“I would love that. You ladies do me proud!” I grabbed a napkin and swept it across my crumby face.
“And you must be busy too, right Betsy? With the spring rush?” Marjory slid another rack of blueberry scones into the oven.
“It’s been crazy. People have been coming out of the woodwork ever since the snow started melting! But I’ve got Mr. Fitzsimmons and Ellison helping in the garden. They’ve been working really hard.” I referred to the two volunteers, one an elderly man and the other a teenage boy, who devoted several hours a week to tending the garden.
“I’m worried about Mr. Fitzsimmons,” Janine pouted. “He works too hard in the garden. What is that man, about 80?”
“No, he’s 73,” Marjory supplied.
“Well whatever. He’s old and he shouldn’t be doing such strenuous work. He could have a heart attack!” The twenty-something shivered as I looked at her condescendingly.
“He’s a healthy man, Janine. He’s probably in better shape than we are! And he enjoys what he does,” I pointed out.
“Still, wouldn’t you feel guilty if he just keeled over in the garden one day?” Janine shuddered.
An odd chill traveled up my spine as she spoke. “Stop being such a pessimist,” I scolded. “Listen, I have to get back to the shoppe. We’ve only got Penny manning the cash registers right now.”
“Come back in a couple of hours and try my blueberry vanilla pudding!” Marjory tempted.
“You are naughty!” I laughed as I strolled out the door.
Crossing through the garden to get to the shoppe, I glanced at the old-fashioned wheelbarrow and the potted plants it showcased. “This could look better,” I murmured, surveying a cluster of browning leaves in front of the display.
Sunshine glowed like a halo above me as I sighed and savored the moment. The winter had been unusually harsh, even by Midwestern standards. I had lost count of how many snowstorms and below freezing days we had endured. And now, here was spring once again like a reward for our patience. The season carried so many bright possibilities…maybe even love. I sighed again, wistfully this time, as I thought of how lonely all the seasons were without a man in my life. Ever since my divorce two years ago, I had poured all my energy into running the shoppe, leaving myself no time for anything else. But I couldn’t run on empty forever. Someday, I would have to take a plunging risk and jump back into the tumultuous waters of love.
The image of a faceless, nameless man floated through my mind as I made my way to the cash register where Penny, the sweet little old lady who had been with me since my shoppe’s grand opening, was trying to break a $100 bill. “Oh dear! I don’t know if I have change!” The grandmother of five was completely flustered. “Betsy, there you are, dear! I need some change!”
“Coming right up,” I unlocked the master cash drawer and handed her a few wads of small bills.
“Thank you, dear.” She counted the change and handed it to the customer. “All he bought was pumpkin seeds!” Penny hissed into my ear as soon as the customer was out of earshot. “Pumpkin seeds and he hands me a Benjamin!”
“Did you just say Benjamin?” I giggled.
“Yes, I’m talking like my grandsons now! Spending too much time with the kids, I think,” she tittered as her milky face lit up with mirth. “And who buys pumpkin seeds in April anyway?”
I shook my head with amusement. “A sale is a sale. I’ll take it.”
Saturday morning buzzed by with a flurry of activity from spring feverish customers who simply couldn’t wait another day to plant their gardens. Packets of vegetable seeds and bags of fertilizer flew off the shelves like migrating birds racing home from the south. By 1 o’clock, I was ready for a little lunch…and maybe even a teeny tiny bowl of Marjory’s blueberry vanilla pudding.
“I’m going to take a quick break, Penny. Mind staying a few minutes longer?”
“No problem, dear!”
“Thanks, you can punch out as soon as I get back.”
“No rush!” Penny said cheerfully.
Outside, clouds were forming in the sky. I frowned as a few unexpected drops of rain fell on my head. “So much for sunny spring days,” I mused.
Wandering through the garden, I peered around for any sign of Ellison or Mr. Fitzsimmons. I hadn’t seen either of the volunteers since opening the shoppe at 9 am, which was odd since they were both scheduled for all day shifts. Shrugging, I meandered through the garden, compulsively picking a few weeds as I went along. “Hey Marbles!” I knelt down to pet the chocolate tabby that was a permanent fixture at the shoppe.
