"I hope he's okay," I said.
"Me, too," Jessie said. "Now we're off to finish our tour." She gave her uncle a peck on the cheek. "Glad you're feeling better, Uncle Teddy, you look good."
He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a good-looking guy."
Chapter Five
"They are some interesting characters," I said.
Jessie laughed. "You're not kidding, and they say whatever's on their mind, too. I guess when you get old, you don't care what people think anymore."
"So there is a bright side," I said.
We walked through a set of glass doors to the pool where a water aerobics class was finishing up. Remarkably, not a single woman in the class had wet hair; all of them were still perfectly coiffed. I assumed the teacher had been given strict instructions about that. We kept walking and passed the shuffleboard court where Clarence Petersen had collapsed, then the tennis courts, a small putting green, and a picnic area with half a dozen tables. There was even a volleyball net strung over a sandy area. Considering that I couldn't hold my own in a game of volleyball, I wondered if the net was just for show, or whether I was in worse shape than an eighty-year old.
"I've been saving the best for last," Jessie said. We were standing by a wooden gate with an ornate iron handle which she unlatched with a bit of fanfare.
"Ta-da!"
The gate swung open to reveal a delightful garden that seemed to go on forever and I tried to take it all in. Mature fruit trees around the perimeter formed a natural border and included orange trees covered with tiny white blossoms, grapefruit trees, towering mango trees, some scattered guava and papaya trees, and a lone lychee nut tree covered with its trademark bumpy red fruit. Farther in, half a dozen pineapple plants had staked their claim alongside finger bananas that swayed in the breeze. To our right was a hothouse with exotic flowers and to our left a raised vegetable garden, each row neatly labeled with a tiny picture of the bounty to come. My favorite part was a large stand of bamboo in the center of the garden girded by a wooden shelf that held a dozen bonsaied plants. A path of dove gray pebbles wound gently away from the bamboo in concentric circles like ripples on a lake and teak benches offered a shady place to sit. The overall effect was balance and harmony and a Zen-like tranquility.
I told Jess I wanted to live there, meaning the garden, of course, not the old folks' home with its boring food and Sinatra reruns. I wasn't ready for that yet.
"I know what you mean," she said, "I love this place. Uncle Teddy thinks I come here to see him. Shh, don't tell him."
As we wandered around the garden, I thought about how much Kip would've enjoyed it. Then again, he would have been showing off the whole time, reciting the name of each plant, first in English and then in Latin--not his most endearing quality, I'm afraid. One time when we were in the Everglades together, we came upon a huge gator and I was freaking out, convinced we were goners. I started composing my farewell tweet to the world while Kip tried to distract me, droning on about mangroves and wetlands and ecosystems. He thinks if he ignores my crazy side, it will just go away. All I can say to that is keep dreaming, babe.
Jessie guided me toward the hothouse. "I want you to meet someone."
We paused in front of a sign posted at the entrance: STOP. Are you wearing perfume? Are you allergic to bee stings? If so, please stay out of the hothouse for your own safety.
Jessie gave me a questioning look and I shook my head. She pretended to sniff me so I sniffed her back and then we went inside.
Calling it a hothouse was an understatement--it was a sauna, a sauna with a couple of fans blowing hot air around. Granted, South Florida is always on the warm side, especially at midday in July, but it was damn hot in there. I planned to take a quick look around to be polite before escaping to the chilly embrace of the closest AC.
The sign inside the hothouse was more welcoming than the one outside. It read: "Flowers feed the soul" in colorful letters against a background of daisies. A strawberry blonde woman with her back to us was bending over a table filled with seedlings.
"Hey Jodi," Jessie said, "What are you growing this time?"
"See if you can guess." Jodi turned towards us with a playful expression. A friendly woman with intelligent hazel eyes, she looked to be in her mid-forties.
As we studied the plants, Jodi surveyed them with the pride of a mother duck counting her ducklings. I sensed something familiar about the plants once I considered the possibility that they might not be flowers.
"I have one of those growing in my refrigerator," I said, finally. "Which also proves I'm not a vampire," I said for Jessie's benefit.
"Oh, it's garlic," she said, "how fun!"
