Daisies For Innocence

by Bailey Cattrell

  “Oh,” I said quietly. It had to be Cynthia.

  Ritter eyes narrowed, and he spared a glance away from the road. “Thea said you called last night, trying to get ahold of me.”

  I nodded.

  “Because . . . ?”

  I was saved from having to respond by the approach of another car.

  A police car, actually, with the Poppyville town logo on the side. Detective Max Lang was driving, and Detective Garcia sat beside him.

  Though the two vehicles could have scooted by each other, Lang swerved to block the drive. He threw his car into park and got out, glowering at us both.

  “What in blazes are you doing here, Allbright?”

  Garcia exited from the other side of the car.

  “She’s helping me out with a job for my sister,” Ritter said.

  “Who the heck is your sister?”

  “This is Ritter Nelson,” I said, getting out of the truck. “Thea Nelson’s brother. Don’t you recognize her truck?”

  “Who told you to exit your vehicle?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Max!” I said. “What is your problem?”

  He glared at me, then barked at Ritter. “License and registration, mister.”

  Looking an apology at Ritter, I sidled around to where Garcia stood by one of the über tidy boxwoods.

  “You learn anything from Ms. Thelane?” she asked in a low voice.

  A little surprised, I said, “Nothing that seems helpful. She’s probably had a few affairs with her husband gone, but it doesn’t seem to be that much of a secret.”

  “Don’t bother with the ice-skater,” Garcia muttered. “I checked her alibi. Her sister was visiting. They went to Fresno that night.”

  “Jeez. Doesn’t anyone stick around Poppyville anymore? Does Lang know?”

  “He does now. Not that he ever suspected her, you know.”

  “Right. He only suspects me.”

  “I have a call in to the Silver Wells police about Bob Farsen.” She spoke quickly, seeing that her partner was almost finished harassing Ritter. “They haven’t gotten back to me yet.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured and moved away from her.

  “You’d better not be interfering with official police business, Ellie,” Lang warned as we all got back in our vehicles.

  I schooled my expression to hide my anger until after Ritter and I were out on the road back to downtown Poppyville. Then I banged my fist on the dashboard.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. “Let the wind blow all thoughts of that jerk right out of your mind.”

  It was good advice. By the time we got back to Scents & Nonsense, Lang felt like a distant memory.

  • • •

  BEFORE Maggie left for the evening, I asked her if she’d heard anything about Sophia Thelane having an affair.

  “Oh, Lordy, yes. You didn’t know?”

  “Had no idea. Of course, people don’t talk here like they do in the Roux Grill—especially after a few drinks.”

  “Well, she goes through men like water. But that actor husband of hers isn’t any better, from what I hear.”

  “Did Josie tell you about them?” I asked. “She covered for their housekeeper on her day off.”

  “No.” Maggie went into the office and retrieved her purse. When she came back out, she said, “See, Josie didn’t talk about the people she cleaned for. Once said, ‘What happens in a client’s home, stays in a client’s home.’ Said ‘Housefairies don’t tattle.’”

  I gave a little laugh. “I like that she called herself a housefairy.”

  Maggie took off, and I checked the day’s receipts. They were decent, which I found encouraging. Maybe business was getting back to normal, even if nothing else was.

  I opened the back door and saw that the final two blooms on the mnemosyne had opened.

  Tonight, then. Tonight I distill those flowers to their bare essence. And then I find out what Gamma was talking about in her journal.

  But for now it was only five thirty. Usually I kept Scents & Nonsense open until six in the spring and summer. That last half hour of traffic was light to nonexistent, though.

  Perhaps I should consider closing earlier.

  On the other hand, if I could stay open later in the summer, the after-dinner crowd wandering the boardwalks of Poppyville might be worth it. Maybe just on the weekends. Hiring Maggie for more hours might make that possible.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about distilling the mnemosyne. Finally, I checked out on Corona Street to see if it looked as if anyone was about to come in the shop. I didn’t see anyone out front, though shrieks of children’s laughter echoed from the direction of the park.

  Guess that crime scene has been released, too. I shuddered.

  Back out in the Enchanted Garden, I raced down to my tiny house and retrieved Gamma’s garden journal. After checking the shop again and finding it empty, I took the journal over to the purple blooms and opened it to the central page.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE plant on the page and the plant under the birdbath were identical, down to the number of petals and the angle of the corkscrew stem. It was downright weird, as if Gamma had drawn not just a mnemosyne, but this mnemosyne. I tentatively reached out and ran the back of my hand along the outside of the latest flower to open.

  A tingle ran up my arm, and I dropped the journal. Blinking, I saw that it landed spine-side down, still open to the drawing. A rustling sound rose into the air. It seemed to come from all directions, from every plant in the garden. I remembered Gamma’s singsong voice:

  This is Lily, Elliana. See how she flirts in her yellow dress? And this is Snapdragon. So gracious. But you lie, also, don’t you, dear? Deceitful Snapdragon. Look closely, Elliana, deeper than the colors, deeper than your eyes alone can see. Close your eyes in order to see them better. Can you detect their spirits?

