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

by Sharon Brubaker

  Marian nodded with a grim face, “Unfortunately it is,” she said and added with conviction, “I think Owen is in real trouble. Those detectives were quite suspicious of him.”

  “I agree,” Sylvia said.

  The timer’s bell rang and Marian jumped up to check the rice.

  “Sylvia, please put the salad on the table and ask the men to join us for dinner,” Marian requested.

  Sylvia walked out to the living room where she heard Jon’s voice say, “There’s a good chance you may be charged. They’ll want to put someone in jail in the first 48 hours whether you’re innocent or not.” Her stomach flip-flopped when she heard those words. She cleared her throat and knocked.

  Two surprised faces looked up at her when she announced, “Dinner’s ready.”

  Owen looked ill and had a difficult time looking up at her. When he did, she saw a pained and hurt expression in his hazel eyes.

  “We’ll be right there,” Jon said and Sylvia turned to go back to help Marian when she heard him say, “Don’t answer any questions. Tell them you need to contact your attorney first. Do you understand?”

  Sylvia didn’t hear Owen’s reply. She returned to the kitchen and tossed the salad for Marian and opened the wine and numbly took both to the table. She heard the men’s footsteps as she and Marian took in the chicken and the rice.

  “This is superb,” Jon said as he started eating.

  Marian blushed with pleasure, Sylvia noticed. Could there be a budding romance between Jon and Marian? She didn’t know. Owen looked tense and Marian and Jon kept up small talk while they ate.

  “You missed my party this year, Jon,” Marian scolded while they were eating.

  “Sorry, love,” Jon told her. “But, it couldn’t be helped. I had plans to be out of the country months ago.”

  “All right,” Marian teased him. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she flirted.

  “I assure you it won’t,” he told her.

  Owen and Sylvia stayed quiet. Sylvia took in all of the lively banter between Jon and Marian. It was clear they were old friends and wanting to become more so on both sides. It wasn’t an uncomfortable meal for Sylvia, she just wanted to be over as soon as possible. Inside she hoped the whole situation with Anna’s murder would just go away, but she knew that wouldn’t happen. After they cleared the table and coffee was served, Sylvia volunteered to clean up and Owen came out to assist her. Jon and Marian took brandy and coffee out to the terrace and sat with the lovely chunky white citronella candles leftover from the party a week prior.

  Sylvia and Owen loaded the dishwasher and washed the pots and pans as they cleaned up. Sylvia wanted desperately to ask Owen what he had discussed with Jon, but bit her tongue. Owen wasn’t offering up any information.

  “I’m really tired,” she commented, “I think I’ll say good night and go on up to bed.”

  “I know what you mean,” Owen said.

  They both went out to the terrace and stood apart from each other.

  “It was nice meeting you,” she said to Jon. “I’ll say good night.”

  “Same here,” he said, taking her hand in a strengthening handshake.

  “I came out to say good night, also,” Owen said. “Thank you for your advice,” he told Jon. “I’m hoping I won’t have to take you up on your offer.”

  “Understood,” Jon said to him, gripping his hand also and nodding at him with a tacit look.

  “Good night,” Marian said to both.

  Sylvia and Owen went upstairs. She got ready for bed and changed into her prettiest nightgown and knocked on Owen’s door.

  “Come in,” he said, quietly.

  She went inside and he was sitting on the bed. Sylvia had only peeked into the room before and had never stepped inside. It was on the masculine side with dark, furniture—a highboy and a four-poster bed. Owen’s computer was set up on an antique library table. It was a spacious room at the corner of the house. One window overlooked the front door and the other over the meadow through the spreading oak. Sylvia went over and sat next to him. Her emotions were a mixture of love, pity, worry, fear, self-pity—she couldn’t make up her mind. He had some music playing from his stereo. Sylvia heard what sounded like a rock band mixed with flute and folk type music. And then she heard some of the lyrics, ‘Can you see the Jack in the Green,’ the singer began. A ‘Jack in the Green’ was another name for the Green Man. Sylvia listened more closely. The lyrics described a more bestial type of green man than the Green Man she knew.