Jodi clapped me on the back. "You get an 'A' in horticulture," she said to me.
"And an 'F' in housekeeping," I laughed.
"It all depends on how low you set the bar," Jessie said. "Jodi, this is my friend, Jamie. Jamie, this is Jodi Martin, the activities director here."
"I knew you looked too young to be a resident," I said with a smile.
"Give me a few decades," she said. "I'll have to convince my husband first."
"Jodi is responsible for transforming this area into the Garden of Eden," Jessie gushed with a sweeping gesture that encompassed everything in sight.
"Now let's not get carried away," Jodi said, embarrassed. "I had lots of help. Which reminds me, have you met Eli yet? He's an amateur botanist and he's been teaching me so much. He used to live on the Ein Gedi Kibbutz where they have a world-famous garden. Come check out this weird plant he brought me."
As she led us to the far end of the hothouse, we passed lovely orchids in every color of the rainbow, some hanging from the ceiling, others in pots on the table, before we came to a table with the strangest plant I'd ever seen. Bright green leaves surrounded a hot pink vertical stalk which was shaped like a complicated TV antenna with horizontal stalks jutting out from it. At the end of each stalk was a white ball with a black dot in the middle that looked like an eyeball.
"What do you think?" Jodi asked.
Jessie shuddered. "It gives me the creeps! No way could I sleep with that thing in my room."
"What in the world is it?" I asked. When Kip was Parks Director, he had dragged me through every park in Broward County and I was sure I'd seen all the native species in Florida. "This has to be an invasive plant."
Jodi's face lit up. "I see you know a little something, but I'm afraid you're wrong. This beauty is a native and it's called White Baneberry, also known as Doll's Eyes. It actually grows in the wild."
I took out my phone and snapped a picture to send Kip. "It looks like a weird kind of Halloween candy."
Jodi laughed. "I don't know much about it, but I wouldn't eat it, it's probably poisonous. It's like what they say about mushrooms--all mushrooms are edible but some of them only once."
A happy bark signaled the arrival of Marley. He was with his buddy, Herb Lowenthal.
"Hey girls, it's almost lunchtime so I brought Marley back." Herb sounded winded.
"Thanks," Jessie said. "It's time for his walk anyway. I'll catch you next time, Jodi." She turned to me. "You coming?"
I watched with envy as Herb headed back to the place where cool breezes waft through vents, caressing the back of your neck and drying your sweaty forehead. With a parched throat and a body on the verge of mutiny, I heard myself say "All right, I guess."
Chapter Six
Jesse and Marley were walking at a fast clip away from La Vida Boca.
"Where are we going?" I asked as I hustled to keep up with the dynamic duo.
"Oh, you know, chase squirrels, answer the call of nature--doggie stuff," Jessie answered.
My shoes weren't made for running and it was all I could do to keep from twisting my ankle on the uneven terrain. I had played hooky all morning and the emergency room seemed like a miserable way to spend the afternoon.
We had entered a densely wooded area filled with lush vegetation: looming oak trees, sabal
palms, Surinam cherry bushes, ferns, vivid purple beautyberries, and my favorite, psychotria nervosa, also known as wild coffee. Its heavenly aroma made you understand why Adam and Eve decided to brew that first cup of Joe. I was just wishing I had an iced coffee when I spotted my least favorite plant, poison ivy. I pointed it out to Jessie.
She nodded. "Leaves of three, let it be."
I gave the ivy a wide berth as I watched Marley scamper through the woods, he was having a blast. Maybe scamper isn't the right word for a sixty pound Labradoodle, bounding was more like it.
I brushed a sticky cobweb off my arm in disgust. "Is this enchanted forest part of La Vida Boca?"
"Nah," Jessie said. "It's a nature preserve, part of the Palm Beach Parks Department. They have some awesome parks up here. You should see--"
She was interrupted by the urgent sound of Marley barking--something was wrong. Jesse took off running while I brought up the rear, tripping over my shoes. I was ten steps behind when all hell broke loose. Marley was growling and barking as a man cursed at him with gusto. By the time I got there, Jessie was hysterical and I could see why. Marley had cornered a man who had a knife in one hand and a machete in the other.
