Best-Laid Plants

by Marty Wingate

  “Coral,” Pru said. “Why did you leave the fête? You should’ve stayed and talked with Oliver, really you should have.”

  Coral shook her head and hugged herself. “It’s all right. It’ll have to be all right—there’s nothing else for it. I rang the bookshop and they can take me back. After all, it’ll be Christmas shopping before we know it, and they’ll need more staff. Good thing I kept my flat. Will you come and visit me, Pru, when I move back to Oxford?”

  “You live here.”

  “But I don’t live here, do I?”

  Pru ran her hand over her canvas bag, considering where to begin. She might have a key to Coral’s future inside—Mr. Bede’s codicil. But what if it wasn’t a change of heart and didn’t include Coral? Perhaps she should keep quiet about it.

  “I found the codicil.”

  Coral looked at her blankly, so Pru continued. “Your uncle’s codicil—the one he had Natalie and Oliver witness.”

  “I thought it burned in the fire. Someone took it and burned it.”

  “No. Mr. Bede had hidden it away in one of his garden journals for safekeeping. The journals you let me borrow.”

  “He wanted you to have them—he wanted you to take the journals away and read them.”

  “Yes, well, I almost overlooked it—would’ve been nice if he’d clipped an extra note to the front: ‘In the event of my death.’ ”

  “What does it say?”

  “I haven’t read it yet—let’s find out.”

  They sat together on the love seat in Coral’s room, each reading silently. The codicil began as Pru assumed it should, with dry and necessary details. After that, Batsford Bede got down to business.

  Circumstances have changed since my last will, which is in the possession of my solicitor, Noah Elkington. After too many years of feeling sorry for myself, I have come to my senses. There is no pleasure or virtue in dwelling on old resentments and sorrows, but great comfort, I now realize, in remembering and honoring those we love and have loved. And so, at the urging of a friend to whom I owe a great debt, but who wishes to remain anonymous, I now change my last will and testament.

  Glebe House, its lands as set out in the legal documents held by Mr. Elkington, and all my worldly goods I leave to Coral Lily Summersun. They rightly belong to her, because she loves them and they are her home. I do this not only in the memory of her mother, but for Coral herself, who deserves nothing less.

  The covenant stands, the meadows are safe—and no amount of pestering on the part of my physician will make me change my mind. I do this with a clear head and a full heart. My last wish is that Coral lay my cremated remains alongside her mother.

  It ended with all the proper-sounding references, signatures, number of pages, witnesses, dates—Pru couldn’t see them through her tears.

  “I will not let him down again,” Coral said. She caught a drip from her nose on the back of her hand and sniffed. “Who is this anonymous friend?”

  “Can’t you guess?” Pru asked. “I’d say it was Cynthia. She’s the one who sent the note calling you home.”

  “Oh. I’m afraid I haven’t been…”

  “I think she understands. She seems to be good at that—understanding.”

  Coral tapped on the codicil. “And what does that mean, Pru, about Cherry?”

  “I think the doctor may have…he wanted to…” How much to say to Coral before she talked with Christopher? “He wanted to buy the meadows and fields—to build on them. Fancy houses, like his—at least, I think.”

  “That’s ridiculous—it’s impossible. How did he think he could manage it?”

  Murder Mr. Bede and make a deal with his heir? Once in possession of the land, could he break the covenant? Christopher had asked Elkington that very question.

  “Coral, I need to ring Christopher and let him know about this, because we really shouldn’t talk with anyone until the police and Mr. Elkington sort it out.” Pru stood, thinking it better to talk with Christopher without Coral present. “Will you stay here? I won’t be long.”

  Coral didn’t move. “Cherry thought…we all thought…I would inherit. Did he think I would give them up—her meadows? Did he think it would be so easy, that I was that far beyond redemption? Did he think me an easy mark and so to get to me—” She took a sharp breath and covered her mouth.

  Yes, probably, Pru thought. And when he discovered Cynthia would be the sole heir of Glebe House and its lands, he had seen blackmailing her as the way to get what he wanted.

  Pru grabbed Coral’s hand. “Hold tight now.” She nodded to the codicil in Coral’s lap. “And keep that safe.”

