The Greening: a novel of romantic suspense...with a touch of magic (The Green Man Series Book 1)

by Sharon Brubaker

  Owen blanched. “Yes,” he admitted, “once. We were caught up in the moment. I’m a little embarrassed by it.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Look,” he said, “I don’t jump into relationships lightly. Anna made me feel sorry for her and then she made me feel like a fool!” he said vehemently. “And, you’ve got to know I’ve feelings for you” he said, “and I…” he stopped.

  Sylvia went to sit down beside him. “Owen, you must realize that what you have told me about your relationship with Anna, and probably more, will come out with the police and most likely the media,” she said. “As for me,” she took his hand and the usual sparks were a steady hum between their hands, “I must say, this has had me think twice about wanting to enter a relationship with you, but then again, I’ve never felt like this about anyone.” She paused, “Ever,” she stated, putting all of her cards on the table. “I guess I’m worried about being made the fool too,” she admitted, “and I’m a little scared.”

  He put his arms around her and kissed her gently at first, and then deeper. It was all she could do to pull away and say, “I think we should get downstairs to Marian.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said.

  He stood up and took her hands and pulled her up off the bed and towards him.

  Marian had a pitcher of margaritas, homemade salsa and corn chips waiting for them. They kept their conversation topics light and all finally relaxed. Sylvia realized they had skipped lunch and was feeling the effects of the margarita when they heard a car coming up the lane. Sylvia craned her neck to see a dark blue sedan pulling in beside her car. Two gentlemen in business suits walked over to them.

  “Good afternoon,” one said, “I’m detective Rogers, Joseph Rogers,” he told them pulling out his badge and showing it to them. “And this is Detective Josephson.”

  Sylvia judged Detective Rogers to be in his mid-30’s. He was of muscular medium build and had black hair and dark eyes. He was married and she wondered if he had any kids. Detective Josephson must be the new kid on the block. He had to be her age or so, but he looked as though he was barely out of high school. He had his light brown hair cut short in a flat top. He looked young, but his blue eyes had a steely look to them. He was a smaller, stockier man than Detective Rogers and looked like a wrestler.

  Owen nodded, “You came to Thurmont yesterday,” he commented steadily to Detective Rogers.

  Sylvia almost giggled as she wondered if the name ‘Joe’ in part of your name was some sort of pre-requisite for being a police officer. The margarita was definitely affecting her. She tried to pull herself together.

  Detective Rogers nodded. “We were wondering how Ms. Ash was making out in the media blitz. Since she wasn’t at home we hoped you could tell us where she was and we’re glad to see she’s here – safe and sound.”

  Surely someone in the media tipped the police that she had left her house carrying a suitcase and clothes, thought Sylvia. They probably put in the call as soon as they saw Sylvia’s car go past the ‘No Trespassing-Private Property’ sign on the lane to Marian’s.

  “I told Sylvia to come here because of the media,” Marian told the detectives, “as I thought it would be less stressful. I’m sorry, we never thought about telling the police,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, nodding to the pitcher of margaritas.

  “No thank you,” Detective Rogers said. “We’re on duty.” Detective Josephson shook his head and still did not say anything.

  “Ahh,” Marian said softly. “Would you like a glass of iced tea then?” she asked.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, “We would be grateful for something cool in this heat,” Detective Roberts said with a smile.

  “I’ll go and get it,” Sylvia offered, starting to get up.

  “No,” Marian insisted, “Detective Rogers and Detective Josephson came to talk to you,” she said, “Let me go in.” Marian got up quickly and went into the house.

  “So,” he said casually, “How is it that you know Mrs., uh, Mrs.…” he trailed off.

  “Marian Duir,” Marian said as she came out with the iced teas on a small tray with sprigs of fresh mint bobbing among the ice cubes. She bathed them with her gentle and luminous smile.

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” said the Detective Rogers. Detective Josephson nodded his thanks and kept silent.

  “Please call me Marian,” she said, “I don’t stand on any ceremony and ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel much older than I’d like to feel!” she said cheerily.