  “What CD is this?” she asked Owen with wonderment. “I’m not familiar with it.”

  “Jethro Tull,” Owen answered.

  “Tull?” Sylvia commented, “I’m only familiar with his hard rock stuff – ‘Aqualung’ and that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah,” Owen replied, “I love his classic heavy rock, but just felt in the mood for something different tonight. This is kind of rock and folk mixed,” he told her, “with something Celtic-like mixed in.”

  “Hmm,” Sylvia answered. “I’d like to borrow it some time.”

  “Sure,” Owen told her, “anytime.”

  “How are you doing?” she asked him as she sat down on the bed beside him and put her hand on his leg.

  Owen shook his head miserably. “Not great,” he said.

  She moved closer to him and put her arm around him and leaned up to kiss him, but he stiffened.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

  “Syl,” he said, “I told you I don’t jump into things—relationships, lightly. I’m not sure I want you involved in any of this. It’s already gone far beyond anything I could have imagined. If we…” he broke off. “I don’t want you involved any more than you already are!” he said vehemently. “I don’t want it to come out in court that we are involved. I don’t want you implicated in any way.”

  “I don’t care,” Sylvia said. “I care about you and I’m worried.” She attempted to touch him again, but he pulled away.

  “Look,” he said, with anger tingeing his voice, “Jon thinks I’ll be charged. I don’t want you involved!” He looked at her with a combination of fear and sadness in his eyes.

  “I need to call my parents and let them know what’s going on,” he said, “and what might happen.” He stood up abruptly and turned away from her to move towards the phone.

  “Okay,” she said as emotion free as she could and stood up too. “Good night.” Feeling rejected she got up and went back to her room to crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling in misery. She wished she could cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Sylvia tossed and turned. She was hot and got up and opened up the windows as far as she could and pushed the comforter and light summer blanket off of her. Her mind was full of thoughts that would not come to the surface. Sleep only came in snatches throughout the night. It seemed to last forever with waking and listening in the dark and waiting in vain to fall back into a restful sleep.

  Chapter 21

  Everyone is like the moon and has a dark side which he

  Never shows to anybody.

  --Mark Twain, “Following the Equator”

  Sylvia woke up to squint at the bright morning sunlight in her eyes and head hurt and her mouth felt like old socks had been stuck on her teeth and tongue. Damn the margaritas she thought. They had gone down much too easily with the stress of the day. Crawling out of bed feeling ancient Sylvia stood in the shower for a long, long time letting the hot water course over her head until she felt slightly awake. She toweled off but, still felt damp with the onset of the summer’s hazy, hot and humid days. The thick walls of Marian’s house kept the house at a moderately comfortable level, but even at seven in the morning, Sylvia could feel the oppressiveness of the heat of the day building. She dressed in a light sage green linen and cotton sleeveless tunic dress and pulled a short-sleeved cardigan from the suitcase to guard against a chill from the air-conditioned environment at work. She smelled coffee brewing and gladly followed her nose to the kitchen whe
re Marian was sitting and listening to the morning’s news.

  “It’s to be a hot one today,” Marian informed her when she entered the kitchen. “All the heat and smog warnings are up.”

  Sylvia made her usual café au lait and while the milk was heating in the microwave she asked Marian, “Have you seen anything about Thurmont and Anna’s murder?”

  Marian hesitated a minute before answering, “Yes,” she said. “Apparently the company executives have no comment except they hope to find the perpetrator of the crime.”

  Sylvia put a slice of bread in the toaster and stood sipping her coffee while it toasted. She wasn’t overly hungry, but wanted some aspirin to stop her throbbing head. Owen came down and looked grim.

  “Good morning, everyone,” he said.

  Sylvia nodded at him and pulled out an extra cup to pour him some coffee. He accepted it gratefully.

