The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2)

by Marty Wingate

  The police arrived. DS Hobbes talked with them all in turn, while two uniformed officers scoured the scene. The morning wore on as they took turns telling what they knew, which was precious little. It didn’t look like the work of a chain saw—Pru might’ve heard that, but her cottage was too far away to have heard anything else, plus she’d had BBC Radio 4 on for most of the evening.

  “Pru, could you go down and check the tools in the shed—see if anything is missing?” Hobbes asked.

  The acrid smell of smoke permeated the shed, but Fergal had tidied up after the fire and laid the tools back out for display, and so she saw immediately the blank space where the ax should have been. Nothing else was missing.

  Hobbes took her aside at one point and said, “Will Inspector Pearse be down this weekend?”

  “No, he can’t make it—and I don’t want him to think he needs to be here. It’s just the vandals again.” She watched his face. “Don’t you think?”

  “Each time it’s been worse,” he said.

  The DS talked with Ivy. She had arrived at Primrose House later than usual, stopping first to clean for another client. Davina and Bryan had gone up to London early that morning before they flew off to Brussels.

  Pru gave her employers a report by phone. Davina sounded as heartbroken as Pru felt. “Did you see Ned around at all—last evening or early this morning?” Davina asked her.

  This is ridiculous, thought Pru. “No,” she said. “Why? Do you think he had something to do with it?”

  “Oh, Pru, it’s such a long story. I’ll explain when we’re home again next week.”

  “He wouldn’t have been able to do this, Davina,” Pru said. “It’s too big a job.” Not just physically: she didn’t believe Ned could have that much rage in him.

  In the afternoon, Pru told everyone to go home. Much of the walled garden was off-limits, and they weren’t allowed to move any of the debris off the site yet. She would take the paraffin heater up to Tunbridge Wells for repairs—one of the chimneys had cracked when the firemen dragged it out. Before she left, Fergal reminded her that he and Liam would not be at Primrose House on Friday, so she would have only Robbie and Ned.

  Reluctant to go back home herself, she wandered through a few shops in town, looking but not seeing. She got a coffee and sat in the café’s window seat, watching the bustle on the street at the end of a workday. Too many questions were bouncing around in her head, and she needed to sort them out.

  Each incident had followed a blog post about the garden, Primrose House, and Pru’s work. Did someone want to make her look bad, and if so, why? Was it someone’s wish that, if enough of these acts of vandalism occurred, she would quit or be fired from her head gardener post? This trail led her to two people: Ned—it seemed long ago now that he had told her someone else got the job—and Jamie, who had applied for it. But Ned never acted as if he held anything against her, and Jamie had been nothing if not…charming. She thought about what Liam said Tanner had done to his wife. It didn’t sound like the same person.

  There was no other reason for her to link Jamie with any of the damage—unless, of course, he showed up next week with replacement yews already clipped into peacocks. He seemed concerned to make sure that Davina and Bryan knew about his good deeds, Pru thought. Maybe he wanted them to regret their choice of head gardener.

  Oh God, she thought. Just ask him.

  She located the Council parks office and asked where she might find Jamie Tanner.

  The girl at the desk sighed heavily as she clicked off a page on her computer—Pru caught a glimpse of the Duchess of Cambridge at some charity affair—and jerked her head up at Pru, then down at her computer screen, and back to Pru, each movement causing her wad of braids, caught up in a thick hairband, to jiggle and sway. “If he’s still around,” she said, “he’ll probably be at the sheds, finishing up for the day. They’re round to the back, the other side of the car park.”

  Pru followed the directions, sticking her head in a greenhouse that had lockers and a workroom at one end, and asked for him.

  “I was up at Dunorlan Park with him today,” a man with a red ponytail said, as he took off his rubber overalls. “But we were working at opposite ends. He might be up there still—do you know it?”

  Pru knew the park, just outside the city center, but she was losing her nerve as quickly as she was losing the light. “Thanks, I’ll find him another day.”

  As she headed back to her Mini, Jamie pulled in, got out, and walked toward the greenhouse.

