I bolted upright. “Blackmail. You think Gus took the information Nancy gave him about Fulcrum and was blackmailing Bud over it.” I pondered the idea and grew to like it mighty fast. “Oh yeah. This makes sense for sure. Bud knew how the grapevine works around here. If Gus didn’t start a rumor, it couldn’t spread.”
Mrs. Gherkin returned her hand to my arm. “Now we have to figure out how to prove it.”
Yes, blackmail, a perfect conclusion, but. . .“There could be a logical explanation. Maybe Gus was sharing the store profits with Winnie. He could’ve had a bad month so there wasn’t any extra cash.”
Mrs. Gherkin shook her head. “I highly doubt it. Winnie has been suspicious from the first day Gus gave her the money.”
“Then why didn’t she ask him about it?”
“My dear, one doesn’t ever question one’s husband about finances.” Mrs. Gherkin clamped her overly embellished lips together and pointed at the door.
The bell chimed, and I spun around. Drat! The town’s gossipy hairdresser.
“Uma, what brings you here?” I asked as she swung through the opening with large black sunglasses covering her eyes.
“Danger, Will Robinson,” Mr. T screeched.
Uma whipped off the shades, gave Mr. T a quick glare, then tottered toward me. “I had an unfortunate incident at the shop. You know that big plant you sold me last month?”
“Sure, the dracaena,” I said with trepidation. “I hope it’s working out.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It was, until I accidentally poured hair stripper in the pot instead of water. Now I need a new one.”
I wasn’t going to ask her how she made such a horrific mistake, and I surely didn’t want to sell her another one of my babies so she could strip its very life away. “Maybe you should consider silk plants.”
“No, they look fake.” She flicked her fingers.
Seriously? Everything about her screamed artificial, but she wouldn’t own silk plants? I turned back to Mrs. Gherkin and Hazel. “If you two will excuse me, I need to help Uma find the perfect replacement.”
“That’s okay.” Mrs. Gherkin gave a wave of her wrinkled hand. “I need to stop by the repair shop to pick up my good shoes for Saturday night. I sure hope I can stay awake until the crowning ceremony is over.”
I smiled. “Congratulations, by the way. I can’t think of a better Pickle Princess than you.” I tipped my head toward the first service bay where we kept all the indoor plants. “C’mon, Uma, lets see if we can find something you like.”
We rounded the corner together, and Uma halted abruptly in front of a huge dieffenbachia. “Don’t you think it’s kind of crazy naming that old lady Pickle Princess just because of her name?”
I didn’t want to get into the subject with someone who couldn’t understand how much being an honorary princess meant to Mrs. Gherkin. I stood to the side of the plant and gnawed on my lip.
Uma looked up. “Oh, by the way, I heard something this afternoon that might interest you.”
“Really, what?” I didn’t bother hiding my enthusiasm.
Uma smirked. “I won’t name names, but someone told me they saw Charlie fighting with Bud in the parking lot after church last Sunday.”
“Do you know what they fought about?”
“Bet—I mean, my source said she couldn’t hear them. She did say if Rachel and the kids hadn’t gone over there, she thought Bud and Charlie might kill each other.” Uma stroked a thick waxy leaf. “I think I’ll take this one.”
My mind wanted to ponder the news about Charlie, but I wouldn’t sell an accident-prone woman like Uma a highly poisonous plant. I tugged her gently by the arm and directed her to another display. I spent the next thirty minutes talking to her about the care and feeding of plants and found training Uma far more challenging than training an espaliered plant. In the end, she decided to take another dracaena and try using only water.
Passing an eye-rolling Hazel who had Mr. T on her shoulder, I accompanied Uma to the door. Since it was closing time, Hazel was escorting the nutty bird to his cage in my office, where he slept in the dark and quiet. With Uma finally on her way and the front door locked, I went in search of Hazel. I found her sitting at one of the round tables.
She looked up from a notepad covered with dark scribbles. “I didn’t know how long it would take you with the blabbermouth, so I wrote you a note about the day.”