  “Marian is an old friend of my Grandmother’s,” Sylvia told the detectives.

  “And a long-time family friend, for me,” Owen told him.

  “Duir,” he muttered, “Duir… The name is familiar,” he said.

  “Were you at student at State?” Marian asked.

  “Yes!” he said, surprised. “How did you know?”

  “My husband taught history there for many, many years,” she said. “Perhaps you were in one of his classes? His field was history and his specialty was the Revolutionary War.”

  “Dr. Duir?” Detective Rogers asked in surprise. “He was one of my favorite professors! He really brought the revolutionary history of this area to life!” He slapped his leg happily.

  “He was a mentor for my father,” Owen added. “Dr. Anderson, my father, specializes in Civil War history. He was at State for a long time too.”

  The detective nodded and definitely warmed up to them. He took a sip of iced tea and smiled.

  “This is delicious,” he said. “And refreshing. Thank you.”

  “Do you live here?” he asked Owen.

  “Yes,” he said, “for the moment. I graduated with my Masters recently and accepted the job before I found an apartment. It hasn’t been easy to find a decent apartment in this area during the boating season and Marian has been kind enough to let me stay.”

  “Kind!” Marian said with a touch of humor, “It’s wonderful for an old woman like me to have your young hands and arms. Owen’s been quite helpful around this old place,” she told Officer Rogers. “He mows the grounds, repairs things and has been extremely handy.”

  “Do you do a lot of your work from Thurmont here?” Detective Rogers asked Owen.

  “No,” Owen answered honestly. “I mainly work at Thurmont.”

  Sylvia began to feel uncomfortable. These detectives weren’t just checking on her state of mind from the media blitz. They came to fish for information.

  “Do you know a lot about computers Owen?” Detective Rogers continued, “Is it all right that I call you that?”

  “Sure,” Owen answered, “I know enough, I guess,” he told the detective.

  “I’m thinking about buying one for at home,” the detective stated. “I haven’t a clue as to what I need. Do you have your own system here?” he asked Owen.

  “Yeah,” Owen said, “It’s a pretty decent one,” he told the detective. “All the usual stuff that’s on most of the basic models, but my friend bumped it up on the hard drive. A friend of mine in school built mine, but there are a lot of good commercially built systems out there.”

  “Wow!” Detective Rogers said. “It didn’t come from a factory? Could I take a look at it?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Owen said.

  They went into the house.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Sylvia said. “I don’t think he’s here just to look at Owen’s computer.”

  “No,” Marian said, “He’s scoping out the place, but he seems nice enough. The other one is too quiet, but I think he’s just learning the ropes.”

  Sylvia nodded poured herself another Margarita, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She was feeling a little bit tipsy, but at that point, she didn’t care. At one point, as a teenager, she was hooked on soap operas until a friend warned her that if she watched them too much, the world would start to look like a soap opera. She stopped watching them because of some of the outrageous plots, but felt as though she was in the mid
dle of one right now. She just wanted to be numb. The phone rang. Marian ran to get it. She walked out with the portable phone towards Sylvia. Marian made hand gestures that the phone was for her and continued to chat. It must be her mother, thought Sylvia.

  “Syl!” her mother cried when she got on the phone. “How are you?”

  “Okay, I guess,” Sylvia told her, “or as well as can be expected.” She got up and paced around the patio while she talked.

  “Marian’s filled me in on what’s happened,” her mother told her. “You don’t need to relive it for me.”

  Sylvia was relieved and took a long drink from her margarita. Sometimes it was better to be slightly inebriated when talking with her mother. Her mother prattled on and Sylvia wanted to hold the phone away from her ear. She wondered what Owen and the detectives were doing and glanced up to the windows where Owen’s room was. Her mother said something about an attorney that brought Sylvia back to harsh reality.

  “What?” she asked. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’ve hired an attorney for you,” her mother told her.

  “What?” Sylvia cried.

  “You need an attorney,” her mother insisted. “For your own protection,” she said.