  She’d always talked like that, as if the plants had souls and personalities. As if you might want to invite some of them for dinner, but others not so much.

  I closed my eyes.

  Of course you can, Elliana. If you try.

  The rustling faded, replaced with birdsong and the chattering of our resident squirrel. I opened my eyes and looked around.

  The picture of the mnemosyne still shone forth vibrantly from the page of the book I’d dropped. Slowly, I stooped and picked it up.

  If that was what happened when I touched the flower, what would the distilled essence be like?

  Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  I turned and went back to Scents & Nonsense and checked the time. The whole episode had happened in less than five minutes. It had felt like more, but I still had twenty minutes before I was supposed to close.

  I went over and sat in my favorite rocker, eyeing the mnemosyne. I often remembered snippets of what my grandmother had said when I was working in the Enchanted Garden, but I hadn’t remembered that conversation before. How was I supposed to see with my eyes closed?

  With my ear cocked toward the open door to the store, I rose and strode to a bright orange snapdragon that towered over the roof of a tiny stone fairy cottage. Bending at the waist, I stared at it, long and hard. Gracious, Gamma had said. And deceitful.

  The snapdragon didn’t seem to have anything to say about that, though.

  I heard a noise behind me and turned, expecting to see that a customer had come into the shop, but it was Ritter. He waved my wallet at me from the doorway.

  “This must have slipped out of your purse,” he said, and stepped outside to bring it to me. “I found it on the floor of the truck.”

  “Oh! I’d hate to lose that. Thanks for bringing it back.” I smiled.

  “No problem.” He smiled, too, and bent to pet Dash. “I brought you a present, too.”

>   I tipped my head to the side. “Present?”

  He turned and went back inside. When he came back out to the patio, he was carrying a small bowl that held the tiniest juniper tree I’d ever seen. It looked ancient with its dark gnarled trunk and the minuscule bits of lichen adhering to the branches.

  I looked up, eyes wide. “You bonsai’d this?” I asked Ritter.

  He shrugged, but looked pleased. “I found it growing out of a rock face yesterday and brought it home.” He thrust the exquisite little tree toward me.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Up on Kestrel Peak. You know Mark Kittery?”

  “From the gym?”

  He nodded. “He’s an old friend of mine. We went for a hike last evening, and that’s when I found this.”

  I stared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I thought you were out with Cynthia.” I wanted to clamp my hand over my mouth the second the words slipped out.

  “You . . . Oh, Elliana. Of course. You saw us together at the Roux Grill.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “For the record, Cynthia Beck and I are old friends. Nothing more. At least not on my end.”

  I ducked my head to hide my relief and examined the little tree.

  Reverently, I cupped my hands around the shallow ceramic bowl. The soil surrounding the tree’s trunk was covered with shreds of moss and a few strategically placed stones.

  “I didn’t really do anything to it,” he said, watching me. “It was already stunted—wind-whipped and surviving off nothing but the moisture in the air and the occasional dribble of rain. No idea how old it is. But as soon as I saw it, I thought of your garden.” He gestured toward the verdant beds and winding pathways. “And the miniature tableaus you have out here. I couldn’t help but think this little guy would fit right in.”

  With the tip of my finger, I stroked a twisted branch, marveling at the small miracle of it. This hardscrabble little juniper could have died—probably would have died—but now it was a piece of living art, carefully tended and given to me. My vision grew watery, and I blinked away the sudden emotion that the simple act of such thoughtfulness had evoked.

  Swallowing hard, I looked up at Ritter. “Thank you.”

  He grinned, his relief tangible. That last surprised me. Had he been afraid I’d turn the gift away?

  “Ritter?” I started to look at the ground, but made myself meet his eyes. Swallowed hard. I was really out of practice with this kind of thing. “Do you think you might want to go out to dinner with me?”

  He grinned. “Why, Elliana. I thought you’d never ask. How about tonight?”

  “Oh!” The mnemosyne. “Would tomorrow night work instead?”

  He nodded. “Sure. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Ellie! Ellie, where are you?”

  My stomach twisted as I recognized the voice.

  We turned toward the shop.

  “Harris,” I said as he loomed in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” Whatever it was, he looked mighty unhappy.

  “I’m surprised you’re still in business, Ellie,” he said, his hands gripping the sides of the frame so hard that his knuckles had turned white. “Leaving your little store open to the street like that, allowing anyone to just walk in and take your money, or steal that nonsense you sell in there.”

  He’d always called my interest in aromatherapy “nonsense.” His derision had inspired the name of the store, a detail that was utterly lost on him.

  “But that’s not my problem.” He stepped outside.

  Dash moved closer to my leg and growled low in his throat.

  “Stay,” I murmured.

  “You deserve anything that happens to you,” Harris said.

  Ritter moved to stand by me at the far edge of the patio.

  “Elliana?” he asked in a low voice. “Who is this guy?”

  My heart was pounding, but I kept my tone mild. “What brought this on, Harris?”

  Instead of answering, he glared at Ritter. “Who’re you?”

  “Harris! He could very well be a customer! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Elliana?” Ritter asked again.

