Evidence in the Echinacea

by Dale Mayer

  “I think you’re right there,” she said. “I guess love really does have no boundaries.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a chuckle. He grabbed her hand and said, “We can carry on with the garage full of furniture as soon as you’re all fixed up.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  And he led her through the emergency room doors once again.

  Epilogue

  Saturday Early Afternoon …

  Doreen stayed at the hospital for several hours, and, by the time she was released, she saw Mack walking back up the front entranceway to the ER. “Did they call you to tell you that I was done?” she asked as his fingers gently pushed her hair back to check out her stitches.

  He nodded. “I did ask them to tell me.”

  “I’m feeling much better. Hopefully Scott will be there when I get home.”

  “I’m sorry I was detained. I had planned to be here earlier, but, while I was at the office dealing with Penny, something else popped up. We have another case that just came in with footprints, very strange footprints that’s giving us a connection to a case from ten years ago.”

  “Oh, interesting.” Doreen perked up.

  He shook his head. “No, no, no, it’s not a cold case.”

  “But it is ten years old,” she said. “So it’s a cold case.”

  “Nope. Not now it isn’t,” he said. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  She rolled her eyes and said, “Fine, I could use a break. I don’t plan on solving footprints in the ferns.”

  He froze. “Have you heard of the case?”

  She tossed a look at him. “What case?”

  “A young girl was kidnapped from her bedroom,” he said. “And all they left were footprints. Footprints in the ferns outside the house.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he said.

  She chuckled and then reached up to her head and moaned. “How about you tell me all about it later. I can’t wait to figure out why there are footprints in the ferns. But not now.”

  The truth of matter was, by the time she woke up from a nap, she found herself laying on her bed, the animals curled up all around her, as if understanding how badly hurt she was, and she realized she’d be happy to just have a few days with no case to contemplate. Sure, it was her own fault, and she’d be the first to admit it, but, when things came to a crunch, they seemed to always come to a crunch on her.

  Mack was right. She kept getting hurt. She had to figure out how to do these cold cases and close these files without the same ending. The trouble was, when she talked about putting people away for life, not one of the suspects wanted to just walk that path happily. They all tried at the very end to grab that last hope for a bit of freedom. She understood that in theory, but it sucked in real life.

  Groaning slightly, she rolled over, spent the next few minutes cuddling the animals, telling them how much she loved them and loved having them in her life. Then her gaze caught sight of the time. It was after two p.m. already, and, as far as she knew, it was still Saturday, which meant Scott should have been here already or would be at any moment. She took a deep breath and slowly sat up. The room spun a little, but it wasn’t too bad. At least her head didn’t start to boom.

  She walked into the bathroom and almost cried out in surprise at her face. She had blood along her temple and something on her cheek, which she scrubbed at. It looked like some sort of medication or iodine. She filled the sink with warm water and, using a washcloth, gently cleaned her hair and face as much as she could.

  Somewhat presentable, if she ignored the couple stitches sticking out of her scalp, she changed her shirt to something that didn’t go over her head and hopefully wouldn’t get more blood on it. Her jeans were covered too. She stripped out of those and put on leggings. Barefoot, she padded downstairs gingerly, then through the kitchen to the laundry room, and loaded up the washing machine, trying to remove any sign of her rough morning. Then, moving carefully, she wandered the first floor. She didn’t remember Mack leaving, but presumed he had, as the alarms were set on the doors again. She pulled out her phone and sent him a text, thanking him.

  Instead of texting her back, he called. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Better,” she said. “I’m up. I’m downstairs, and I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

  “What, no coffee?” he asked humorously.

  “Nope, not today. My head is aching already. Don’t think coffee would improve that.”

  “I don’t think headaches and caffeine have anything to do with each other,” he said. “This has more to do with the pry bar you left on the workbench.”

  “Is that what she hit me with?” she whispered, aghast. “I knew I should have found a place for that damn thing.”

  “Are you okay to keep all the tools now, after what happened?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “It wasn’t the tools’ fault. Besides, I’ll use the tools.”

  He chuckled. “I guess if I need something, I know who to borrow from.”

  “Anytime. I don’t even know what half of them are called.”

  “I know,” he said. “The irony wasn’t lost on me.”

  “But to think she used one of my own tools …”

  “I think she thought it was still hers. And George up in heaven was probably rooting her on.”

  “I wonder,” she said. “From his journal entries, it seemed like he was very much saddened by everything that came to pass.”

  “You’ve been asleep for a couple hours,” he said, “so don’t freak out when you look outside and see cop cars.”

  “Why are cop cars here?” she asked in an ominous tone of voice.

  “Because they have to go through the garage and take forensic evidence. There’s your blood and the attempted murder weapon, etcetera.”

  She groaned and said, “How long before the media finds out?”

  “Hopefully not until after Scott leaves,” he said. “Any word from him?”

  She glanced down at her phone as a beep and a text came in. “I think it’s him texting me now. I’ll call you back.”