  —

  Christopher didn’t pick up. Pru left a message and paced round the kitchen table, listening to the rain as it peppered the ground and watching it knock golden leaves off the birch trees on the far side of the hedge. She filled the kettle and switched it on as she tried his number again.

  “Are you all right?” he answered, but Pru had trouble hearing with all the noise in the background, as if he stood in the middle of Paddington station.

  “Yes, I’m at Glebe House—what’s going on there?”

  “Chaos—we’ve tried to get as many people in the house as possible, but some of the vendors preferred to pack up first. The drive has flooded at a low spot—a few cars tried to make it across, and now they’re stuck and the drive’s blocked. Two of the marquees collapsed, and we’ve a few scrapes and bruises. Did you read the codicil?”

  “Yes, it’s all Coral’s—Glebe House, the gardens, and land. He wrote lovely things about her. But listen—it’s Cherry. He’s the one who made up the capsule. I saw a stash of the empties at his house—I just didn’t realize what they were at the time.” Pru heard a slight noise down the hall and froze, hoping Coral hadn’t sneaked up behind her and listened. Quiet—so she told Christopher the rest.

  Even with the din behind him, she could hear him swear. “I’ll find him. Natalie wanted him to work at first aid—she’s set it up in the laundry. I’ll go and I’ll keep an eye on him and send someone down to you, all right?”

  “Yes, good. We’ll stay here.”

  Pru returned to Coral’s room to find her gone, but the room was not empty. Dr. Cherrystone stood at the French doors, a curtain of rain behind him and a puddle at his feet as if he’d emerged fully clothed from the bath. Water ran down his face and had beaded up in his short salt-and-pepper hair and trimmed beard.

  He heaved a great sigh and said, “Ah, well, here you are now. And where has Coral got off to?”

  A gardener’s true nature is revealed only under pressure. BB

  Chapter 38

  “Coral isn’t here,” Pru said, hoping it sounded like the truth.

  “Not here? How did you get in the house?”

  “Why do you need to find her?” Pru asked, her voice wobbling. Cherry appeared the picture of serenity, but a picture tinged with menace. Perhaps Pru imagined that, knowing what she now knew, but regardless, she wouldn’t spend a minute in his company. If he suspected that she suspected…would he let her walk away?

  Pru sized him up—he was not a tall man, but quite sturdy. Could she outrun him? And if she ran from the room, where would she go—up and down the corridors of Glebe House? To what purpose? Should she try to dodge him and run out into the storm and back to Grenadine Hall? These options and more flew in and out of her mind, none of them terribly appealing. Cherry was the most untrustworthy of murderers—he had killed Mr. Bede by two means—one by stealth, one by violence. Pru could not predict what he might do next, and she couldn’t leave Coral behind.

  “I don’t need to find her.” Cherry smiled. “I need to find the codicil—where is it?” Pru opened her mouth to lie again, but he shook his head before she could begin, flinging water in an arc round him. “I know you have it—you’ve a poor poker face. I saw your surprise and delight when you spotted it among all that rubbish of Batsford’s. I’ll need to see it.”

  Pru stared at him whi
le using her peripheral vision. She took note of her bag where she’d left it behind the chair next to the bed, but didn’t think Cherry could see it from where he stood. Were the journals and the codicil safe within?

  “Why do you need it?” she asked.

  “Well, that’s none of your concern, now is it?”

  Rain continued to drip down his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped his face, but his hands were wet, and it did little good. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and along with it came a small plastic bag that stuck to his damp fingers. It was a bag full of nothing and it dropped to the ground with a soft plop, its contents spilling out and rolling across the floor, glinting in the light like the trail of a slug.

  Clear gelatin capsules. He’d had the bag with him for sprinkling surreptitiously round Cyn’s front door that morning, and here they were now, his undoing. Cherry’s eyes darted to the floor and then to Pru. He dropped to his hands and knees, snatched the plastic bag, and chased after the empty capsules. Pru edged closer to her canvas bag, hoping to make a break for it.

  He reached out in an instant, grabbed hold of her ankle, and yanked. She fell back and landed in the chair, but he was on her in a flash. He held one arm against her throat and moved behind her, his other arm across her body pinning her down with a powerful grip.