I pulled out the chair across from her. This woman was priceless, greater than any amount of money could buy, just like those credit card commercials. She kept the shop going even when I didn’t give it a moment’s thought. “You know, despite what you said this morning, I’m the lucky one in this relationship. You’re a real asset to the business, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here today.”
Hazel blushed and shoved the paper across the table. “Here’re the orders I placed. Oh, and the delivery of those containers that were supposed to come today is delayed until tomorrow. Kurt’s truck broke down. He said if things work out he should be here by eleven.”
“If they get here in the morning, we’ll still have enough time to prepare the pots for Pickle Fest.” I reviewed the items ordered, penned in big swirly letters. “Those SunGrips gloves are really catching on, aren’t they?”
Hazel snorted. “Could be because we both wear ’em and tell everyone how great they are.”
“Point taken. Okay, well, this looks good.” I set the note on the table and glanced at a shiny dieffenbachia. “I hope Uma didn’t cut Mrs. Gherkin off before she was finished telling her story.”
Hazel shook her head. “She got it all out. We just need to figure out what to do with her info. I think I’ll confront Gus tomorrow. See what he has to say.”
I flashed up my hand. “Wait, no. Not yet. I’m all for moving along in solving this, but Emma’s story is hardly enough to accuse Gus of anything.”
“I suppose you’re right. There has to be a way to find concrete proof.” She sat back and tapped her chin with her index finger. “What if Bud had the money to pay Gus when he was killed? The cops would’ve found it in his pocket. Any way we can ask?”
Perry’s source. “I’m pretty sure I can find out.”
Her eyes were as sad as a little girl who didn’t get any presents on her birthday. “I guess it’s a good idea to wait, but man, Paige, I was ready to let him have it.”
I laughed at her vehemence. “Tell you what. If I find out Bud had a load of cash on him, I’ll let you go after Gus.” I stood and stuck out my hand. “Deal?”
“Deal.” As we shook, both sets of hands calloused from hard work moved abrasively against the other.
I smiled. “You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you go on home? I’ll cash out the register and close up.”
“I’ll go, but not home. I have to meet with the chief first.”
I shivered at the reminder of her visit to Mitch. “I wish I could spare you that.”
“I don’t mind. I’m glad to do every little bit I can to help.” She slung her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
Thinking maybe Hazel was my silver bullet sent to replace Tonto who abandoned me, I walked her to the front door. I waited until she climbed into her beat-up Jeep, then I turned the lock. Smiling, I went to the register. This day had provided me with a plethora of clues. Now all I had to do was connect the dots, and I’d soon know the killer’s identity.
Chapter Thirteen
“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”
“Hi, Paige, I got so excited after your show about the challenge of designing garden beds that I put the plans for three beds on paper that very day.”
“Congratulations on completing three of them in one day. Because of all the things one must consider to create a successful garden bed, things like water, sunlight, harmony of color, and texture of the foliage, I often struggle for days to come up with plans for a simple renovation
. Never have I completed three new beds in one day.”
“Honestly, Paige, I don’t want to sound cocky here, but there really isn’t as much to it as you said. I even installed the beds the same day. My only challenge has been hauling the mattresses inside when it rains so they don’t get wet.”
After making a call to Perry to ask him to check into Bud’s cash situation, it didn’t take long to close out the register and deposit the money in my office safe. Since Mr. T needed his rest, I grabbed a legal pad and my laptop and returned to the classroom area. My stomach rumbled in hunger, but before getting dinner, I wanted to jot down my suspicions about each of my suspects while everything was fresh in my mind.
I slashed two bright red lines down the page. I labeled the left side, Name, the middle, Clues, and the right side, Motive. Happy with my start, I sat back to think.
Let’s see. Who should I list first? On TV, the wife was always guilty, so I’d start there.