  She checked the text, and, sure enough, it was Scott. She walked out to the garage and asked the officer, “How much longer will you guys be here?”

  Arnold just waved at her and said, “We’re almost done. Why?”

  “Because I have an antiques dealer coming to look at this stuff,” she said, pointing around the garage. “I need him to have access.”

  “Not a problem,” Arnold said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like somebody hit me over the head with a pry bar.” She groaned and glanced around. “And, by the way, where is that?”

  “It’s got to go in for evidence.”

  She sighed. “I don’t really need it for anything, so whatever.” She caught the grin that flashed on his face, but he immediately schooled his features into looking sorry for her. She smiled at him. “I know,” she said. “I’m not badly hurt. Besides, it’s worth it. An awful lot of people will get some closure now.”

  “We didn’t even know we needed to find closure for some of these,” Arnold said with half a snort. “What the hell did we do without your help before?”

  She thought she heard a really heavy note of sarcasm in there, but she hoped he didn’t mean it because she wasn’t feeling well enough to deal with it. “Just so long as you realize I’m not trying to do this.”

  At that, he burst out laughing.

  She glared at him, her hands on her hips. “I don’t deliberately walk into dangerous situations, you know.”

  “Absolutely you do,” Arnold said. “And you keep doing it time and time again. On the other hand, the community thanks you. Not one of us would have thought Penny had ever committed murder or even attempted a murder.”

  “What about George?”

  Arnold shook his head. “He was the biggest teddy bear anybody ever knew.”

  “Which is, of course, why he did what he did
,” she said gently. “He was trying to protect Penny.”

  “But the nurse?”

  “Once you go down that path,” Doreen said, “I guess every other murder gets easier. And, in this case, once again, George was trying to protect Penny. Because the nurse would likely blackmail George or confess and create all kinds of problems.”

  “So then why didn’t George go after Hornby?” Arnold asked. “Just so many unanswered questions.”

  “George didn’t go after Hornby because, I think by then, he was completely racked with guilt. He knew he was dying, and he was trying to make good so that he could go to heaven,” she said quietly. “And knowing he had done so many wrongs, he spent the rest of his life trying to do so many rights. And, when it was about trying to save Penny, it was justified in his mind, but he didn’t have any reason to kill off Hornby.”

  “And yet, Penny had absolutely no problem with it?”

  “Well, she blamed Hornby for George’s death,” she said. “After Hornby had blackmailed George, he got serious about committing suicide.”

  “Any idea what he used?”

  “There are a lot of plants in their garden,” she said, “many of them lethal.”

  Arnold stopped, looked at her garden, and she nodded. “Absolutely. I have a lot of lethal things in my garden too. But so do you, and you don’t even know it.” She chuckled at the look on his face. She waved her arm at the furniture. “I just need to make sure the appraiser can take a look at this furniture.” Arnold looked at the furniture, and she shook her head. “You know as much as I do. For all I know, none of this is worth anything, and it’s just great junk. But, until I know, I don’t want anything damaged.” Thankfully the officers were already packing up their equipment and loading their vehicles. She smiled and waved as they took off, muttering, “I don’t have a death wish, you know?”

  They hadn’t been gone more than a couple minutes as she stood here, her face up in the sun, before Scott drove up in a rental vehicle. He hopped out and said, “Now that’s what I like to see, somebody doing nothing but enjoying the day.”

  She didn’t dare tell him about what her morning had been like. “Nice to see you again.”

  “I hope it’s for all the right reasons,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We emptied the garage of junk and hauled that away, and then we moved up as much as we could from the basement into the garage, but the basement is still full too.”

  He stepped forward, his gaze going to the set of coffee tables and two pot chairs. His eyebrows rose, and he said, “Well, this isn’t quite the same quality or value as the set we already took, but this set will fetch a very nice penny.”

  She winced. “Could you be a little more specific?”

  He chuckled. “I have to go over all the pieces to be sure …” He walked around, counting. “This is, what, one, two, three, four, five pieces here. Two, four, five, six pieces,” he corrected himself. “Maybe forty thousand at the end of the day?”

  She just stared at him.

  He said, “I know that’s not as much as you would have liked …”

  “It’s a lot more than I had thought to get,” she corrected. “So selling this set is an absolute yes.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He took some photos and made some notes. “What else have you got?” He wandered around and said, “This dining room table is easily seventeen thousand. The fact that you have six chairs and original covers on them,” he said, “yeah, absolutely. Do you want to sell it?”

  “Let me just tell you right now that anything here that you want, you can have if you can sell it for a decent price,” she said. “I know some very high-end furniture would easily cost seventeen thousand, but I’m not living at that level anymore. So, if you can get seventeen for this set, please do it.”

  “Oh, that’s what you’ll get. We’ll probably be able to sell it for twenty-three or twenty-four. Maybe higher.”

  And, at that, she just wandered behind him as he went through piece by piece by piece. He turned, looked at her with a happy smile, and said, “Well, over one hundred thousand dollars’ worth is sitting here in this garage.”