"Oh my God! Leave my dog alone--if you hurt him, I'll kill you! Down, Marley, I said get down now!"
Next thing I knew, Jessie had thrown herself on top of Marley. Terrified that the man would attack Jessie, I grabbed her waist from behind and tried to pull her away. Everyone was shouting and nobody was budging until finally the man yelled "I won't hurt your damn dog--just get him off me!"
The standoff ended peacefully when Jessie finally managed to yank Marley away. After the man left--which happened immediately--I realized my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. Only then did it occur to me that I'd put myself in danger. It's funny but in a fight-or-flight situation I always assumed I'd run like hell. Turns out I'm an idiot. Good to know.
I wasn't the only one feeling the aftermath of our encounter, but where I was filled with nervous energy from our narrow escape, Jessie was furious.
"We have to call the police! That guy could be a serial killer stalking his next victim."
I shook my head. "We don't know that. Anyway, it's not illegal to carry a knife or a machete. Jeez, it's probably legal to carry a semi-automatic--we live in Florida, remember?"
Jessie knew I was right but she wasn't happy about it. She started racing towards La Vida Boca, a woman on a mission.
"What's the plan?" I asked, trying to keep up. Too bad I couldn't hitch a ride on Marley's back. Man, was I out of shape! I knew I shouldn't have erased that e-mail from my gym when they said they missed me. Of course they did, I was the one who made everyone else look good.
"I need to warn Jodi there's a maniac with lethal weapons lurking in the woods," Jessie replied.
"Hmmm," I said. "I'm not sure he's a maniac, but I'll give you the lurking part."
With the two of us at her heels, Jessie yanked open the garden gate and stormed into the greenhouse. Suddenly, she stopped short, gaping in horror, and I could see why. Jodi was standing near the bamboo, deep in conversation with someone we both recognized. Machete Man.
Chapter Seven
Seeing him there, it was hard to believe this was the same person we'd thought looked so dangerous. In my mind, he had been taller, younger, and much more threatening than the man calmly talking to Jodi. It helped that he was now surrounded by beautiful flowers and that he wasn't brandishing any weapons. Context is everything. Upon closer scrutiny, I could see he was in his late sixties with a neatly-trimmed gray beard and precise mannerisms. He looked like a professor or the conductor of a symphony orchestra, exacting, decisive, in charge. Or maybe my imagination was just on overload. That was a definite possibility.
Jessie was having none of it. "Who do you think you are?" she demanded, wagging her finger practically in his face.
I didn't know her all that well but the Jessie I thought I knew was a giggly purple-haired savior of dogs who loved the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and tie-dye. This version of Jessie was a spit-fire, Jessie 2.0, and she wasn't taking crap from anyone.
Jodi looked shocked. "Jessie, what's going on here?"
"I'll tell you what's going on, do not trust this man. We caught him in the woods carrying an axe and a knife. Who does that? You don't scare me, Mister, so why don't you go intimidate somebody else!"
"That's not--you're making a--" Jodi interjected.
"--It's all right, Mrs. Martin, I can speak for myself," the man said touching her lightly on the arm. He was smooth, I'll give him that.
He turned to Jessie with a forced smile that never reached his eyes. "I apologize for the incident earlier, but I meant you no harm, I assure you. Your dog was being aggressive and blocking my path."
Jessie looked skeptical. "Who takes a nature walk carrying a knife and an axe?"
He stared her down, a pillar of composure and self-assurance. "I'm sorry if they offend you but those are my tools. I take cuttings of plants for grafting and cultivating."
Jessie's expression went from doubtful to smug. "I guess you don't know it's against the law to remove plants from a nature preserve."
It was his turn to look superior. "And what you don't know is that this rule doesn't apply to me," he said disdainfully, then turned and walked away.
Jodi and Jessie were both shaking their heads, but for different reasons.
"That was a bit much, Jess, don't you think?" Jodi was wearing a pained expression.
"Why doesn't he have to follow the rules?" Jessie snapped. "What makes him so special?"
"He's a certified master naturalist, for one thing," Jodi explained.