  “Did you talk to your parents last night?” Sylvia asked.

  Owen nodded. “They’re pretty upset,” he told Marian and Sylvia. “They said they would come down if…if anything happened.”

  Sylvia gulped down her coffee and then changed the subject, “Do you want any breakfast?” she asked Owen.

  “No thanks,” he said. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Owen,” Marian admonished. “Not eating is not going to help you. Have a piece of toast, at least.”

  “All right, Mom,” he said, with a touch of humor coming back into his voice and face.

  Owen went over to make toast and slathered it with peanut butter. He returned to the table with it on a napkin.

  “Is this okay?” he asked Marian.

  She nodded with a smile, “Absolutely.”

  Sylvia popped a couple of aspirin and gulped the last bit of a second cup of coffee before she put on the darkest sunglasses she could find as they went out the door. Owen drove them to Thurmont. Still she squinted in the bright morning’s light. She gave up and closed her eyes about half way to work. Owen was quiet and they listened to the drone of oldies and traffic reports for Baltimore far south of them. When the news came on, Owen turned it off and Sylvia sat up. They were just pulling into the parking lot at Thurmont and she saw the same television crew vans that had been in front of her house.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned. “Here we go again.”

  “I’ll drop you off at the door,” Owen said quietly. “and then I’ll park and come inside. Maybe if we divide and conquer it will confuse the reporters. ”

  “No,” Sylvia said, “we’ll do this together.”

  He parked as close to the building as he could. They got out, but no reporters came running after them.

  “They must be inside,” he muttered as he steered her through the front doors, holding her elbow gently. They both nodded to the security guard at the front desk and Owen walked her to her office. She didn’t know what to say to him.

  “I’ll talk with you later?” she finally asked.

  Owen nodded. “Lunch?” he questioned.

  “E-mail me when it’s a good time,” she said.

  He nodded. “Hang in there,” he said.

  “You too,” she returned.

  He made a move to give her a kiss, but stopped himself. Sylvia sat down at her desk a little shakily. She logged onto the company network and onto her email. There were several new messages. Before she could open any, Carol came up to the doorway.

  “Hey girlfriend,” she said, her face curious and excited. “How are you doing?”

  “I’ve been better,” Sylvia told her grimly.

  “Well?” Carol asked. “Tell me what happened!”

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” Sylvia told her. She told Carol an abbreviated story of the Saturday morning stream watch activities and then about finding the body.

  “Well, ‘ding-dong the bitch is dead!’ Carol sang irreverently off key.

  “Carol!” Sylvia cried in indignation. “It was horrible! Her body was…” Sylvia broke off.

  “What?” Carol persisted.

  “It looked as though something had been eating at it,” Sylvia said quietly. “It was…” she stopped, but could not think of another word but, “horrible.”

  “You should go home,” Carol advised. “You’re in no shape to be here.”

  “I’d like nothing better, but the police…” she broke off when Mr. Carter came into the office.

  “Good morning,” he said to both of them. “Sylvia, can I talk with you in my office when you’re finished?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Carter,” Sylvia told him. Both she and Carol watched Mr. Carter go into his office and shut the door.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Carol said. “Give me a call or e-mail me, okay?”

  Sylvia nodded. She cleared her throat and smoothed her dress and knocked on Mr. Carter’s door. She heard him say ‘Come in’ from inside and she opened it with trepidation. He cleared his throat when he saw her standing in the doorway and motioned for her to come inside.

  “Sit down,” he said kindly. “I understand you had a bit of a brew-ha-ha this weekend.”

  “You could say that,” she answered, trying to keep something like cynicism out of her voice.

  “I’ve heard about it from Headley, now I would like to hear your version,” he asked.

  Sylvia told her story again. She added a few more details for Mr. Carter than what she had admitted to Carol. Mr. Carter sat and listened quietly while she talked, drinking coffee from a large, stained travel mug that he brought into work with him daily. When she finished, he sighed and ran a hand through what hair he had left and tugged at his belt in what Sylvia knew was a mannerism of his. She waited.