  “You are a nuisance, Ms. Pru Parke,” he whispered fiercely in her ear. His arm pressed on her windpipe, and she could only gurgle in reply.

  “You have dogged me from that first morning—don’t think I didn’t realize what was in your mind. As if I didn’t have enough to contend with. I’d been working on Batsford for years to buy that land. I have plans, and I will see them carried out. Houses—not those working-class hovels shooting up everywhere, but houses of the highest standard, like my own. And at the prices they will fetch, there’s my retirement sorted.”

  Pru struggled and muttered, but the words “vulgar and ostentatious” got caught in her throat.

  “I was so close. Batsford had no one—Constance was dead, Coral may as well have been—only the evil eye of Ms. Mouser to keep him from stepping over that line and capitulating. When he fell ill, I thought, here it is—the moment I’ve been waiting for.”

  “But Coral,” Pru choked out.

  “Yes, Coral,” he snarled. “She came back like the prodigal daughter, and it all went to hell. It was as if the old idiot woke up from a long sleep. She brought you in, which only made matters worse. He threatened me—told me I’d never get the meadows; he’d see to it. Put me on notice. My only hope was to end it for Batsford and salvage what I could.”

  Pru wiggled, trying to slump lower in the chair, hoping to break his grip on her neck, but he caught her and tightened it. A glimmer of hope arose that perhaps Coral had gone for help. But did Coral even know Cherry had arrived? Where was she? Pru’s only idea was to keep Cherry talking—and he seemed quite willing to oblige.

  “Cynthia…” she whispered.

  He barked a laugh in her ear, and she flinched. “An easy mark, fool of a woman. She looks suspicious standing still. If poison was detected, who better to blame? It was rather ingenious of me, I must say, setting all those clues out. And when you told me of Batsford’s will—leaving everything to her—well, what a stroke of luck. All I had to do was drop a hint or two that she could be in quite serious trouble if the authorities learned she had dabbled in herbal medicine that had led to the death of a prominent citizen. She was bound to sell to me to escape that.”

  A ray of sunlight pierced the darkness outdoors, and the sky opened up a brilliant blue. Pru started at the sudden brightness, and it must’ve surprised Cherry, too, as he let up on his hold long enough for her to take a breath.

  “You gave him the poison,” she said.

  “I knew Batsford would take no notice of an extra capsule, even large as it was—and even if I tried to explain it. Down the gullet in one swallow, that had always been his method. I sat by his bed, waiting for the aconite to take effect, and I saw the moment he realized something was amiss. He didn’t even ask, he knew. I could’ve sworn he was fading, but damn and blast the stubborn old man—I turn my back for one moment, and he’s off into the garden. Fool—what did he think he would do out there?”

  “Betony,” Pru gasped, as the realization dawned on her. Mr. Bede had left them his own clue by pulling up a handful of the plant. “ ‘Where grows betony’—”

  “ ‘Can the physician be far behind?’ That old saw? He taunted me with it. ‘Are you any better than the plants in my garden?’ he’d ask. But I had the last laugh, didn’t I?”

  Pru wheezed. “You pushed it over—Pliny.”

  “It was an opportunity, and I took it. If it had landed flat on him as it should’ve, there’d be no questions about poison—even if they did find the capsule under the bed. Hedging my bets—that’s what a forward-thinking man does. Damned statue—must’ve been the only solid piece in the garden. I made certain he was dead before I went to locate a sledgehammer and get to work. Then I heard you calling.”

  “Cynthia won’t…Coral won’t…” Pru couldn’t get enough air to finish her thought. Cherry renewed the pressure of his grip, and Pru’s mind began to lose focus and her vision blurred.

  “The codicil—he’s left it all to Coral, hasn’t he? I thought as much. Much easier to deal with Ms. Mouser, and so seeing as how my bonfire didn’t destroy the codicil, I’ll need to take care of it now. And take care of you, of course.” He glanced away from Pru and gazed out the French doors. “Terrible storm, wasn’t it? Caused all sorts of problems—slick stones underfoot. So easy to slip and hit your head.”