"Well," Jessie said, not backing down, "he should wear a bell around his neck so he doesn't scare people to death. Seriously, all he needs is a mask and he'd look like Jason from Friday the 13th."
"I hate to tell you this," Jodi said, "but you're going to be seeing a lot more of him."
"Why?"
"Because he lives here. That's Eli, the botanist. He's the new resident."
Jessie scowled. I took that as my cue to take my leave before I passed out from heat stroke and needed my own ambulance with handsome paramedics.
"Hey Jess, I should go, I have a client coming in this afternoon. Thanks for the tour, it was fun. Or something." I laughed and Jessie did too. "Do me a favor?" I said. "Don't tell anyone I was here to see the Petersens, okay? Client confidentiality and all that."
"No problem," Jessie agreed. "Gossip is the only thing these folks enjoy more than Bingo."
"Thanks, and if I ever need an enforcer, I'm calling you. You're something else. But for now, try to play nice in the sandbox. Okay?"
"I'll try," she said making a face, "but it won't be easy. Come on, Marley, let's go see the Card Sharks."
Chapter Eight
"Jamie, do you remember La Nappe Mauve?"
I was back at work and Jeff Rappaport, a former client, was sitting across from me at the conference table asking hard questions.
I stared at him blankly. "Sorry, but I don't. Isn't that French for the purple tablecloth?" I couldn't imagine why we were discussing purple tablecloths. My strange morning was now trending into afternoon.
"Maybe this will refresh your memory," he said, pushing a folded document into my hands.
I recognized it immediately. "This is the will I prepared for your father ten years ago. Does that mean…?"
He nodded, a flicker of sorrow in his eyes. "Dad passed away in January, he was ninety-two. He'd been living with us for the past few years. You know, when someone is a part of your life for so long it's hard to adjust when they're gone. Every day I wake up expecting him to be at the kitchen table reading the paper."
I knew what he meant; I still felt that way about my mother, especially since I was living in her house. "I'm sorry to hear that, Jeff, I liked Earl. He was a wonderful man with a great sense of humor. How is Tracy doing these days?"
Jeff perked up.
"She's fantastic--the doctor gave her a clean bill of health and now she's training for a marathon. Can you believe it?" He rubbed his large belly and laughed. "I should probably take up running too."
Jeff's divorce from Tracy had been the most amicable I'd ever seen. Not only had they agreed on everything, but they were always joking around with each other. I couldn't understand why they were divorcing. A year later when Tracy needed surgery, Jeff had nursed her back to health. Next thing I knew, they were remarried.
"Sure, jogging is good for you," I said, "but so is a glass of wine. That's my kind of healthy living." I unfolded the will and glanced at it. "I'm afraid you've wasted a trip, Jeff, I can't help you with this. What you need is a probate attorney. I can give you some names if you like."
Jeff's round face flushed red and I remembered then how he could never hide his feelings. His face always gave it away.
"I have a probate attorney, Jamie. That's not why I'm here."
"Is there a problem with the will?" I couldn't imagine what it might be since I only prepared simple wills; the complicated ones were referred out.
"The will is fine, the problem is with the bequest. Please do me a favor and read it."
It's awkward to read with someone watching over your shoulder but, luckily, I read fast. Suddenly, it all came back to me. How could I have forgotten La Nappe Mauve? It was an original Chagall oil painting that was Earl's most prized possession. He told me it was the first thing he looked at in the morning and the last thing before bed. He was saving it for his children but wanted to enjoy it while he was still alive. I remembered seeing a photo of it and yes, there was a purple tablecloth, but it was such a small part of the painting it seemed hardly worth mentioning. The picture was a still life of a table with a fruit basket on the left and a tall vase of roses on the right--but I can't do it justice. La Nappe Mauve combined Impressionism and Modernism and was bursting with brilliant colors. It fooled you into thinking it was an Impressionist piece until you noticed the smiling horse peeking out from the roses. Then you saw a woman's face in the top left corner and a silhouette of a blue owl below that. It was a playful painting and I could see why Earl loved it.
Jeopardy in July: A Jamie Quinn Mystery (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery Book 5) Page 2
