She grabbed the phone from her pocket and dialed the Sheriff's office. While keeping her voice as nonchalant as possible, she asked the woman who answered the phone to send Ed to check on a possible break-in. If word got out that vandals broke into the store, her business would be hurt. Customers might think twice before meandering the gardens. This time, she was adamant the incident would remain a secret, even from Blaine.
Not wanting to see anyone yet, she searched through the windows. The store appeared empty. She went inside. Then she saw Roz.
“What's happened to you? You look like you saw a politician.”
“I had to call the Sheriff.”
“Damn, this is serious.”
“Potters' vases, the small ones, are broken. I can't believe anyone could do this. Can you think of anyone?”
“There's no one I know that could get over the fence let alone break the pots. I could understand stealing, but breaking? This doesn't make sense.”
“I know that was my first thought too, vandals. But why just break pots? Know who I thought of?”
“I can't imagine.”
“Sara.”
Roz fell quiet for a moment then stepped back. “I can see why you might feel that way. But, let's think about this. If she really wanted to cause you harm this business wouldn't exist. Am I right?”
The glimmer of common sense lit up Joan's eyes. “Exactly. You are right. But who could do this?”
“My guess is that Benny's involved. He's so jealous of Zack. And if he really tried he could climb the fence. Could it be paybacks?”
“I get that, especially since Benny admitted he threw that stupid life-like rat on the porch. But before we blame him, I'm calling Cal. Perhaps he can shed some light on this.” Joan dialed and left a lengthy message, careful to reveal only the facts, without emotion.
Twenty minutes later, the entrance bells clanged. They heard boots thunk across the showroom. Cal stepped toward the counter. Deep lines creased his forehead. “I only heard part of your message. Something about vandals. Are you okay?”
A flush brushed Joan's cheek. “I'm so sorry you came all this way. I mean I'm glad you're here, but I thought my message sounded...”
“She means it's been a hell of a morning. And yes, we are okay, thanks for asking. But a lot of pottery was smashed sometime last night. We thought kids might have jumped the fence and you being coach, might have an idea who could have done this.” Roz pushed her bangs out of her eyes.
“Ah, now I understand. I can't think of anyone, but I'd like to look at the scene. Your message didn't sound as if there was a lot of damage, but if I look at it, I might get more clues.”
Joan glanced at Roz with pleading eyes as if asking, “can you go, I'm embarrassed?” She thought her voice was calm when she called. She thought he would simply return the call. Now that he wanted to investigate, keeping the incident quiet might be impossible.
Roz answered, “you two go. I'll wait here in case anyone shows up.”
Determined not to appear worried, Joan asked Cal to follow her. They trekked through the kitchen, passed the cinnamon rolls, and headed out the back door. At the site, Joan pointed at the broken pots and then bent down to pick up a few pieces.
“These guys left the bigger vases, the more expensive ones. That seems so odd,” she remarked. When Cal didn't respond she stood up. He had walked to the fence and was starring at a large tree branch protruding over the fence.
“How do you think they got in?”
“Could be this branch, but do you have a dog or did you hear a dog barking around this tree last night?”
“No, I don't have a dog and we didn't hear barking either.”
“Can you come here? I'd like to show you something.”
“You found the problem?” She hopped over the broken bits of pottery and scurried toward the fence.
Cal knelt down and swept away a few dead leaves. “See these tracks?”
“Are they dog tracks or Willie's, our cat?”
“No definitely not that.” Cal stood, looked up, and pointed into the tree on the other side of the fence. “See that fella up there on the left?”
Joan cocked her head, looked up and swallowed hard.
“Did you start feeding the raccoons?”
She told herself, “there's nothing to be ashamed of, how could anyone know? Even Roz didn't suspect a raccoon.” She drew a long breath, relieved it was a wild animal and not a person that broke the pottery. An animal could be scared away. People, on the hand, could be trouble. And the pots? They were just things, they could be replaced. And the cost? It was just money and that always comes and goes. When she looked at Cal, he looked as if he was going to break out laughing.
“So the jokes on me.”
He hooted with laughter until tears practically squirted from his eyes. “I'm so sorry. I know this isn't funny. It's just that I ...”
“Just what?” she glared.
“I'm so relieved. I thought you or Zack were hurt. Apology accepted?”
“Accepted. I guess I feel stupid. I didn't even look.”
“Don't bust yourself up too bad, most people wouldn't know to look. Shall we head back?” He cupped her elbow and gently glided her back to the store.
By the time they reached the showroom, Roz had already made a fresh pot of coffee and microwaved the cinnamon buns, making them stickier than the oven baked rolls they had this morning.
“I hear lots of talking. What happened out there?”
“It was raccoons, not vandals.”
“Oh my god, nasty little critters. We need a dog.”
“I'll think about it. Right now I can't think about anything.”
When the entrance bell clanged, they stopped eating, looked up and stared at the door.
Ed stepped through the door and pulled off his hat.
“Sheriff?”
“That's me and you called.”
“We did,” Joan stammered. “I am glad you came, but I think before I tell you the story, I'd like to offer you coffee.”
“And a cinnamon roll,” Roz piped in.
