The Gardener

by Michelle DePaepe

  She went over to the door and peered through the lace curtains down to the stoop on the back patio. There she saw a most unusual creature peering back up at her. The enormous tabby cat with eyes the color of pumpkins let out a piercing howl.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she unlocked the door and opened it.

  “Poor kitty. You must be hungry. Poor Alphonso.”

  The cat rushed in the door and swirled around her legs, covering her slacks with its fur. It howled as it looked up at her with its unusual pleading eyes.

  “You must be hungry. I’ll...”

  But, as she stepped towards the kitchen to look for some food, the cat stopped its tornado around her and arched its back. It growled and hissed in her direction.

  “Sour puss! I’m just getting you something to eat.”

  But, the cat seemed to be staring at something beyond her. She followed its gaze to the corner between the sideboard and the old wood burning stove just past the table.

  There was nothing there. But, wait...was there?

  Unblinking, she stared at the corner where the two walls met. There was an odd-shaped shadow there. It was tall and thin, and didn’t seem to be cast from the lace-draped window.

  Then, she was certain that she saw it move.

  The cat let out a wail and bared its sharp teeth.

  “Grammie? Is that you?” Georgia wasn’t certain that she believed in ghosts, but if it was a ghost...she knew that it had to be her grandmother. The thought was both thrilling and unnerving at the same time.

  Then, in a blink of an eye, the shadow dissolved, and she found herself staring at the vining tendrils and blooms on the floral wallpaper as the cat darted out the door.

  Georgia decided that the rest of the refrigerator cleaning could wait until later. She ran upstairs and grabbed some photos off her grandmother’s dresser to put out for the funeral. Then, she left in a hurry, not realizing that her purse was still sitting on the dining table.

  Chapter 27

  Opal did not need an alarm clock to get out of bed the next morning. When the first rays of sunlight fell across her body in golden stripes, they might as well have been clanging pots and pans. She bolted up upright, her heart pounding as she remembered the day’s agenda.

  As she raced to get ready for Virginia’s funeral, she worried about the stir that her presence might cause there. In a small town like Calathia, where everybody knows everybody, you still couldn’t be sure just what relationship everyone had with each other. A husband couldn’t be too sure just how well his wife knew the cute butcher at County General or the flirtatious mailman. Whispered gossip was just about as common as brown patties in a cow field.

  But, Opal knew one thing was for sure about this tight knit community, anyone who knew her name also knew her profession. That point was driven home when she visited Father O’Dell. So, she knew that at the funeral there were sure to be questions about how she knew Virginia and speculations if she didn’t answer the question promptly.

  She pinned her long salt and pepper hair up into a bun, then put on the dress that she had chosen the day before. The finishing touch was a black silk hat with a mesh veil that covered her eyes, though she knew that it wasn’t much of a disguise. Her figure wasn’t subtle enough to blend in with the dozens of petite old ladies that were sure to be the majority of the attendants. Anyone who knew her would surely be able to peg her from behind just by seeing her potato-shaped rump.

  After glancing up at the clock, she chided herself for all the fussing over her wardrobe and hair. She wasn’t going to a beauty pageant. She probably shouldn’t be wearing anything nice at all, because she certainly wouldn’t be trying to impress the spirit—she’d be trying to banish him back to hell.

  When she pulled into the parking lot, there were already plenty of cars there. She tried not to look at the long black hearse next to the curb, waiting to take Virginia on her very last ride.

  After parking at the back end of the lot to make a quick escape before the line up behind the hearse, she stepped out, put on a pair of black sunglasses, and looked up at the blue sky. The few wispy clouds clinging to the sea above did little to block out the sun’s hot glow.

  It’s a nice day for a funeral…if there is such a thing, she thought.

  As she walked past the rows of cars, she saw a dark blue sedan. It looked like the same one she had seen parked at the Blake house. She hoped she could find out who the owner was with a little snooping.

  She slipped inside and saw at least two-dozen people in the chapel, some of them milling around and chatting, and others were already seated staring straight ahead at the open casket at the front of the room. No one said anything to her as she made her way into the room and positioned her backside against a wall, trying to be invisible.

  She registered the faces and names of people that she knew, but her eyes kept going back to the coffin. Though, several mourners approached it with bowed heads, most of them seemed to be chatting with each other and delaying its acknowledgement.

  It felt like the big black hole in the room, sucking all of the energy from her insides. After another moment, she let it pull her in and demand her reverence.

  A tear glistened underneath her eye as she looked at the small prone form dressed in a pastel floral suit with a creamy antique lace trim at the collar. She seemed to have shrunk since she had last seen her alive in the grocery store. Opal thought she looked more like an oversized china doll than a person who had been living and breathing just a few days before. Her features looked abnormally pale with an artificial orangey blush, and her white hair was brushed up high on her forehead. With her closed eyes and rosy lips almost curved up into a smile, it seemed that she was just napping and perhaps dreaming of a sunny day in her garden.

  “I’m sorry, Virginia,” she whispered. “I never meant any harm to come to you. Whatever that bastard did to you, I promise to give him his due and send him back to hell.”