  “Jamie?”

  He stopped just past the pool of light from the security lamp, his face in shadow. “Pru. Are you looking for me?” His voice was quiet, and she walked closer to hear better.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at work,” she said, wondering what she thought she would say to him. “We’ve had another problem up at the garden.”

  “A problem? More rabbits in the greenhouse?” She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear a smile in his voice.

  “No, it’s worse than that. Two of the yews in the walled garden were hacked to pieces this morning. Or last night, I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “Jamie, did you really want the head gardener post?”

  He remained still. “Why do you ask me that?”

  “You…” Her throat was dry. She swallowed, trying to find her voice again. “You seem to like the place.”

  “I couldn’t take any more work on,” he said. “My wife would…” He didn’t finish.

  This was heading in a direction she didn’t like, but she didn’t know how to turn it. “Ned…” she began.

  “Ned. Ned’s my only friend now.” His voice broke. “Ned will help me sort it out.”

  She had come about the garden, not Jamie’s personal issues. “I’ve got to go—I’m sorry to bother you.” Pru got to her car and pulled away, checking her rearview mirror. He was still standing there.

  —

  A bowl of soup and a half pint at the Duke of York on the Pantiles, the historic section of the town, would do for her supper, but before she went in, she pulled out the paper with Cate’s numbers on them, an unease building in her mind.

  “This is Pru Parke. Is this Cate? We met at—”

  “Oh, Pru, yes. It’s very good to hear from you.”

  “It was lovely to meet you on Sunday, and I wanted to ring and find out…” if your abusive husband had been around? She didn’t know how she was supposed to finish that question.

  “Nanda and I are doing fine here with Francine.” Indeed, Pru could hear little-girl giggles in the background. “We’d love for you to stop by sometime.”

  “Thanks, I will do that. Liam is quite concerned about you.” Was that vague enough?

  “Liam checks in with us now and then. He’s being very considerate. I haven’t talked with him in a day or two, but I’m sure we’ll see him soon.”

  “That’s fine, then. We’ll talk again.” With that off her mind, she ate her supper and drove home.

  —

  Pru desperately needed some distraction for the evening, and so she sat down to catch up on correspondence. Mr. Wilson’s email and photo from Boxing Day had arrived, along with the phone number for Birdie Parke, Simon’s aunt. Pru clicked to open the message, and the photo of her seated next to Simon on the Wilsons’ sofa popped up on the screen. She frowned and then squinted. She knew they were no relation, but they did seem to look a bit alike. They had the same hair—thick, brownish, and frizzed on the ends, although Simon’s had more gray than hers. She reached up to her own, took out the clip, combed through, and reclipped. A knot began to form in her stomach. Wishful thinking, she told herself. Two gardeners, we look like two gardeners. But the knot wouldn’t go away. She clicked on the next email.

  From: DavinaPrimrose@bt.com

  To: PruParke50@bt.com

  Date: 21 January

  Pru,

  We need to focus on all the wonderful things at Primrose House and not worry about what’s happened.
We know you will deal with the yew as you see fit. In the meantime, I believe we should concentrate on the gardens directly around the house. We’ll begin immediately with your idea of terracing the lawn off the back. As soon as we return, we’ll find enough workers to get busy. Can’t you just see how popular it would be on our open garden day?

  Best,

  Davina

  —

  Pru rested her forehead in her hand and heaved a sigh. Yes, she wanted the slope terraced—later, after the summer events, not now when she had so much to do. She reached for her work notebook and added “BUY MORE PLANTS.” She went to bed and tossed and turned for what seemed like half the night. Getting up once for a drink of water, she returned to bed only half awake, and thought she saw a light through the window bouncing around in the wood behind the walled garden. A car, she thought. A car going down the lane, its headlamps reflecting off wet tree trunks. She yawned, crawled back under the covers, and drifted off.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Ivy rang as Pru headed out the door.

  “Pru, I’ve sent Robbie on down. I don’t see Ned about. Have you come across Robbie’s red fleece jacket anywhere? I haven’t seen it for a couple of days, and I don’t know where he’s left it.”