Under Name, I jotted, Rachel Picklemann. Under Clues, I wrote “didn’t get upset when told about Bud’s death,” and “was in the park on the morning of Bud’s death.” Now, motive. I had nothing that pointed to a motive except that she was Bud’s wife. I’d never been married, so how should I know if that was a good enough motive or not?
Yes, this is a good start. Who next?
Stacey Darling’s clues were her white sweater, closing the library at the time of death. And motive, hmm, she worked for Bud and that was motive enough for anyone.
Gus Reinke—giving money to Winnie every month. Clear motive, blackmail. Or was it? I needed to confirm cash in Bud’s pocket to make sure this one was viable.
Nancy Kimble—No real clues but plenty of motive in blaming Bud for her mother’s death. Call her boss to confirm alibi.
Charlie Sweeny—white lab coat. SECRET. Caught fighting with Bud, TWICE!
I ran my finger down the list. Lots of possibilities. Nancy had the strongest motive, and yet, I didn’t think she did it. I did have a strong feeling she was right about the murder being connected to Fulcrum in some way. I needed to know more about Fulcrum to be sure.
I flipped up the top of my computer and clicked open an Internet page. With such a common name, the search engine returned over five million hits. I added the city and state to my search criteria, and my list barely topped five hundred. As I worked down the links, I fought to keep my eyes open. I’d slept little the night before and the excitement and tension of the day was taking a toll.
My cell rang, and I nearly bolted from the chair.
“Hello,” I said, so flustered I didn’t check caller ID.
“Did I wake you?” Adam’s low voice hummed through the phone and brought me the last few steps to awake and alert. On the way back from Hillsboro, I’d left a message about Nancy, and he was likely calling to talk about that.
“Hi. . .no. . .I was just doing some research on the Internet. Looking for Bud’s supposed company, Fulcrum. I didn’t sleep much last night.” As if on cue, I yawned. “I think the computer screen was hypnotizing me.”
“Hypnotized, huh? In case that makes you open to suggestions. . .have dinner with Adam, have dinner with Adam, have dinner with Adam.”
His imitation of a hypnotic voice could use some work. Still, I nearly succumbed to the temptation of seeing him. Seeing him? Maybe he was hinting at a date. He didn’t mention wanting to have dinner to talk about Nancy. The thought of spending time with him again was almost too much to bear, but I had to work on this murder, and I was beat.
Wanting to pinch myself for my stupidity, I said, “That sounds really good, but honestly, I’m too tired to drive all that way.”
“No problem. I brought dinner to you.”
“Say what?”
He laughed. “Come outside. I’m here with my favorite Chinese spread.”
Laughing, I headed up front and spotted him through the glass door. He jiggled a large plastic bag with one hand and snuggled his leather binder under the other arm. I hung up and stowed my cell. My first reaction was to race to the back and clean up, but then he’d know I primped for him, and that wouldn’t do for our business only relationship.
I let him in and stepped back as the tangy scent of Chinese food overtook me. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Your message.”
“But you didn’t know I hadn’t eaten.”
He laughed and pushed past me. “No, but I was hungry. I figured I might as well bring enough for you.”
Great, this wasn’t a dinner date. It wasn’t really even dinner. The man was hungry and thought he could multitask. Still, the savory aroma set my mouth to watering. I tamped down my petulance and retrieved disposable plates and forks from the wall cabinet as he set the bag on a table and pulled out container after container.
I laughed. “You must think I eat like a horse or something.”
He grinned. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I brought a variety.”
I had to admit he was kind and considerate, even if this was all in the name of work. “So what do you think about Nancy’s news?”
He peered at me. “You might be on to something. I can’t be sure until we dig a little deeper.” He took a plate and handed it to me. “That’s one of the reasons I came over. It might be time to rethink hiring a private investigator.”
I scooped out a chicken and mushroom dish with spices that tingled my eyes. “We’ve been all over that. I can’t afford more expenses right now.”
“What if I didn’t charge you?”
I looked into his earnest eyes. “I can’t let you do that. You’re already spending a lot of time on this, and you deserve to be paid.”