“This must be one hell of a story if rolls are included.”
“One I'm sure you'll enjoy.”
Chapter 12
Friday arrived along with sunshine and the promise of clear skies the entire day. Today, work on the box garden project would begin. Ditch witches had already cleared most of the surface weeds and debris from the site. Dump trucks had delivered mounds of soil, mulch, and building hardware. Volunteers were scheduled to meet at nine a.m. But, before Joan started work on the gardens, she needed an extra strong cup of coffee, the kind only Blaine could make.
“My dear, I'm so sorry about your raccoons,” Blaine said when she plopped on the wooden chair at the front counter.
Shame, the color pink started to rise on her face. “I thought I had sworn everyone to secrecy.”
“You must be joking.”
“I suppose I should joke about it. That whole thing was a joke. You know I was so rattled I even thought Sara might be involved, the way she's been acting so back and forth.”
“No! How could you?” Blaine held his hand over his heart. “Do you remember when I told you Sara relies on staff to make her calendar?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, Ivy is responsible for Sara's calendar when it comes to garden projects.”
“What's that got to do...”
“Sara does want you to landscape the library. It's such an unsightly mess. Didn't she say so at the baseball field?
“How did you know that?”
“She told me when she realized she missed your meeting because Ivy left the event off her calendar. It was her way of apologizing.”
“But what about the missed council meeting?”
Blaine waved his arms in circles and flitted his fingers. “Oh how we do fuss about. My dear, Ivy does not want you to succeed. She is, after all, president of the garden club. She believes her club should fix t
he library, not you Miss Newcomer. And so, again, nothing was on the calendar. ”
“I couldn't have guessed that. Ivy's been so helpful.”
“Precisely. Do you really think a jealous woman could act any other way?” He lifted his shoulders and held out his palms. “C'est la vie, my dear.”
“But why did Sara blame George Peterman?”
“She didn't know. You see, George was very upset that night you weren't on his agenda. He never overlooks a thing. Anyway, he called me. Then we found out that Ivy told Sara council wouldn't hear your presentation. Sara thought George was to blame. Of course he had no clue...”
“Oh no, and I had words with Sara.”
“Indeed.”
Joan scowled. “You could have told me.”
“My dear, you did not ask.”
“All right then,” she sipped on the thick espresso. “I may have some apologizing to do. But not today. Today, my focus is getting these boxes built.”
“Well said.”
After they said goodbye, Joan hiked up the hill to the library. The hike relaxed her enough to focus on the work ahead and forget about the morning's conversation. Thirty volunteers, mainly garden club members and shop owners, were waiting to start the project. They came with shovels, rakes and wheelbarrows to create Sand Hill Cove's Community Garden Park. Today, they would build twenty box gardens and create the curved paths that linked the boxes. Eventually, the black chain-link fence surrounding the property would also be used to support fruit or vegetable vines.
At the entrance, she heard Lindsey and Chloe talking above the whirling saws, humming drills and pounding hammers. Busy bees that never stall, are busy making food for all. The elementary school rhyme popped into her head then floated away when she saw the girls walk toward her with their dirt-caked garden tools in hand.
“This is so cool. Think it'll be done today?” Lindsey asked.
“The boxes will be, but the plants will grow over time. And you know gardens, they're never really complete, but sometimes you can slow down and enjoy them when they're in full bloom.”
Joan surveyed the project and made a note to herself to thank all the volunteers that had showed up. Forgetting to thank even one of them would be a huge mistake. The last volunteer she saw was Ivy, working on a knock-out rosebush near the library wall. Surprised that Ivy was working on the project at all, she turned to Lindsey and asked, “any idea why Ivy is digging in the roses instead of making boxes?”
“She wants to get rid of a dead bush.”
“Funny, I hadn't spotted it before, but I guess she knows what she's doing.”
As they walked past the sites, Joan checked the yellow flags for proper alignment. They'd been arranged earlier so the volunteers would know exactly where to place the boxes. When they reached the last site, Joan saw Roz hammering a board.
“Here, let me help you hold this in place.”
“Thank you, trying to do too much by myself just makes extra work.”
“True. So are you gonna tell me what the girls are planting in this bed?”
“Peppers. They take the longest to ripen and are sure to survive the heat.”
Before Roz took another whack, a woman screamed like a bobcat. Roz dropped her hammer. Color vanished from her face. Joan slowly looked up. Next to the knock-out roses, Ivy stood frozen, her eyes wild and staring at the crowd. Joan leaped and ran toward Ivy. Several volunteers followed.
Ivy cried, “a sk... sk... Skull!”
Joan grabbed Ivy's arms and cradled her. Slowly easing one foot in front of the other, they moved away from the scene. Joan willed her eyes to look forward avoiding any possible view of the skull. They reached a wooden bench and sat down. Ivy heaved her body into Joan's side and shuttered. Joan patted her arms. She could hear volunteers speculating; human for sure, how on earth, who is it? Then she heard someone yell dial 911. Another said call the Sheriff. Then someone was talking to the Sheriff. Ivy whimpered. Joan pulled her shoulders blades together, drew a breath deep below her rib cage, and looked toward the crowd.
