Evidence in the Echinacea

by Dale Mayer

  “Do you want to plant a small bush or more flowers? What are you thinking of?”

  Penny pointed out the edging around the echinacea. “Those are stamped bricks. You can’t really see it from here because the plants are so overgrown, but I thought maybe I’d do something in this really rough spot here and maybe put a small tree—a weeping or red maple or something,” she said. Then she gave a half laugh. “The weeping part is probably apropos.”

  “Absolutely,” Doreen said. She walked over to the echinacea, happy to have a chance to take a good look with Penny here, and bent down to pull out one of those stamped bricks Penny had mentioned. “These are quite pretty. If you hose them off and took a steel scrub brush to them, they’d clean up nicely.”

  “Maybe,” Penny said, “but that sounds like an awful lot of work. I won’t have much time because we’ll have the Realtor’s showings coming up fast.”

  “That’s true,” Doreen said. “And remember. Regardless of what you do, the new buyer could rip it all out.”

  Penny nodded. “But I’m doing this for me,” she said firmly.

  “Good enough,” Doreen said. She stood and stepped back. “You should have fun with this project.”

  “Actually …” Penny hesitated. “I was wondering if I could hire you to do it.”

  Doreen looked at her in surprise and delight. “Pay me to do what exactly?”

  “I don’t have a lot of money,” Penny said, “but I was thinking, for a couple hundred dollars, you might be able to do something nice.”

  Doreen schooled her expression to not show the joy she felt screaming inside her. “When would you want it done?” she asked cautiously.

  “The sooner, the better. I was thinking the backyard, if that’s where you think it should be, although there is that unfinished bed in the front.”

  “Let’s walk out there and take a look.” Doreen walked past the echinacea and said, “Do you just want a tree, or do you want to move some of these plants out there too?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m at a loss now. I thought I knew what I was talking about when you first came out, but now it seems I have more options than I first considered.”

  “No problem,” Doreen said. “I can definitely help you come up with something nice. But, if we make it too complicated, it will take more time.”

  “No,” she said. “I definitely don’t want to make it complicated then.”

  In the front yard was a round garden with a very sad-looking bunch of flowers. “Why don’t you take that little weeping maple in the back in the center and move it up here?” Doreen said. “Although I don’t know, are you planning to put something like a little rock or stone or bury something to show it as a memorial?”

  Penny shook her head. “No, this is literally just for me, but this bed is looking pretty sad, and, for curb appeal, I suppose it would be the best place for this to happen.”

  Doreen thought about it and said, “It’s pretty crowded where the maple currently is. It would make a better statement here. If you want, I can make sure the soil here is decent first before we transplant that tree. Then I could move the stamped bricks from the backyard to create an edging look.”

  “I thought George put some around this front bed. They must be covered up.”

  “That’s one less thing to move then,” Doreen said, smiling.

  Penny look thrilled. “And you can do it soon?”

  “I can’t start today,” Doreen said. “The moving men are in my house, packing up the antiques. That’s one of the reasons I came out for a walk. To get away from all the chaos.”

  Penny nodded. “They can be quite disruptive, can’t they?”

  “Absolutely. I could probably stop by tomorrow and get started. Do you have shovels I can dig with?”

  Penny nodded. “You know what – I do. There are lots of gardening tools around.”

  “If you have anything like that which you want me to put in,” Doreen said, “why don’t you bring it out when I start digging, and I can figure out what should go where and maybe create something George would have liked.”

  “This is sounding better and better,” Penny said, clapping her hands. “George always thought this whole bed should be redone, but I never really knew what to do with it because nothing seemed to grow well.”

  “I can handle that,” Doreen said confidently. “Collect all the stuff you think George wanted to plant here, and it’ll just be George’s bed.”

  “Thank you,” Penny said. “I guess I’d like to make it George’s and Johnny’s bed.”

  “If you have a rock you want to paint something on, then do so,” she said. “Maybe take a couple flat rocks and, with a permanent marker, write their names or their initials—something to memorialize them. Put down all three of your names because you’re leaving. Once you sell the house, you’ll be part of the memorial,” she suggested.

  Penny looked intrigued with the idea. “That’s not a bad idea either. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow morning then,” she said as her phone rang. “I have to go inside and take this.”

  Nodding, Doreen handed Penny the teacup, called the animals to her, and waited until Penny had dashed inside the house. Doreen stood here for a few long moments, studying the bed. It had dead grass in the front, which meant it wasn’t getting water on a steady basis. She should have asked Penny if any underground irrigation was here because that would make a big difference too. She moved a couple of the rough rocks sitting on top. This would be hard work. Something she hadn’t really understood before she had said she’d do this job. Although it would be a lot of work, it was also a lot of money for her.

  Not only that, it was her second gardening job. Feeling lighter and happier, she called the animals back out to the creek, and they headed home.

  Chapter 9

  Monday Noon …

  As soon as Doreen walked into the kitchen, she noticed the almost deafening silence. She raced to the living room, but it was empty. She dashed out the front door to see the men packing some of the living room furniture into the truck.