“I know. . .” As if afraid to say what he was thinking, he alternated looking at me and scooping food onto his plate. When the plate was mounded with colorful dishes, he set it down, fixed his hands on the back of a chair, and looked at them. “I know we agreed this is supposed to be a job, but I have to admit that I’ve never driven an hour to deliver food to my other clients.” He slowly raised his head and studied my reaction.
I liked that he hinted at a personal relationship, and hoping he’d continue along those lines, I gave him a reassuring smile before I finished filling my own plate.
He cleared his throat and continued, “We’re sure to talk about the case during dinner. I can’t charge you for that time. If our short history repeats itself, we’ll get sidetracked. . .often. I won’t know when to cut off my billable hours. If I do this for free, I don’t have to waste any time calculating what part of our sessions are work related.”
“I’m going to pay you.” I took my now laden plate and sat where I could keep my eyes fixed on him. “It’s either that or I find another lawyer.”
He stared back.
My eyes said, “Don’t look at me that way.”
His said, “Don’t be so touchy.”
Touchy? Touchy? I was not touchy. Well, maybe just a little.
He finally shook his head and took the chair next to me. “This is all about losing control, isn’t it? You think if you pay me, you’re in charge and can dictate the outcome. Honestly, Paige, whether you pay me or not, you have little to no control over what’s happening here.”
His words were as right as his eyes, convicting me. But no way would I admit it. “So, you want me to find another lawyer? Because I’m paying you. End of story.”
I wanted to take away the sadness, or maybe disappointment, that crept onto his face, but I sat mute and watched.
He shook it off and stabbed a fork into his lo mein. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now I want to eat before my food gets cold.”
I let the subject drop, and we moved on to a superficial “get to know you” conversation that floated through the air like the pungent spices of our meal. We had more in common than I imagined, pointing to a possible future. If I lightened up. If I gave up some control. If I stopped obsessing about everything. He was certainly worth the effort.
I mean, look at
him—his eyes turning to dark chocolate as he discussed how he felt closer to God in his practice than he ever did in the big corporate firm. The conviction of purpose flowing through his tone. His face handsome and alive. He had it all. The question was, would I ever be part of that all?
“Don’t worry, Paige. Everything is going to work out.” He slipped his hand over mine. He must have interpreted my angst about a relationship with him as worry over the murder charge.
No matter. I let his hand lie there, feeling his warmth. With his long fingers completely dwarfing mine, I could almost imagine that he was right, and we would find the killer in time to keep me from going to jail. Almost. Every passing moment ticked closer to my incarceration. Perry said I’d likely have until Friday, three more days, to clear my name. I’d used this one up without any real success. How many more would it take before I found the killer?
“Are you okay?” Adam asked.
“Not really. I have to admit I’m worried about not finding out who killed Bud.”
“So take my advice. Hire an investigator.”
I shot him a testy glare. “No, and mentioning it again doesn’t help my mood.”
He stood and picked up the plates. “Fine, let’s talk about something we can agree on.”
We cleaned up the dinner mess while chatting about the list I’d just completed. My mood improved, and Adam’s kindness never abated. When the table was clear and the leftovers neatly packed into a bag for him to take back to McMinnville, he insisted on seeing me home. I left my truck at the shop and rode in his sleek black BMW to the alley behind my apartment. I chose to take the back stairway. It was less prone to busybody interference and right now, I didn’t want to share Adam with anyone.
On the landing outside my door, I twisted the key and turned to face him. He’d jumped up another notch on my list when he insisted on being a gentleman and walking me to my apartment. “You really didn’t have to come up here with me. I’m a big girl, you know.”
He grinned and stepped closer. “My mom taught me to walk a girl right to her door. No dropping her off in the street when I brought her home or sitting outside honking when I picked her up for a date.” He slipped strands of hair over my shoulder and leaned close. “She didn’t teach me this, though.” His head dipped lower, his lips ready to settle over mine. I closed my eyes, waiting. . .waiting. . .huh?
Nipped in the Bud Page 12