Roz stood at the back of the crowd with Lindsey and Chloe buried at her waist. In the distance, sirens blared and grew louder as they approached. Then Roz turned as if she sensed Joan was looking at her. Her mouth gaped open wide. It was the first time Joan could recall Roz speechless.
* * *
Yellow crime scene tape marred the fence where plants should have grown. The crowd was gone. Joan sat and watched Ed and the other officers trample across her gardens. Everything had halted. Boards, not yet built into boxes, lay motionless in the dirt. The yellow flags remained in place, waiting for box gardens to fill the void. Even the library closed. The patrons had all been sent home. Questions swirled aimlessly in her head. Maybe I shouldn't wait anymore. Maybe I shouldn't do this at all. I just want a garden, a community garden.
“I know how difficult this is.” Ed lifted his hat and scratched his forehead.
“What do I do?”
“Right now the best thing for you to do is go home. Until we get a better idea of what's happened here, I'm going to ask you to wait before you come back.”
“How long?”
“Could be several days. Would you like someone to take you home?”
“No, I think not. I need to walk away.”
She nodded at Ed then walked toward the gates without looking back.
Chapter 13
Silence engulfed the nursery and she liked it that way. It gave her the chance to deadhead every brown and rotten bloom that existed in the nursery. It also gave her time to let her mind simmer down after the police shut down the community garden. Three weeks had passed with no word from the Sheriff. At this point she hoped they would never find out what had happened. She'd imagined that the library concealed an ancient Indian burial ground beneath the foundation, or that a French trapper had fallen on horrid luck and died. Whatever the case, she really did not want to think about it any longer. She just wanted the incident to go away.
As she plucked a dying petunia, a few drops of rain pinged on the roof then quickly turned into a pounding deluge. Irritated at the constant pounding, she stopped plucking and went back to the empty showroom hoping the storm would keep customers, with annoying questions, away until she could get back to the nursery. Before Joan could cross the nursery, Roz opened the door.
“Ed's on the phone for you.”
She quickened her pace and answered the land line phone in the kitchen.
“Are you sitting down?” Ed asked.
“I am now,” she lied.
We have identified the remains. They belong to Sara's late husband.”
“Oh my God.”
“He's been missing since Halloween 2001. We found his empty skiff floating in the bayou, but we never found a trace of him until now.”
“Sara must be beside herself with agony.”
“Yes, she has been for a long time.”
“How long do you think the investigation will last?”
“There is not going to be an investigation.”
“What?” This time Joan sat down hard. “But how can that be after all these years? Sara must want to know who did this.”
“Actually, we've already talked and she'd like the case to remain closed.”
“But the truth needs to come out Ed. I need to know the truth.”
“I thought you might feel that way. You see, everyone thought he fell from the boat and it was horrifying to imagine how he could have died in those waters. As time passed, the image faded. Sara doesn't want to stir up any new horrors.”
“But I don't understand, isn't an investigation mandatory?”
“Again, I considered you would think that way, so I talked with Sara and we would like to meet with you within the hour.”
Joan paused a moment. “And Sara agreed? If so, I'd like to meet.”
“She did. So we will see you in an hour.”
Joan set the phone down and blinked at Roz. “Sara and the Sheriff are
coming. Even though they've identified that body as Sara's former husband, she doesn't want an investigation.”
Roz cocked her head. “You're shitting me?”
Joan repeated Ed's story verbatim. Over the next hour they dissected, analyzed and guessed at Sara's reasoning. They discussed how hard it must have been for Sara to lose her husband before she had children. With no heirs, Sara was the last Deaux descendant that would hold a political office in Sand Hill Cove. And they'd been running the town for years. But before they could conjure up a meaning, the entrance bell clanged.
Joan met Ed and Sara in the showroom. She helped them hang their soggy coats and had them follow her into the kitchen. That seemed like the most comfortable place to talk. Ed started to explain, but Sara interrupted.
“Ed I appreciate you speaking up, but I'd like to talk to Joan and Roz.” Sara sat down and rested her hands on the table. “Ed may have already told you this, but I'd like to start at the beginning.”
“My husband disappeared the day of the Blue Moon Festival. That year the festival was a wild affair since it landed on Halloween and I expected my husband to be at the center of the drinking festivities. I also expected him to spend the night with one of his mistresses as he had done for years.”
“When I came home after watching the parade in front of Holden's Bookstore, I heard yelling and sobbing coming from my kitchen. I grabbed a shovel from the porch and worked up the courage to walk in my own home. As I walked toward the kitchen the shouting stopped. Then I saw my drunken husband standing in his shorts near the kitchen table. A gun laid next to the vase I had filled with roses just that morning. A young woman stood opposite the table. Her face was splotchy and red from crying. Her hair hung over her eyes. She turned to me and said she was so sorry, but needed help raising her daughter. She pleaded with me to help her.”
“I recall standing there with a shovel in my hand feeling immobile. Then I heard a small voice next to the kitchen table. A tiny girl with wide blue eyes said Daddy. Then she reached at the table.”
Community Gardens (Community Garden Series Book 1) Page 7