  “I don’t remember, but I’ll have a look round. Have you asked at Chaffinch’s? He was there yesterday.”

  “We couldn’t find it when I collected him,” Ivy said. “Has it been since Tuesday that I’ve seen it? Where’s my mind? It’s just that he said something about leaving it in the garden. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

  —

  Robbie stood at the front gate of the walled garden waiting for her. “Where’s Ned, Pru?” he asked. “Where’s Liam? Where’s Fergal? What will we do today?”

  “I haven’t seen Ned yet,” she replied. “Liam and Fergal won’t be here today—they’re working on their cottage. So you and Ned and I will do all the garden work ourselves. Are you up for it? Let’s walk down to the shed. Maybe Ned is waiting for us there.”

  “I’ll go look. I’ll look for Ned.” Robbie bounded ahead on the path they’d worn that led around the outside corner of the walled garden, and Pru followed, trying to muster half the energy he had. Robbie had already made it to the end and must’ve come back in through the lower gate, because he popped out of the side entrance. His pale face was even paler than usual, and his eyes wide and dark. “What’s wrong with Ned, Pru? Did he have an accident?”

  “An accident? Did you see him?”

  “He’s out there.” Robbie pointed out the back gate of the walled garden. “Maybe he fell down. I think he hurt himself. He’s bleeding.”

  She grabbed Robbie’s arm to keep him from darting off again. “Wait, let me go see, all right? You stay here.” Robbie followed her as she ran through the walled garden to the back gate.

  He was lying on a bed of yew branches, which stuck out all around him, as if he was the center of a huge wreath. Legs stretched out, Wellies pointed toes up, and arms flung out to the sides. His eyes were wide open, glassy, unseeing, and his cap had fallen back. Blood formed a pool on his chest. It didn’t look liquid, but thick, coagulated, gelatinous. More blood, not bright red, but dark, had soaked into the leaves and dried grass around his jacket.

  She recoiled and threw one arm out to stop Robbie from getting any closer. “Robbie, get back…go back in the garden…here, come with me.” She hurried him back inside and against the wall.

  “What’s wrong with Ned, Pru? Did he fall? Can we help him?” Robbie started to resist her, trying to get back to Ned.

  “No, Robbie, come with me, we need to help Ned. Come with me and we’ll ring for help.” He was all arms, and she knew she’d never be able to force him anywhere. “Will you help me, Robbie?” She couldn’t catch her breath and thought she might throw up, but she knew she needed to focus on getting the boy away.

  Little by little she persuaded Robbie to move. Still holding his arm, she got her phone out and rang DS Hobbes, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation without alarming Robbie further. “David, this is Pru. Please come now. It’s Ned. Now, David, now. You’ll need…you’ll need the medical examiner. I’m in the garden. I have Robbie with me.”

  Hobbes asked no questions, but rang off immediately.

  She concentrated on Robbie to keep the image of Ned’s body at bay. “Robbie, let’s ring your mum, okay? Is she up at the house? Or did she go somewhere else? Let’s ring your mum, all right?”

  She rang Ivy’s phone but got only voice mail. She tried to sound calm as Robbie pulled away, heading for the gate, and she dragged him back. “Ivy, it’s Pru. Robbie is fine. Please ring me as soon as you can.” She rang the house phone; there was no answer.

  Before long, she heard the sirens that preceded a slew of officers. She pointed out the back gate to show them the way and stayed where she was against the wall at the side entrance to the garden. She couldn’t leave, because Robbie wanted to follow them. “It’s the police, Pru, it’s the police. Is Ned in trouble? What happened?” He squirmed as she held both his arms.

  “Robbie, we need to stay here, stay with me. That will help the police. Robbie, look at me, pay attention. We need to stay here and wait for your mum.” DS Hobbes approached, and she said to him, “It’s all right, Robbie and I are all right.” She nodded her head toward the gate and Ned’s body. “Go ahead.”