Two years ago, the cat had appeared in the garden with a mighty meow in its throat and a helpless look in its jade eyes. Pitying the scrawny animal, I had offered a can of tuna fish and the critter hadn’t left the garden since. Unofficially adopting the cat and naming him Marbles, I had welcomed a few carefree smiles into my life during the turmoil of my divorce.
Marbles hissed and growled in a guttural, warning tone. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
The feline growled again as I tripped over something and gasped as I fell flat on the ground. Staggering to my feet, I glanced at the grass stains on my pants and the dirty twigs stabbing into my hands. Then my attention turned to the cause of my fall. Sprawled face down in a patch of marigolds was a frail male figure that was utterly lifeless and stiff. My scream was blood curdling as I realized that I had tripped over a dead body!
Chapter 2
From every direction, people rushed towards the garden as my scream echoed along the stormy wind. A torrent of rain pounded the earth as I hobbled away from the body. Marbles sought shelter under the storefront roof as I struggled to breathe. I couldn’t bring myself to look again at the body, but in my gut I knew it was Mr. Fitzsimmons. The wiry shape, the thin silver hair, the beige work boots. It was definitely poor Patrick Fitzsimmons. I shivered in the hammering rain as Janine’s words rang in my head. Had her fears come true? Had Mr. Fitzsimmons collapsed from a heart attack while tending the garden?
“What’s going on?” Janine’s voice was eclipsed by a powerful clap of thunder.
Feeling ill, I managed, “I just tripped and fell…over a dead body…I think it’s Mr. Fitzsimmons!”
Curious customers gathered around the patch of marigolds where the man had met his demise. “I’m going to faint!” I heard a woman moan. “Richard, take me home!”
In droves, the customers fled the area and sought the dry, warm safety of their cars. A line of sedans and SUV’s promptly formed at my shoppe’s entrance as people clamored to get the heck out of there. Distantly, I heard Penny say something that was probably meant to be soothing, but in the stress of the moment, I couldn’t comprehend her words.
The storm picked up intensity for a brief minute before abruptly subsiding to a cool drizzle. I was caked in mud up to my knees that buckled and trembled with shock. “Come inside, dear!” Penny hollered. “I called 911. They’re sending paramedics. Come now, there’s nothing you can do out here!”
“She’s right,” Marjory said softly as I wondered how long she had been standing there. Everything was a haze like the gloomy fog that was settling over Lemondrop Hills in the wake of the passing storm.
“I’ll help you. Steady there,” Penny wrapped her arm around my waist as I let her lead me into the store.
“I can’t believe this. This is horrible!” I wailed as Penny handed me a tissue.
“I knew he shouldn’t have been working so hard! Didn’t I just say so this morning?” Janine said haughtily as I glowered at her.
“We don’t know what happened,” I said tightly.
“Yes dear, maybe he just forgot to take his medication,” Penny offered.
“Medication for what?” I asked.
“High blood pressure,” the grandmother replied.
“High blood pressure!” Janine screeched. “See!” She shook her head judgmentally as I tried to ignore her. The last thing I needed to have on my conscience was an old man dying from working too hard a
s a volunteer for my lousy business.
“Stop speculating!” I snapped. “The paramedics haven’t even looked at him yet. Let them figure it out.”
Hobbling over to the water cooler, I poured a paper cup full and drank until I choked. Pounding my chest, I struggled for breath while Penny arrived at my side. Smacking my back, she murmured, “Oh dear, easy there. Easy!”
Catching my breath, I squeezed Penny’s hand with silent thanks. In the distance, sirens screeched and lights flashed. “The paramedics,” I whispered hoarsely.
As owner of the shoppe, I knew it was my duty to meet the emergency workers at the scene even though the thought of glimpsing the corpse again made me convulse with terror. Reluctantly, I walked outside onto the wet lawn and waved to the crew of EMT’s who were rushing over to the body.
“What happened, ma’am?” A stocky blonde paramedic asked as he felt for a pulse at the base of Mr. Fitzsimmons’ throat.