  “How much?” she whispered.

  He said, “One hundred thousand. It depends on what we can do. These are cherry, specially made, and that maker’s mark says they were done for a special occasion. I’ll find out how and why and for whom, but just the fact that you have all the chairs in the set … The set almost always had six or eight. You’ve got six.”

  “And I can’t guarantee that there aren’t more in the house or in the basement,” she said.

  “Good.”

  After that, she wandered around in a daze as he finished up the garage. Before going down to the basement, she took him inside to the living room and the dining room where she’d stacked up more. He pointed out the two that went with the set.

  “Perfect,” he said. “We’ll take those two as well.” He looked at the others, shrugged, and said, “I really don’t know what these are, or these, unless we can find a few more pieces of it in your basement maybe.”

  He took some photos, and, just as she was leading them to the basement, she got a text. She looked at it, and it was Mack. She called him and said, “Hey, Scott’s here. We’re going through the stuff in the garage and the house, about to take him into the basement.”

  “Does it look good?”

  “No,” she said, “it looks freaking fantastic. And I still want to know more about the footprints.”

  He groaned.

  “You know what? I’ll just go to the library and waste hours and hours looking this stuff up.”

  “I’ll give you what was released to the press,” he said, “but that’s it. The child was never found.”

  “Really? No body?”

  “None.”

  “Then send what you can to me,” she said, “and then I’ll give you the further details from here, but I’ve got to go.” She hung up on him, and, with Scott’s quizzical face, she smiled and said, “Just a case I’m helping the police out on.”

  She led the way down the stairs to the basement, where the rest of the furniture was stored. Scott stopped halfway down and exclaimed in amazement. She pointed to the far back corner where the tallboy was. “I can’t guarantee it’s what you’re looking for,” she said cautiously, “but it may be the same piece that belongs with the set you took out of here.”

  He beelined for it and stood back several feet, studying it for a long moment. Then he turned happily and looked at her and said, “And you remember how we checked?”

  “I wondered if it might have secret drawers,” she admitted. “But I didn’t want to try to open them and break something.”

  Now that they were standing right in front of it, he reached around to the back and said, “I looked it up, and this one is right here.” He pushed something on the far back, and, instead of a small drawer, a long, skinny drawer opened from the side.

  She cried out as he lifted up a long strand of pearls. She held her hand out for them and stared in amazement. “These are real, aren’t they?”

  “That, my dear, is not my field,” he said, “but they sure look good to me.”

  “And here is a small note too.”

  Of course it was in the same feminine handwriting—presumably her great-great-grandmother’s. It was a note about when she got the pearls. It was a gift from her husband on the birth of her first son.

  Doreen smiled and said, “I’m so grateful you found these drawers. I haven’t even had a chance to see what’s in the big drawers. We worked all of yesterday and this morning to try to get access to the pieces down here.”

  Scott looked around and nodded. “I can’t believe your grandmother had so much furniture stored away.”

  “Neither can I.” Doreen motioned at the dresser and asked, “Is there a second drawer?”

  “There definitely is.” He reached around and popped open a similar drawer along the o
ther side.

  Doreen smiled when he pulled out a long velvet bag. She held out her hand, amazed to see the dark green velvet. She opened up the end and carefully emptied the contents into her hands. It looked to be a long jeweled necklace. She whispered, “It can’t be real. Surely the jewels can’t be real.”

  Scott lifted the strand of green stones and said, “This is a gorgeous emerald necklace.”

  She looked down at the rest still in her hand. A bracelet and two earrings. She wanted to cry for joy for that connection to her ancestors—more pieces of her family’s history. There was also a crumpled piece of paper. She held it up and read it. “For the birth of our first daughter.”

  He smiled and said, “You don’t see gifts like that anymore. Now a wife is likely to get flowers for the birth of a child, but certainly not gems like this.”

  Doreen smiled, gently placed everything in the velvet bag, and wasn’t sure she could sell any of these, no matter the money it might bring her in return. These were part of her family’s history, an emotional and happy memory from her family.

  Something now very dear to her heart.

  This concludes Book 5 of Lovely Lethal Gardens: Evidence in the Echinacea.

  Read about Footprints in the Ferns: Lovely Lethal Gardens, Book 6

  Lovely Lethal Gardens:

  Footprints in the Ferns

  (Book #6)

  A new cozy mystery series from USA Today best-selling author Dale Mayer. Follow gardener and amateur sleuth Doreen Montgomery—and her amusing and mostly lovable cat, dog, and parrot—as they catch murderers and solve crimes in lovely Kelowna, British Columbia.

  Riches to rags. … Controlling to chaos. … But murder … not this time!

  One night 10 years ago, 8-year-old Crystal, vanished from her bed in her parents’ house, the only clue a footprint in the flowerbed below the girl’s window.

  Now that footprint’s reappeared, this time at the scene of another crime, and Doreen is under strict orders not to stick her nose into Corporal Mack Moreau’s new investigation.