  Scott saw her and said, “There you are. We’ve got everything but the couch packed up, and then we’ll work upstairs in the bedroom. But we wanted to get these smaller pieces in first.”

  She looked at the big panel truck and nodded. “When I came in the kitchen door, I couldn’t figure out where you guys were.”

  “Not to worry,” he said. “We’re still here. It will definitely be an all-day event. Still, we have hope we can get out on time.”

  “Perfect,” Doreen said, leading the way back into the house. With the coffee table and the two pot chairs now gone, there was more space. “Also, I was hoping you could give me some names of other antiques’ experts to ask about some of this little stuff.” She pointed to the knickknacks. “I already had a thief come in and steal several pieces, and they’re now being held by the police as part of the investigation.”

  Scott’s face showed worry. “Oh my,” he said, “that’s terrible.”

  “I know,” she said. “We caught him in the act, so that’s the good part, but he had a list already that he was collecting, and that was not so good. He also knew about the bigger pieces of furniture, so I’m really glad you came today to get this stuff. It’s been a tough weekend waiting.”

  “I am too then,” Scott said, “and I’ll definitely email you a couple names. I said I’d do that before, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, my dear. I must have forgotten.”

  “It’s not a problem,” she said. “At least the other items are small, so they should be easier to ship out.”

  “Unless they need to be shipped somewhere farther away.”

  “True,” she said. “But I don’t want to worry about that until I know more.”

  “I’ll think about it. Let me keep working. This big couch will take a fair bit of time. I know the four men will handle it themselves, but I do want to oversee the process,” he said, sounding worried and looking back toward the living room window.

/>   “Sure. You do that,” she said. “I’ll put on a fresh pot for you.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Scott said. “I know the men would definitely like a cup. We’ll also take a break after the couch and get some lunch.”

  She nodded, and he walked back outside. She put on a fresh pot of coffee, but she poured the old coffee into her cup and microwaved it. It was still so hard for her to waste food. She knew it was stupid because she was about to put another pot on but no reason why she couldn’t have some of the old and these guys have the fresh coffee. They were the ones working hard. She certainly wasn’t.

  When the coffee was done, she peered into the living room. The men were busy wrapping and packing and taping. She watched in fascination as the entire couch was bundled up securely. The sense of loss in her heart surprised her. She really would miss that piece. Not because it was comfortable to sit on because it wasn’t. Not because it was her style because again it wasn’t. Not because it was a piece she had loved to look at because yet again it certainly wasn’t. But it was a piece of her heritage, a piece of her ancestry, and that gave her an unexpected sense of loss. When the men tried to pick it up and carry it out, she winced. “Will it fit through the door?”

  Scott came to her side. “Let’s hope so,” he said, watching the men as they tried to angle the couch to test the fit through the front door. Scott asked, “Do those living room windows open?”

  She nodded. “They certainly do.”

  With the men still trying to fit through the couch through the front door, she opened up one of the big windows. Scott halted the men and pointed. The men all nodded, backed up, and proceeded to maneuver the couch through the open window with two men inside and two men out. Doreen had such a sense of relief when the couch was finally loaded into the truck that she stood with her hand over her mouth in disbelief.

  She closed the window, and Scott said, “You might want to leave it that way. I’m not sure how to get the bed out yet.”

  “Oh my. I forgot all about that,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but I was afraid that would be an issue from the start.”

  He nodded and motioned at the living room. “This room looks incredibly empty now.”

  She danced around in a circle, her arms wide. “This looks much better.” Several pieces of paper were on the floor that had fallen when they’d dislodged the couch. Doreen bent and scooped them up. One said Penny Jordan on it. She laughed and held it up, “I just had tea with Penny Jordan.”

  Scott looked at it and smiled.

  She pocketed the first piece and took a look at the second one. “Interesting,” she said. “Plants are listed here.”

  “I don’t know anything about plants,” Scott said.

  “I do,” Doreen said, “but I definitely don’t use these for what they’re meant for.” He looked at her in confusion, and she then pulled out the piece of paper with Penny’s name on it. She frowned, turned it to read the chicken scratch notes on the other side.

  “What do you mean?” Scott asked.

  “Foxglove, digitalis, belladonna,” she read. “All plants used for medicine.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, is there? All of our traditional medicine came from herbs and plants at one point. At least until the pharmaceuticals could create designer versions of them.”

  She nodded, folded the pieces of paper, and put them away. What she hadn’t told him was they were in Nan’s writing, and that meant Doreen needed to ask Nan what the hell this was all about. And how long ago had these plans been discussed.

  Scott said, “If you’ve got that coffee ready,”—pointing to the men—“they’re ready to take a break.”

  As she watched, the four men hopped from the truck, and, instead of coming toward the house, they pulled out sandwiches from a bag.

  She called out, “If you want a coffee to go with that …”

  The men all nodded. She walked back into the kitchen, poured four cups, and she and Scott took them out to the men. Outside they all sat and talked as the men ate big sandwiches. “Did you get those locally?”

  “Yes,” Scott said. “At the deli just down off of KLO Road.”

  “I know a little mall is in there,” she said. “I haven’t had time to do very much exploring.”