  “What a mess!” he muttered. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Sylvia tried to keep her emotions in check and swallowed hard. She couldn’t speak again for a minute. “As okay as I can be for the moment,” she answered finally.

  “Good,” he said. “I think one of the best ways to deal with something like this is just to jump on the horse and start riding again.” He started talking about a new project and talked about the upcoming Bay Days, but, Sylvia only half listened. She nodded, trying to pay attention and look interested, but it was difficult.

  “I’m sorry,” she said eventually, “I’m having difficulty concentrating,” she told Mr. Carter. “Would you mind following up with an e-mail about all of this.”

  He nodded. “Go and get a cup of coffee,” he suggested, “and get caught up on email. If you could start pulling together a report on the stream watch activity on Saturday, I would appreciate it.”

  “All right,” Sylvia said, “Thanks.”

  She left and went down to the break room where coffee was brewing. She poured herself a cup and leaned back against the cupboard for a minute. She closed her eyes and sipped her coffee for a minute, before heading back to the office. She was exhausted. Once back she checked her email. There were several from Gwen asking her to please reply, what’s wrong and berating her electronically for being out of touch by email, and by phone and text. Guiltily, Sylvia emailed back that a lot had happened in the past few days and informed Gwen that she was staying at Marian’s for a few days. She added Marian’s phone number and said she would be in touch by cell very soon. Another company email briefly described Saturday’s events and asked for cooperation on everyone’s parts with the ensuing investigation. A second email from the company informed her of a memorial service on Wednesday afternoon for Anna. The company would give liberal leave to anyone who wished to attend, and to let Carol in Human Resources know if they planned to attend. Sylvia emailed Carol that she would like to attend and also asked when she was going to lunch. There were no messages from Owen and Sylvia wondered how he was making out.

  It was shortly after she finished her email and began to work on her report that Mr. Headley dropped by.

  “Good morning, Ms. Ash,” he said smoothly. “How are you doing this morning?”

  “As well as can be expected, I think,”
Sylvia answered politely. Something about this man made her skin crawl. He seemed to leer at women and undress them with just a glance. Sylvia pulled her little cardigan around her and refrained from crossing her arms over her chest.

  He pushed back a couple of things on her desk and sat down on the edge.

  “I’m so sorry for all of the difficulties that you went through this weekend,” he said softly and silkily. “I certainly appreciate your efforts to create a good image for the company.”

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said very quietly. She wondered how she could get him to leave.

  “I wanted to let you know that the police will be here soon, questioning anyone who was near or involved with Anna,” he said.

  Sylvia had to restrain herself to not say ‘including you’, but she held her tongue. She kept her eyes down, hiding her disgust for him.

  He continued, “Poor Anna, she was a troubled young woman. It’s a shame she couldn’t keep out of trouble and make good choices.”

  His words sounded like a veiled threat. Sylvia swallowed and tried to think fast.

  “She was in trouble?” Sylvia asked.

  “All the time, personally and professionally,” he divulged. “And you,” he changed the subject, “seem to be moving along possibly in all the right directions. I’ll have to discuss some additional ideas with you when all of this clears up,” he said as his hand slid over hers, lingering for a moment as he stood up. She shuddered.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I’m a little cold.”

  Before he could make yet another veiled sexual comment, Mr. Carter came out of the office. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. “Hello, Dick!” he said, pumping his hand.

  “Hello, Carter,” Mr. Headley said, pasting a smile on his face as he shook his hand. “I came to offer our Ms. Ash tea and sympathy for her upset this weekend. She seems to be holding up pretty well, though,” he said smiling back at Sylvia and patting her hand. After another minute or two of small talk with Mr. Carter, he finally left and Sylvia sighed appreciatively. Mr. Carter noticed how relaxed she became when he left. “Good girl,” was the only comment he made.