“I have no idea,” I said weakly. “I was walking through the garden when I tripped…over his body.”
“And the victim was already dead?” The paramedic asked as I nodded. “Okay, do you know anything about his health history? Any heart problems or seizures?”
“I don’t really know him that well. He volunteers here 3 days a week. But one of my staff says that he was on high blood pressure medication.”
“Okay, so we could be looking at a massive heart attack,” the technician surmised as two other members of the crew wheeled a stretcher towards the garden.
The skies were clearing and the clouds parting, enough for a ray of sunshine to cast a glow on an object next to Mr. Fitzsimmons’ lifeless body. A tin metal watering can. Curiously, I knelt in the soil and picked up the empty can, shocked to find a dark red blotch on the spout.
Chapter 3
“Um, excuse me, uh…” I stammered, trying to get the paramedic’s attention.
“Yes ma’am?”
“D-does that look like blood to you?” I pointed to the spigot of the watering can.
“Yes it does. Let me see that. You shouldn’t have touched it.” The young man slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and examined the watering can closely. Turning it upside down, he revealed several more crimson blotches. “The rain can’t wash everything away…that’s definitely blood!” Lunging to his feet, he shouted to the crew, “Get the cops here! We could have a homicide on our hands!”
Like performers in a three ring circus, my staff filed out of the store and gathered around the possible murder victim. “Oh my goodness!” Janine squealed. “What happened? Did someone beat Mr. Fitzsimmons to death with that watering can?”
“Possibly,” the paramedic said as he visually examined the back of Mr. Fitzsimmons’ head. “There’s just one gash I see here, but that could be enough to kill a man his age.”
“But there’s barely any blood. How could he have been beaten to death?” Marjory protested.
“There’s not a lot of visible blood, but there could be significant internal bleeding,” the EMT explained.
“And the rain probably washed the rest of the blood away,” Penny guessed.
“Not all of it,” the paramedic said meaningfully.
A moment later, the sheriff’s car and two back-up vehicles were pulling into the parking lot. What a nightmare. Everything felt surreal as the sheriff sauntered over to the scene, performing a cursory examination as the lead paramedic briefed him. Nodding authoritatively, he turned to me and said, “Betsy Bonnet, right? You own this place? My wife shops here all the time.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” I said awkwardly.
“We’re going to need to interview you and your staff in reference to this man’s death.” His words sounded casually matter-of-fact, but his tone was cold and grave.
“Of course,” I replied on auto-pilot. Nothing but raw adrenaline was going to get me through this ordeal.
The sheriff huddled with his subordinates for a minute before sending them off in different directions. A female officer made a beeline for Penny while the sheriff gestured for me to follow him to a more private location. My breath pumped in nervous spurts as I trailed behind the commanding deputy and mentally prepared to answer any difficult question he could throw my way. Why am I so nervous? It’s not like I had anything to do with Mr. Fitzsimmons’ murder. Oh my, MURDER. That’s why I can’t stop shaking like an autumn leaf.
The sheriff stopped at a picnic table that was covered in rain and acorns. “Mind getting a little wet?” He asked, seating himself on a wooden bench.
“No, I’m already covered in mud,” I replied, taking a seat across from him.
Stroking his long rusty moustache thoughtfully, he parted his lips to speak and then hesitated. Clearing his throat, he began, “Let’s start simple. Tell me everything you know about the victim.”
“Well, I didn’t know him that well, so I can just give you my impression of him,” my voice quavered. “Patrick Fitzsimmons was a really sweet old man, very generous with his time here and very proud to be Irish,” I paused and smiled wistfully. “Just this past St. Paddy’s day, he cooked up some corned beef and cabbage and shared it with the whole staff. I couldn’t believe what a good cook he was! He was a really sweet man,” I bowed my head sadly.
“So you wouldn’t say he had any enemies around here?”
“Oh not at all! Everyone liked Mr. Fitzsimmons…well except for one person maybe.”
My thoughts roamed to Ellison, the arrogant 17 year old who volunteered in the garden simply to fulfill a community service requirement imposed by his high school. Ellison frequently copped an attitude with the older gentleman but could also be downright rude to everyone else on the staff.