  “You should check out the deli,” one of the men said. “These are really good.”

  She nodded, and her phone rang. Seeing it was Nan, she said to Scott, “I’ll be right back.” She headed inside as she answered her call. “Nan, I was just about to call you.”

  “Good,” Nan said. “Did the antiques guys show up?”

  “Yep, the living room has been packed up. And just as they took out the couch, I found some papers on the floor in your handwriting.”

  Nan laughed. “Of course you did. You could find all kinds of stuff now. What did these papers say?”

  “Penny Jordan and a bunch of plant names,” she said slowly. And she named them off again.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I remember that. Penny and I were talking about plants that were harmful to have in the garden.”

  “But these aren’t always harmful, Nan,” she said. “And so many people who have them in their garden are none the wiser.”

  “No, but I think Penny was asking for another reason.” Blissfully unaware of Doreen’s sudden gasp of surprise, Nan added, “Besides, I told her these could kill someone.”

  “Interesting,” Doreen said as she pulled out the pieces of paper and looked at them closer. “Did she have a reason for asking?”

  “Of course she did,” Nan said. “I always figured she killed George. I was just waiting for you to prove it.”

  Chapter 10

  Monday Afternoon …

  That afternoon was even more nerve-racking than the morning. The men from Christie’s hadn’t taken a break until late, and Doreen was pretty antsy by the time they finally got back to work. With the living room cleaned out, she was smiling a sigh of relief, but she knew the upstairs would take equally as long. The bed was a huge problem. She led the way, and the men started working on the vanity. When she heard muttered curses, she decided she needed to be anywhere but here. She crept downstairs and stood with her hands on her hips, taking stock of the living room. “Mugs, what do you think we should do from here?”

  Mugs just woofed at her side, but he kept going back upstairs to where the men were. She’d been forced to clip a leash on him and keep him with her all the time. He wanted to “help” everyone. With no major living room furniture to sit on now, she put a couple odd chairs she presumed had zero value into the middle of the room and brought out the vacuum to give the rug a thorough cleaning.

  The rug was another piece she thought was supposed to go too. It was supposed to be extremely expensive, but that didn’t mean Christie’s was interested in it. She gave it as good a cleaning as she possibly could and then worked all around the rest of the living room. The remaining two upright chairs—looked modern.

  She found it odd that Nan had even bought them. But maybe it was at a different stage of her life, and she was looking for something more contemporary. Three lamps remained, one that was pretty rickety, and Doreen wasn’t sure it had any value, and the other two weren’t bad, if she could find something to set them on. And, of course, that was another problem. She had two pot chairs, but was that all she wanted in here? Using the vacuum brush, she cleaned behind the door, around the base of the stairs, and down the hallway, making sure she got as much of the living room itself back to prime sparkling condition. With the chairs set off the rug, she waited until Scott came down to ask him about the pieces. She was gratified when he appeared, talking to one of the guys, only to have his gaze catch on the rug, and a slow smile dawned.

  Her fist gripped the vacuum handle as she waited for him to bounce down the last few steps. Hesitantly she said, “I know it’s not part of the set, but I don’t know if it was you or Fen who said the rug was valuable.”

  Scott wasn’t talking now. He had
a magnifying glass in his hand as he studied the weaves and the hooks—was that the right word for the loops of rug as it pulled through? He had the corner flipped over so he could see the backing on it. One of the other men bent down, and together they muttered. Finally Scott straightened and said, “Are you attached to this?”

  She gave him a droll smile. “No,” she said. “Is there a good reason to not be attached to it?”

  “About fifteen grand worth,” he said. “Maybe more, I can’t really tell yet. It needs a good cleaning, but I don’t want you to do it,” he rushed in.

  She frowned at him. “Meaning, I might ruin it?”

  “I can’t say,” he said, “but we have to determine what these fibers are and then give it the proper cleaning for that material.”

  Considering she probably would have just taken a vacuum mop—one of those cheap rentals from the grocery store—and scrubbed it over, she was glad he’d said that.

  “If you can get fifteen thousand for it,” she said slowly, “then you should try.”

  “Don’t forget we have a commission on that too.”

  She mentally backtracked the fortune coming down to a nice little windfall. She said, “It’s pretty nice.”

  “It is,” he said, appraising it closely. “There is a chance,” he said, “that it could be worth more, but I have to clean up some of these corners in order to see.”

  She bent down to the corner he was talking about. “It looks like a signature is there. Why would that be?”

  “Artisans used to put their signatures in as a series of special stitches when they finished a piece, signifying it was their work,” he explained. “But somewhere along the line this has been rebacked or a new backing put on it.”

  “Or it was put on at the same time?” she suggested.

  “That’s possible too,” he said. “Which would put it around the late eighteenth century.”

  She looked at him, her eyes round. “And yet, it’s only worth fifteen thousand?”

  “No, no,” he said. “I didn’t say that. It could be worth three times that. I don’t know. It depends on what the signature says, which is why I don’t want you to clean it. Any solvent you use could potentially damage not only the fibers but wipe away this signature. I can take it with me, and we can try.”