  She paused as a short woman, limping along with a cane, approached and held the rest of her penitent thoughts inside.

  “She looks lovely, doesn’t she?”

  Opal nodded as she wiped away another tear.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “I’ve known her since we were children. I’ll never forget her.”

  Over her shoulder, Opal saw a woman with dark cropped hair talking to a younger bleached blonde near the entrance, greeting the late attendants as they arrived.

  “Yes. She was a wonderful woman. Say, who are those two ladies at the door?”

  “Virginia’s granddaughters...Marsha and Georgia.”

  She looked at the profile of Georgia’s face and short hair. Was that the owner of the sedan that she had seen out at the house? “Thank God she’s alright!”

  “What?” The woman asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Opal said. “Please excuse me.” She walked away as if intending to go speak to the sisters at the door. But instead, she went to the last row of chairs, and sat down. As she buried her head in her hands to keep the guests from seeing her melt down into a puddle of tears, she hoped that they would all mind their own business and leave her alone.

  She got her wish, because she was still sitting alone a few minutes later. When she was able to dam the flow of misery leaking down her cheeks, she raised her head and wiped her face dry, noticing that more than a few of the seated ladies were dabbing their eyes with hankies as well.

  Her mind vacillated between the horrifying image of Virginia’s dead body lying at the front of the room and the terrible encounter with the supernatural that she would be having within the next couple of hours.

  She hoped that she had remembered to pack the holy water and the sage wand back in her bag. Last night, she had held them in her hand as she rehearsed Bible passages that she hoped would give her some protection from the spirit.

  As she mumbled the memorized verses of scripture under her breath, she glanced out a side window towards the parking lot and saw Karl’s car turning in
.

  Good. I’ll work on him again. He can’t possibly let me go alone if I can make him understand what I saw in the window.

  But, somehow, the thought of having an armed deputy at her side was not all that comforting. What good would a gun do? A trained exorcist would be a better bodyguard.

  Knowing that wasn’t an option, she focused her mind on her rehearsed Bible verses. If things went badly, she figured that it would be nice to have her own coffin look as pretty as Virginia’s.

  Chapter 28

  The spirit had not rifled through a woman’s purse since his days of picking pockets. This time, he found something more interesting inside than a few dollars and coins.

  Georgia.

  He rolled the name off his tongue again and again as he held her driver’s license in his hand and looked at the small photo. It was a beautiful name—much more beautiful than ‘Margaret’ he had to admit.

  GeorgiaMcKenna from New York City.

  He remembered that Virginia had spoken to her over the phone several times and that she was one of Virginia’s granddaughters.

  When he thought of the other one, Marsha, his lip curled. Her sharp voice grated on his ears when she had been at the house yesterday, rummaging through things with the fury of a cyclone. She seemed to have been searching for something, but he had no clue what it was.

  Had she come to this house alone, he would have inhaled every last vapor of her overcharged core.

  He returned to his examination of the purse’s contents and fingered the small white calling card that said she was the owner of an art gallery called, “Masquerade”. How very cosmopolitan.

  There was definitely a modern city-wise sharpness to her dress and demeanor, but he was sure that she had soft spots on the inside. Everybody had a weak spot somewhere in their external armor. It was just a matter of finding the sweet way in.

  He did not know when she might return, but he had an idea for a little research that might help him make a good impression when he made his introduction.

  Setting the purse aside, he went to the library to search for all of the books about art that he could find. After skimming through some chapters on modern developments in Contemporary Art, he doubled over in laughter. Looking at some of the abstract monstrosities depicted, he realized that the world had become less refined in the last century. It seemed that people were impressed with anything novel, no matter how absurd.

  Georgia, however, didn’t seem like the type to be impressed by artwork that looked like it had been created by a monkey tossing paint on a canvas. There was a seriousness about her—a sadness even. He surmised that it might have something to do with the business card he found for her divorce attorney.

  Ahh...a possible chink in the armor.

  From the simple contents of her purse, he had divined her name, age, profession, and marital status. That was enough information for him to find a method of seduction.

  Knowing that she was in the business of art, it was a shame that he didn’t know how to paint like a Botticelli or Raphael. He knew that such mastery included being blessed with a level of skill and talent that he knew he couldn’t learn even with a tenth lifetime of study. But, he had many other skills that might serve him just as well. He was a fast learner, adept at self-promotion, and tenacious. And of course, he knew how to woo a woman.

  His first task had to be the removal of his bloody formal attire in exchange for something more modern.

  He descended down into the basement and went to the back room. In the closet, he found hangers full of men’s clothes that had belonged to Virginia’s dead husband.

  He took off the tall black hat and coat tails. Then, he loosened his cravat. As he unbuttoned his vest, he grimaced at the dark brown bloodstain on his white shirt. Virginia had never questioned him about it, but the woman had been blind with love.

  He took off the white cotton shirt and stood bare-chested in front of a mottled mirror on the wall as he examined the wound. The fatal injury was small and covered with a thin membrane of scar tissue, but he was sure that it wouldn’t heal completely unless the bullet was removed.

