty gelatin capsules could be had for pennies online, available to anyone wanting to cut costs and make her own vitamin powders or fill them with minced root of monkshood. She’d mentioned that obliquely to Christopher, who said police were already on it, although tracking buyers from the many sources would take time.

  “No,” Pru said to the doctor, “she’s not taken anything. But I’m afraid she’s slipping into a depression.”

  “A delicate woman,” Cherry said, but Pru remembered he’d once called Coral “spoiled,” and she wondered if he used “delicate” as a euphemism. And anyway, Coral didn’t seem spoiled to Pru, only easily bruised.

  “It’s because of Mr. Bede’s will,” she insisted. “He’s left everything to Cynthia Mouser.”

  “He what?”

  A fire flared up in Dr. Cherrystone—Pru half expected to see actual steam coming out of his ears, and she took a step back lest she got burned.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s quite a surprise.”

  As if he’d been doused with a bucket of water, the fire went out, and Cherry burst out instead with a hearty laugh. “My God, Batsford—ever the curmudgeon! I’m sorry to react so. Really, it’s none of my concern—although I’m sorry the old fellow was used that way. Cynthia Mouser—well, that’s a turn of events. Here, where are my manners?” Cherry held his arm out, ushering her down the corridor. “Please come through. Would you like a glass of sherry?”

  Had he not heard her? “No, thank you. I tell you what, I’ll go on back ahead of you. I’d rather not leave Coral for too long. And the police will be there, that will be upsetting, I’m sure.”

  “Police?” Cherry had opened a door off the front entry, but hesitated.

  “They’re searching the house again,” Pru replied. “We just learned that Mr. Bede had written a codicil to his will, but no one knows where it is, and so Christopher has called the Stow constabulary back.”

  “A codicil,” Cherry repeated as he walked in the room. “When did he do that?”

  Pru followed him in and found herself in a doctor’s office. “Apparently, he wrote it himself last week and had Natalie and Oliver witness it.”

  “Well, wasn’t he full of surprises,” Cherry murmured as he rummaged through his bag.

  Pru stood by the wall and glanced round the space with its dark wood paneling, a sink under the window, an examination table. Shelves held gloves and masks and cotton swabs. One of the drawers in the built-in cabinet had been pulled out, and Pru caught a glimpse inside of a clear bag full of nothing, the plastic glinting in the light and reminding her of the silvery trail of a slug in the garden. Dr. Cherrystone swept by her, closed the drawer, and leaned against the counter while opening the glass door above, reaching for a roll of gauze bandage and tucking it into his bag.


  “As well as my National Health Service practice in the village, I see a few private patients,” Cherry answered her unasked question. “Old Batsford was one of them.”

  —

  At Glebe House, Christopher stood in the yard talking with three PCs. When he saw Cherry and Pru come round the corner, he gave the uniforms a nod, and they dispersed.

  “We’ve located two filing cabinets in an anteroom of his upstairs study—both packed with papers,” Christopher told them. “We’re getting close, but we’ll wait until tomorrow to finish up.”

  Only then did Pru check the time to see that it was coming up to six o’clock.

  “How is Coral?” she asked.

  “Quiet, but aware. Natalie’s gone. I’ve loaded the car with her hamper.” He gave Pru a tiny wink. Yes, she quite looked forward to that cottage pie. Christopher turned to the doctor. “You saw Bede every day. Did you see any changes in him in the days before his death?”

  Cherry looked pained and hesitated. “I say this for your ears only, Inspector, but I have now recalled he had indeed made a mention of wanting to try some new medication. He hadn’t regained good lung capacity, you see, and was impatient with his current prescriptions. You, of course, have those as well as my patient notes. But, I got the idea…well, I’m afraid that he was thinking of something along the lines of snake oil. If you take my meaning.”

  Pru took his meaning, but Christopher made not even the tiniest acknowledgment that this reference might be to Cynthia.

  “We’re searching for the codicil. Do you think he could have put it elsewhere?” Christopher asked. “Away from the house—given it to someone he trusted. Did he give you anything?”

  Cherry’s gaze darted about the yard, but the doctor shook his head. “He gave me nothing, and he never left the house, not for months. Not since he’d fallen ill.”

  —

  Coral, subdued, but in control, thanked Cherry for checking in on her, but once again declined any sort of sedative. “I will get through this,” she said, although she teared up at the words. “I must. And when it’s over, I’ll—” Her breath came quicker but she remained in control.