  “But, I didn’t do anything!” she almost shouted at her mother.

  “I know, I know, honey,” her mother said, “but you found a body of someone who has been murdered. You need protection and you’ll need advice,” her mother said. “Talk to your boss tomorrow. You’ll need to take some time off so that you can talk with the attorney.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sylvia succumbed to her mother’s wishes. At the moment, it was easier to give in to her rather, than to argue. To be honest with herself, it was nice to feel protected by her mother and Marian.

  The detectives and Owen were coming out of Marian’s house. She said to her mother, “I need to go now,”

  “Okay,” her Mom said, “Be careful. I love you.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Sylvia replied. “I love you too,” she returned.

  Sylvia hung up the phone and walked back to her chair. She hoped she was walking steadily. The men came over and Owen sat down.

  “Thanks for your help,” Detective Rogers said to Owen. “And we’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” he added.

  Owen and Sylvia looked at him, puzzled. Sylvia suddenly wished she had not had the second margarita.

  “We’ll be coming to Thurmont to question people,” he told them.

  “We gave our statements yesterday,” Owen said levelly.

  “You’re right,” Detective Rogers went on, “but I’m sure we’ll have further questions for you and Ms. Ash,” he said glancing over at Sylvia. “We also need to question anyone who’s worked with Dr. Hansen.”

  “We’d like to talk to Ms. Ash for a few minutes, in private,” he said to Marian and Owen.

  “Of course,” Marian said. She looked at Sylvia and said, “Sylvia, you stay seated. We’ll go into the house. I need to start dinner soon.” Marian took the almost empty pitcher of margaritas and the glasses and put them on a tray. She turned to Owen, “Owen, how are you at chopping tomatoes?” she asked.

  Owen got up and followed Marian into the kitchen. Sylvia felt a rock in her stomach from nervousness.

  “Ms. Ash,” Detective Rogers began.

  “Please call me Sylvia,” she said.

  “All right, Sylvia” he said. “How well do you know Mr. Anderson?” he asked.

  Sylvia was surprised. “Well enough, I think,” she said.

  “Hmm,” he murmured. “Are you sure it’s a good idea that you stay here?”

  “Yes!” Sylvia exclaimed. “I didn’t want to be alone with all of the media swamping my house!”

  “Be careful,” he warned her and he glanced at her and then meaningfully at the door where Owen and Marian had just entered the house. “If you need to contact us about anything, here’s my card.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out his business card.

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said, still feeling a little nervous.

  “Thank you for your time,” Officer Rogers said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  The two men got up and walked back to their car. Sylvia stayed where she was until they had gone down the lane and then bolted into the house. Owen was in the kitchen, but she didn’t see Marian.

  Chapter 20

  The things, good Lord, that we pray for,

  Give us the grace to labour for.

  --Saint Thomas More

  Earth Prayers.

  Before she could say anything Owen stated, “I know, I know. They suspect me. Marian and I agreed that I need to get an attorney. She’s calling her friend now.”

  Marian came from the study and said, “There’s been a change in dinner plans. Jon will be coming over for dinner and will be talking with Owen about what’s happened. Too bad, I was in the mood for those chicken tacos, but I don’t think they’re Jon’s ‘cup of tea.’ Oh, well… We’re going to have a Mediterranean meal of Lemon Chicken, rice and salad. Does that sound good?”

  Both Owen and Sylvia nodded. “Good,” Marian continued. “Owen, I would like you to get out the good china and silver. Sylvia, can you peel some of these small onions?” Marian ordered more than asked this time.

  Sylvia was wondering who this ‘Jon’ was and why Marian, of all people, was jumping through hoops for this dinner. Obviously she wanted things to be good for Owen, Sylvia thought, but there was something more to it.

  They set to their tasks and soon dinner was cooking merrily. Sylvia sat, drinking iced tea, hoping she could sober up a little before dinner.

  “How can you cook so wonderfully when everything is…is,” Sylvia asked Marian, “such a mess,” she ended lamely.