  A ferocious scream burst from behind them. A large object sailed through the air and landed a glancing blow on Cherry’s head, causing him to release Pru. She slid to the floor, gasping for breath. Cherry tried to stand, but instead fell forward on top of Pru, knocking the wind out of her. Just past his shoulder, she saw Coral, her face crimson and her eyes blazing. The projectile—Coral’s train case—hit off the corner of the bed and knocked into the bedside table before it came to rest.

  Coral stabbed an accusing finger at the doctor.

  “He trusted you!” she screamed. “I trusted you!”

  Cherry moaned. Pru pushed him off and scrambled over to the door as he pulled himself up to his feet, and stood swaying and shaking his head. Coral dashed to her dressing table, picked up one of the heavy crystal perfume bottles, and took aim.

  “We were happy!” she shrieked and sent a missile flying. The bottle landed hard on Cherry’s shoulder. He lunged at her.

  He got two steps before the next bottle hit the middle of his chest. He bellowed, but stumbled and had to catch himself. Too late, as the next bottle hit him directly between the eyes. His arms spread wide, he fell back, bouncing once on the bed before sliding off and onto Pru’s canvas bag, where he lay on his back, quite still. The light floral scent of lily of the valley filled the air as the perfume leaked from bottles into Cherry’s shirt and dripped onto the floor.

  “Did I kill him?” Coral whispered, her hands shaking as she clasped another bottle.

  Pru peered over the bed, unwilling to get too close. She saw a red mark on his forehead. She looked over her shoulder at Coral, whose fire had gone out.

  “No, he’s not dead, only unconscious,” Pru said, going to Coral and putting an arm round her shoulders. “Still, we’d better get out of here. Come on—we’ll go back to Grenadine Hall.”

  Coral pocketed the last bottle, and they stepped outdoors into bright sunlight. The clouds had moved off to the south, and the world around them glistened, shiny and new. The wind had died down to a breeze that moved languidly through the garden, and when Pru inhaled deeply—her breathing only a bit ragged from Cherry’s chokehold—she could smell autumn.

  “Were you listening the whole time?” Pru asked. They walked quickly, avoiding the puddles and rivulets of water rushing through shallow gutters at the sides of the paths and reached
the bench that overlooked the Long View, where they paused.

  “A good part of it—I couldn’t hear what you were saying, only him. I didn’t know he had hold of you, Pru, or I would’ve come in at once. Why did he do it?”

  “Greed. Arrogance. You never know what might motivate someone to murder. Wait now, my bag. You go on, and I’ll meet you at the end there.” She nodded to the wrought-iron gate in the distance.

  “I’ll come back with you,” Coral said.

  “No, I’ll be all right. You wait for me where you can see your mother’s meadows.”

  “Yes.” Coral smiled and gazed down to the path toward her goal before descending the Lutyens Steps.

  Pru went back to the French doors of Coral’s room. She was, in fact, not entirely sure Cherry was still alive, but she hadn’t wanted to say so to Coral and thought it better to send her on her way before ringing Christopher and the ambulance. Her phone, however—was in her bag, along with the journals—Coral must’ve replaced the codicil there, too. And the bag lay under the doctor’s body.

  —

  Coral’s room felt lifeless. Pru could see Cherry’s legs sticking out on the far side of the bed—he hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen. It didn’t look good. But Coral had been defending herself—she had saved Pru’s life for certain. She couldn’t be charged with anything. Could she?

  Pru tiptoed round the room, keeping the wall to her back, until she could see all of him. The chair had been knocked over, and she would need to move it to reach her canvas bag, which lay under Cherry’s head like a pillow. She squinted at his chest, but could detect no rising and falling. She should check for a pulse, but found herself unconcerned about his well-being. That cost her a tiny stab of guilt.

  She picked the chair up, set it down quietly a few feet away, and inched forward until she could just get her two hands on her bag. She squinted at Cherry’s neck, hoping to detect a pulse without touching him, but his collar was in the way. Ever so gently, she tugged on her bag, drawing it out slowly until Cherry’s head flopped to the side, slid off the canvas, and onto the rug. Pru pulled the bag to her and crept away, able to breathe again at last.