  “He’s my ex-husband,” I muttered, and sighed. “Now, what bee got into your bonnet, dear?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Because I’ve been up to my ears in crazy lately and, frankly, your act is getting old.”

  Beside me, Ritter smiled.

  Harris, on the other hand, turned pink then red. He walked toward us.

  I felt my eyes grow wide, and Dash bounced on his feet. One word from me and he’d go after Harris. That was the last thing I wanted, though. Somehow, I had to keep this situation under control.

  “First you stole Josie from me, and now Maggie,” he spluttered. “I wanted Maggie to cover Shyla’s shift this afternoon, but noooo, she couldn’t because she’s here working for you.”

  I relaxed. “Is that all? Harris, you can’t cut everyone’s hours to the bone and also expect them to be available on a moment’s notice.”

  “And that!” He pointed a finger at me. “You filled Josie’s head with ideas like that, and then you turn around and tried to shift the cops’ suspicions onto me when we both know you killed her.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I said.

  Ritter took another step. “Elliana didn’t kill anyone.”

  “She told that woman cop about a silly little disagreement Josie and I had, and now she’s asking all sorts of questions.” Harris’ face was purple. I hoped he wouldn’t drop dead right there in front of us.

  I’d had my fill of dead bodies.

  “How do you know it was me?” I asked. “I wasn’t there, but a lot of people were. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly quiet when you ‘disagree.’”

  “I still think you killed her,” Harris tried again, but he was losing steam.

  “That’s enough,” Ritter said, stepping forward.

  “You stay out of this!” Harris met him halfway and, to my utter astonishment, swung his fist at Ritter’s chin.

  Ritter easily jerked his head out of the way, but I was trembling down to my toes. This was the first time I’d seen my ex be physically aggressive, and it changed everything. Should I rethink whether he could have killed Josie? Was that why he was so determined to pin her murder on me?

  “Hey, everyone!”

  Now Maria Canto from the library stood in the door. I took back what I’d been thinking about closing early. Tonight, Scents & Nonsense was hopping. Her dark eyes scanned the scene, flicking from face to face, finally landing on mine with a questioning look.

  “Um, I can come back later,” she said.

  “No, no. Harris was just leaving,” I said, giving him a meaningful look.

  Harris rolled his shoulders and stomped to the garden gate. Without another word, he opened it and went out to Corona Street. His last statement was to slam it shut so hard the whole fence rattled.

  Ritter followed behind him, pausing before lifting the latch. He looked back at me. “See you tomorrow night!”

  I lifted my hand with a smile. Even Harris couldn’t ruin the fact that I had a dinner date with Ritter Nelson.

  Maria watched them both go, started to say something, then seemed to let it drop. “Do you still carry that sugar scrub that smells like pine trees?”

  “Over here.”

  • • •

  I CLOSED the shop and went to scrounge something from my kitchen. Standing in front of my slide-out pantry, I considered my options: sardines, peanut butter, olives, salsa, and a mysterious can of creamed corn I couldn’t remember buying.

  Then I spied the pasta canister, and pulled it out. A can of artichoke hearts. The cheese I’d used in the omelet the night before, and heck, why not an egg, too? Outside, I snipped more
chives and gathered a handful of sage flowers. I picked several leaves from the dandelions I let grow back by the compost bin, took them inside, and rinsed them in the kitchen sink. Then I tossed them with a simple dressing of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and brown mustard while the corkscrew pasta boiled on the stovetop. I mixed all the other ingredients with freshly cracked pepper. Adding the hot pasta and a bit of starchy water to the sauce, along with a knob of butter, I mixed it all together until the egg was cooked and the cheese had melted. A bit more pepper, another grating of cheese, and dinner was served.

  Opening my last bottle of hard cider, I took my meal out to the Enchanted Garden rather than the porch. It was earlier than I usually ate, but I hadn’t eaten anything but chocolate cookies all day. Come to think of it, I’d climbed a bunch of stupid virtual steps at the gym, too. No wonder I was famished.

  I dug in, dropping the occasional nugget of pasta to Dash, who was stationed expectantly at my feet—exactly the way a good dog owner shouldn’t. Halfway through, I slowed down and sat back to take a pull from my cider.

  Soon I’d be distilling those strange flowers. After dark. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt sure it should be after the sun had set. Taking another bite of pasta, I imagined placing them in the copper pot. Better use gloves, I thought. And then I pictured the camp stove beneath it.

  Oh. No. Not for this. This time I needed a fire like Gamma used to make, with a grate set over the top.

  Except . . .

  I didn’t exactly keep firewood around. And I didn’t have a grate.

  There might be some wood out in the meadow, by the stand of pines. And I can build the fire right in the center of the gravel.

  Finished, I carried my plate back to the house. On the step, I looked up at the oak tree that stood guard at the corner. A dead branch with a lot of twigs hung down.

  Oak for wisdom, strength, and endurance.

  I hadn’t noticed the dead branch before. Probably too distracted by investigating Josie’s murder. Sure was convenient, though.

  I washed my dinner dishes and went back outside. The branch came off easily in my hands. It snapped into six-inch lengths as if perforated.