“Ellison Misry,” I said. “He’s a high school kid who volunteers in the garden with Mr. Fitzsimmons. I wouldn’t call Ellison an enemy by any means, but he’s been pretty disrespectful at times. But that could just be a generational thing.”
“And where is Ellison right now?”
I gulped involuntarily as I realized again that I hadn’t seen the boy all day. “I don’t know…he was supposed to be here this morning. He works every Saturday,” I explained. “Maybe he overslept?”
“Or maybe he needs to find himself an alibi,” the sheriff said frigidly as I flinched.
Chapter 4
“I didn’t mean to implicate the kid!” I said quickly, feeling like a guilty wreck. Why couldn’t I just keep my fly trap shut? My ex-husband had always complained that I talk too much and maybe he was right. Betsy Big Mouth he used to call me. And darn it, I had absolutely no evidence that Ellison was involved in Mr. Fitzsimmons’ murder, so why had I even mentioned the boy’s name?
“Ms. Bonnet, there’s no need to be upset. We’ll be conducting a thorough investigation of every staff member and maybe even some customers. Ellison Misry would need to provide an alibi no matter what,” the sheriff explained compassionately as some of the remorse drained out of me.
“Okay. How else can I help?”
“You can prove your own alibi,” the sheriff answered as his tone switched abruptly from tender to gruff.
“M-my alibi?” I stuttered even though I had no logical reason to be anxious. Summoning a bit of calm, I replied, “I was in the store helping Penny ring up customers. That’s where I spent most of the day. I was on my way to the bakery to get a bite to eat when I found Mr. Fitzsimmons’ body…or actually stumbled on it,” I cringed at the gruesome memory.
“Okay good. Then I’m sure Penny and some others in the store will be able to confirm your alibi, won’t they?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly. This seasoned sheriff really was a pro at unraveling his witnesses.
“Alright, Ms. Bonnet. I’m going to have a chat with Penny. You hang tight here for a few minutes. Another officer will be coming round to ask you some questions in a bit.” The sheriff rose and strutted away from the picnic table as I folded my trembling hands in my lap.
In the history of Lemondrop H
ills, I had never heard about a single murder. Even home invasions and petty thefts were close to non-existent in my idyllic small town. How was it possible that a homicide, possibly the town’s first, had happened in my little piece of the American Dream? All my life, I had been the ultimate good girl. I didn’t even drink alcohol. Heck, I didn’t even drink soda! As I was about to descend into a pity party, an image of Mr. Fitzsimmons’ sky blue eyes and crinkly smile floated through my mind.
Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t an option; my mission was clear. I needed to lead the police to Mr. Fitzsimmons’ murderer and I was going to do it at any cost. Spying on my staff, snooping, searching public records…no strategy would be off-limits. An intricate sleuthing plot formed in my head as I restlessly waited for the next officer to interrogate me. As soon as I was home free for the day and the cops were off the premises, my rogue investigation would go into launch mode.
***
Darkness had fallen by the time the police officers and paramedics packed up for the night. The entire garden was cordoned off as a crime scene and no one was allowed in the area, not even to water the flowers, until the homicide was solved. Penny rubbed her eyes wearily and reached for her huge purse that resembled a wicker basket. “Oh my, I’m exhausted,” she sighed.
“Who do you think killed Mr. Fitzsimmons?” I asked bluntly.
The old lady glanced at me with surprise and shrugged her bony shoulders. “Dear, I can only imagine. But if I had to guess, I would say Ellison. That boy had a mouth on him like a truck driver. Despicable child.”
“Really? He was disrespectful, but I never heard any bad language from him. He just seemed like your typical moody teenager,” I said.
“Typical moody teenager, my shoe!” Penny stomped her loafer on the tile floor. Leaning in closer, she whispered, “Let me tell you a little story about Ellison Misry. One morning, Mr. Fitzsimmons was minding his business watering the begonias and tulips. Well, out of nowhere, Ellison sticks his foot out and trips him! The little jerk couldn’t stop laughing. Meanwhile, Mr. Fitzsimmons was scraped up and very flustered.”
Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology) Page 23