  “Food is part of life,” Marian said. “Food is comfort. Cooking is something I truly enjoy,” she said. “It’s also one thing I can control in the craziness of all of this.”

  The margaritas had settled in and she was still a little wobbly. Marian gave her some crackers and cheese and some aspirin, which she took gratefully while Marian chuckled a low chuckle.

  “No more Margaritas for you, young lady,” she laughed and shook a lighthearted finger at Sylvia.

  “Do I look as bad as I feel?” Sylvia asked.

  “No,” Marian told her, “but you look as though you need a break from the alcohol.”

  Owen set the table and returned to the kitchen. He sat in the love seat in the breakfast room, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Marian went up to change into a long, floating sleeveless tunic dress of layers of aquamarine, teal and blues accented by dramatic silver jewelry. The blue-green color of the dress set off the green of her eyes. When her friend came to the door, they all went out to greet him.

  ‘Jon,’ Marian’s friend turned out to be Jonathan Adams, esquire, a distinguished looking gentleman with sharp, bright eyes and snow-white hair which to her surprise, was pulled into a neat queue at the back of his neck. Although he was dressed casually, his clothes were quite expensive, Sylvia noted. She eyed his Ralph Lauren shirt, perfectly pressed khaki pants and open worked leather shoes; that were quite possibly expensive Italian leather—without socks. He brightened when he saw Marian and gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. Sylvia wondered if he was somehow related to John Adams, former revolutionary president. He sort of had that ‘look’, she thought.

  He brought Marian a beautiful bouquet of flowers with baby’s breath, stock, iris, delphinium and roses – all in blues, purples and whites wrapped in chiffon along with a bottle of wine. Sylvia also wondered where he had purchased such incredible flowers on such short notice. Marian introduced Sylvia and Owen and asked Sylvia if she would mind putting the flowers in water and the wine in the refrigerator. She offered Jon a drink and served him up her most expensive single malt scotch, neat.

  They all sat in the living room, stiff for a few minutes, talking of pleasantries. Marian had set out nibbles of cheese, herb spread and cracke
rs. Finally Marian rose and said she would get dinner started and asked Sylvia if she would help. Sylvia rose too, leaving Owen and Jon to talk.

  As Marian and Sylvia exited, she heard Jon say, “Now, my boy, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what happened.” As much as Sylvia wanted to stay and listen, she scooted out to the kitchen where Marian had started browning chicken in a large skillet. She asked Sylvia to get a lemon and some green and black olives from the refrigerator. Marian measured rice and water and put it at the back of the stove.

  “Watch the chicken for me, Syl, and turn on the rice please,” she asked her, “I’m headed out to the garden to get some herbs.”

  “Okay,” Sylvia said.

  Sylvia stood watching the chicken brown in the skillet. She moved it around with a fork a couple of times and wondered what Owen and Jon were discussing. The screen door banged when Marian came back from the garden and Sylvia jumped.

  “Are you okay?” Marian asked.

  “I’ll be all right,” Sylvia said, “I was just lost in thought.”

  “Apparently!” Marian said. “Let’s take the chicken out for a minute and add the other ingredients to sauté. Can you help chop these herbs?”

  “Sure,” Sylvia said. She was slowly learning the techniques that Marian used to create her herbal vinaigrette. She minced the herbs with a sharp little knife and dropped them into a small deep bowl. She watched as Marian added garlic, capers, a little kosher salt, lemon and wine. She asked Sylvia to whisk this together while she added a stream of olive oil. She put the chicken back into the pan with the vegetables and let it simmer. Then she turned off the rice that had come to a boil and covered it.

  “Twenty minutes,” she said, “and we’ll be ready. Let’s have a drink and relax for a minute. I don’t know when those two will be done talking.”

  Marian handed Sylvia a small glass of wine and they sat on the loveseat in the kitchen. Marian had also prepared a small plate of crackers spread with an herbal spread for them to share in the kitchen.

  “This murder is all consuming, isn’t it?” Sylvia asked Marian.