  She kept talking to Robbie, repeating the same things over and over again, concentrating on calming him and herself at the same time. “Stay with me, Robbie. We’ll wait for your mum.”

  After a while, Robbie stood quietly and watched the show of police parading by. Finally, Ivy appeared. Pru saw her at the front gate of the walled garden, stopped by the police. They must’ve told her what happened, because soon she was running toward Pru and Robbie, grabbing her son in a tight hug, which he attempted unsuccessfully to wriggle out of. DS Hobbes spoke to her briefly and she put a hand on Pru’s arm before she took Robbie away. He protested the whole way, insisting that he needed to help Ned and Pru in the garden.

  After that, Pru stood unnoticed against the wall, clutching the front of her coat now that she no longer had Robbie to clutch. Hobbes saw her and said, “Pru, go back to your cottage. We’ll come and talk to you there.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t go to her warm, safe home where her mind would begin to wander. She needed to be cold and numb with lots of activity around her.

  “I rang Inspector Pearse,” he said. “I thought he should know. He’s on his way.”

  She wanted to thank him but couldn’t open her mouth, afraid of what might come out. She touched his arm and nodded.

  Hobbes went back to the investigation, and she remained against the wall, sucking in deep breaths of cold air through her nose. She made lists in her head as she shivered: which annuals will she order, how many flats, should they have snapdragons or veronica? Time meant nothing; her only concern was to keep her mind busy and her breakfast down. Then she saw him out of the corner of her eye—Christopher flashing his warrant card at an officer before he ran to her, tie flapping over his shoulder, and wrapped her in his arms.

  “You’re like ice,” he said. She shivered, unable to stop.

  “She wouldn’t leave,” Hobbes said as he came over. “After Robbie’s mum came, I tried to get her to go indoors, but she wouldn’t go.”

  Christopher searched her face. She looked back at him.

  “Inspector Pearse,” Hobbes said, “Inspector Tatt will be here soon. Would you like to…take a look?”

  He hesitated only a moment. “Yes, thanks, David.” He looked at Pru. “Is that all right?”

  She nodded. He was gone just a few minutes. She occupied herself with trying to identify the dried and broken leaves beneath her feet—oak, ash, beech. He returned to hold her again, before saying, “Come on, let’s go inside.” He kept his arm around her as they walked. On the way, he asked, “Do you need to stop?”

  She shook her
head.

  As they reached her cottage she’d pulled her key out and handed it to Christopher. He unlocked the door, saying, “They’ll be up here in a few minutes. You should know that Tatt—”

  She couldn’t wait, but broke away from him and ran for the bathroom, making it just in time. She hung her head over the toilet and lost it all—toast, scrambled eggs, tea, and much more. When it was over, she rested her forehead against the cold porcelain, breathing heavily, her eyes watering.

  After a few minutes, she got up, a bit wobbly, rinsed out her mouth, and splashed water on her face. She seemed to have thrown up most of her energy, too, but at least her stomach was calm.

  Christopher had closed both the bathroom and bedroom doors. She had her hand out to open the bedroom door when she heard a commotion and a voice bellow: “Pearse, what are you doing sniffing around my crime scene?”

  Chapter 12

  “Tatt,” Christopher said as Pru came out of the bedroom, “this isn’t an official visit.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  She placed her hand on his chest. “I’m better.” He gave her a squeeze.

  “Humph,” Tatt said, “so that’s it, is it?” He held up his warrant card to Pru. She looked past it to get a glimpse of the man himself—short, stocky, with a florid complexion and a wide face. Five or six strands of hair that grew above his left ear stretched across the vast expanse of his bald head and were plastered down just above his right ear. His free hand was in his trouser pocket, and she could hear the metallic jingling from keys and coins. “Name’s Inspector Tatt, Ms. Parke. Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair at her kitchen table.

  She hesitated for a moment at being commanded to sit in her own house, but she sat; so did Hobbes, who had followed Tatt in. Christopher had put the kettle on, and he stood leaning against the rail of the Aga with his arms crossed. Tatt plopped himself in a chair across from her.