  Me ne frego. I don’t give a damn. It has to be done.

  He braced himself, took a deep breath of air into his lungs then plunged his fingers inside. The pain was excruciating—his howl made the basement windows rattle in their frames.

  After a moment of fishing with fingers that felt like burning hooks inside his flesh, he latched onto the cold metal cylinder and pulled it out. But, his screams did not subside until the pain lessened and his panting stopped.

  When he recovered from the ordeal, he held the twisted piece of metal before his eyes. Though, he hadn’t seen his assailant, he didn’t need an expert to tell him what gun it had come from or who had pulled the trigger, firing from behind him like a coward.

  He returned to the care of his open wound, surprised that no blood came out of it. Indeed, it seemed that the hole was already beginning to close in and heal itself. But, the crude surgery seemed to have dredged up a stronger stench of earth and decay from his insides. He winced at the pungency emanating from his body. Its aromatic tendrils seemed to float around him in the air like an incense of death.

  As he rifled through the clothes in the closet, he saw that they were all of a large or extra large cut. His tall, but lithe, frame was no match for the size of Virginia’s former husband. But, finally, after a few moments of searching, he found some things that he thought would do.

  He put on a pair of long tan trousers and rolled up the cuffs so they wouldn’t drag on the ground. Then, he took the smallest white t-shirt out and put it on, tucking it inside the waistband.

  There were several pairs of suspenders dangling from a hanger. Though he needed something to hold the pants up on his taut smaller waist, he knew that those implements were passé in this generation.

  No, he thought as he rubbed the soft brown whiskers on his chin, I need something a little more modern.

  He found a wide black leather belt underneath the tangle of suspenders and pulled it on, tightening it against his belly.

  For shoes, he decided to wear his boots. They fit his feet perfectly and looked passable enough for the times.

  After putting them back on, he ran his fingers through his long brown hair and stepped over to the mirror. “Buongiorno,” he said as he admired his transformation. His green eyes twinkled back at him as he winked at his own handsome image.

  He rubbed over the whiskers on his chin. The goatee could stay, but it needed a bit of a trim.

  Before he left the room, he stowed his old suit and tails along with his tall black hat in the back of the closet behind some boxes. Then, he grabbed a gray tweed cap from the top shelf, beat it with one hand to knock off the dust and placed it on top of his head.

  One more quick look in the mirror confirmed its dapper addition to his new look.

  Then, he went back upstairs to search for some gauze bandages to cover the wound in case it oozed any fluids, a razor, and perhaps some cologne.

  Chapter 29

  Georgia stood in the doorway next to her sister, greeting the guests. In between handshakes, hugs, and the flow of condolences, she smoothed down the wrinkles in her tailored black linen dress. Paired with sheer black nylons, it was an outfit that she usually reserved for art gallery showings—now it seemed a shame to dress so chic for such a sad occasion.

  She had refrained on commenting on the ostentatious color of Marsha’s attire. Her sister was dressed in a hot pink suit with militant shoulder pads that looked like a relic from the 1980’s, and the short strand of oversized black beads around her neck only added unneeded punctuation to the costume. Her animated gestures and light-hearted banter with the guests did nothing to further the belief that she was in mourning.

  She was sure that the two of them looked like a comic duo as the conservative townspeople entered.

  As they waited for the last of the guests to arrive, a dour-faced woman in a dated polyester
dress set up more chairs as Marsha’s husband talked to the funeral director. Clarissa sat kicking her feet back and forth and picking at the bow in her hair while her younger brother chased a giggling boy around the rows. At least two-dozen people were already seated, and a few faces looked familiar to her.

  In between arrivals, she looked up at the front of the room, pleased with the stunning array of roses. The pink, white, and scarlet bouquets adorned with fern leaves and Baby’s Breath, were breathtaking. It seemed a shame that Grammie couldn’t see how beautiful they all were.

  Then, her attention turned to the glossy cherry wood casket. The lid was open, revealing the profile of her grandmother’s face. From this distance, she looked as peaceful as a sleeping princess.

  She filled her lungs with a deep breath of the perfumed air before excusing herself and daring to approach her grandmother’s body again.

  The first time that morning when she had approached the casket, she had been unable to look inside without unleashing a river of tears. This time, she did her best to maintain her composure, knowing that it might be the last time that she ever got a glimpse of her grandmother. I can’t believe it, Grammy. You weren’t supposed to go yet. I really was meaning to make it out here sooner. I’m so sorry…

  Her silent questions flowed like water. What were you doing out there so late at night? Were you looking for that cat? Did something frighten you? Why didn’t you go to Annie’s for help? Georgia grasped the cold white hand. It felt like soft, cool marble and gave her no clues to her questions.

  Then, she stepped back a couple of feet, shutting her eyes and trying to emblazon the picture of her grandmother’s face on her mind forever.

  Someone touched the back of her shoulder, and she jumped.

  When she turned, she found herself staring into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They were as clear and sparkling as the depressingly cheerful morning sky. Her mouth hung open to say hello, but the word lodged in her throat.