“We’re done here,” Larson said.
“For now,” I agreed.
Simon and I headed out. The jittery feeling I had before was gone, and in its place was a sadness I hadn’t expected. I’d never liked Charles White, but I wasn’t happy that he was dead, and it was awful knowing that he’d died in my garden. And it wasn’t much better knowing that his widow somehow blamed me for his death and was trying to turn the rest of the town against me.
“Hey, Willow, it’s going to be okay,” Simon assured me as we crossed the parking lot to my car.
“It doesn’t feel okay,” I told him. “It feels like this whole thing is far from over.”
chapter twelve
Willow McQuade’s
Favorite Medicinal Plants
ELEUTHERO
Botanical name: Eleuthero (Eleutherococcus senticosus, E. gracilistylus), formerly Acanthopanax senticosus, and A. spinosus
Medicinal uses: Eleuthero has been used by tribe peoples of Siberia and the Chinese for over four thousand years. An ancient Chinese proverb is: “I would rather take a handful of eleuthero than a cartload of gold and jewels.” In the frigid regions of China, Russia, and Japan, reindeer, a symbol of strength and endurance, consume this plant.
Since 1962, Russian cosmonauts have been given rations of eleuthero to help acclimate to the stresses of being weightless and living in space. Athletes, deep-sea divers, rescue workers, and explorers all use it to nourish themselves during stressful situations. More than a thousand studies have been conducted on this herb, which can also help if you experience fatigue, exhaustion, weakness, or anxiety.
It was relief to get back to Nature’s Way after such a hostile environment at the funeral home. The village of Greenport, the store, and my comfy home on the third floor made me feel safe and secure, even more so now that Jackson was in my life. Since Claire had died, I had taken over her business, continued to grow it, and established myself as a member of the community. I belonged here, and no one was going to run me out of town, certainly not Arlene White and Joe Larson.
Simon had gone home, presumably to write, and since it was almost six thirty, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat. The smell of fresh baked goods filled the air.
I peeked inside the oven and saw three peach pies. Merrily was making her award-winning dessert for our customers. She’d placed her trophy on the shelf above the counters, so she could see it while she worked.
I went to get a frozen organic pizza from the freezer to bake and eat with a green salad—and found Merrily and Nate, their arms around each other. They jumped apart when they saw me. “Don’t mind me,” I said quickly. “Just getting something to eat. How are things going?”
“I’d better get back outside and help Jackson clean up,” Nate said. “I’ll tell him that you’re back.” He quickly dashed outside.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you two. Is everything okay?”
“It was crazy busy from three to about five, but we’re okay now. I was just going to close up. Wallace and Nate brought in all the merchandise from the booth. They sold a bunch of stuff again, so that’s good.”
“Merrily, I meant with you two.”
She smiled. “We’re doing really great. Nate’s so sweet, and he’s such a good listener.”
“Just go slow,” I advised. Before Merrily started working for Aunt Claire she had ended an abusive relationship; she hadn’t really dated much since then. Last year, she was infected with Lyme disease and that took its toll on her social life. When Nate was hired a few months ago, the two became friends, and now it seemed the relationship had deepened.
“I am, don’t worry. Nate understands that I need to take it one step at a time. Can I get you something to eat?”
“Don’t bother. I was just going to heat something up.”
“Nonsense, I just baked a spinach and mushroom quiche.” She went over to the counter and pointed to it. “I was just letting it cool. I’ll make a fresh green salad to go with it. I’ve already fed all the animals.” She put the pizza back into the freezer and closed the door.
“Then I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll be back down to eat in a few.” I wanted to scrub myself clean of the bad vibes from the wake and my run-in with Joe Larson. I went upstairs and visited with the dogs and cats before I jumped into the shower. Afterward, I changed into jeans and one of my favorite old, soft sweatshirts. When I stepped back out onto the landing, the door to Allie’s massage room was open. She was at her desk, opening a box and pulling out big bottles of massage oils.
I knocked on her open door. “Got anything new and interesting?”
“Hey, Willow. Yes, a few. Check out this new massage oil from Mountain Rose Herbs. It’s called Rose Moon Massage Oil.” She opened the bottle and took a whiff. “Want to try it?”
I took the bottle and inhaled. “I smell a hint of geranium.”
“Good nose. It also contains organic lavender, calendula, chamomile flowers, sweet almond oil, and even real rose petals. Very therapeutic.”
“I’ll bet your massage clients will love it.”
“I hope so.” She put the cap on the bottle and turned her attention to me. “How are you doing? I hear it’s been a rough couple of days.”
“Well, I’m taking a break tonight. I’m going to grab something to eat, and then Jackson and I are headed over to the sea-shanty concert.”
“Simon told me that you’re investigating again. Is that really necessary? I mean, after what happened up at the estate last year?”
“I have to, Allie. The detectives are interested in Jackson. They found his fingerprints on the murder weapon, a shovel in the garden.” I gave her the rundown on Koren and Coyle’s visit, the merchants’ plan to try and shut us down, and the freaky wake I’d just attended.
She gave a low whistle of amazement. “They’re calling it the Garden of Death? That couldn’t be more opposite from what you wanted to create.”
“No kidding . . . Allie, do you think I’ve made a mistake in opening the garden? Do you think Claire would have done the same thing?”
She nodded. “I do. You can’t help it if some nut is on the loose. Sometimes things just happen. Keep your chin up. You’ll get through this.”
I nodded, but I did feel a little better. Something about talking to Allie always cheered me up. “So, what are you up to tonight?”
“Well, this weekend has been crazy busy with clients, not that I’m complaining. So I’m just going to hang out with some of the people in my building and watch movies. I got North by Northwest and Sex and the City: The Movie on DVD.”
“That sounds like fun, but where’s Hector?” Hector, my acupuncturist extraordinaire, lived with Allie in a beautiful loft apartment on Main Street. Hector was gay and Allie was straight. Both of them were looking for boyfriends.
“He’s in Bridgehampton, seeing clients and staying with a friend at her beach house for the next couple of days.”
“Well, I’ll be glad when he’s back.” Both Allie and Hector had been with me since I took over the store. In fact, they moved out here from NYC to help me make it a success.
Allie and I hugged, then I made my way downstairs to the second-floor landing where I met Jackson, who was on his way up.
“Good shower?” he asked.
“Good shower. But it would have been better with you there.”
“We can’t always conserve water,” he said, giving me a kiss. “So how did the wake go? Any trouble?”
“Plenty,” I said, and told him what had happened.
“So the widow White is behind the petition . . . I thought the two of them were getting divorced. What gives?”
“Good question.”
“If I know you, you’ll figure it out.” He gave me another kiss. “I’ll hop in the shower and meet you downstairs.”
• • •
At seven thirty Jackson and I grabbed two lawn chairs and a blanket and headed across the street to the park. The concert didn’t start until eight fifteen, but we wanted to make sure we got a good space. We found one on the lawn facing the stage and were close enough that Jackson could take a few photos. The night air was crisp and clear, without a trace of humidity, and an almost full moon dominated the sky.
Personally, I wasn’t that crazy about sea shanties, but once Jackson heard them at his first Maritime Festival years ago, he’d become a fan. He even listened to sea-shanty CDs in his truck.
Since he was into them, I’d learned a lot about them, too. For example, I knew that sea shanties were work songs that were sung on sailing ships, used to keep a good rhythm during work and make sailors more productive. A typical shanty featured a shanty man, who would call out a verse, and the rest of the sailors would respond.
There were long-haul shanties and short-haul shanties, respectively, for long– and short–rope pulling, and others for other onboard tasks. The only constant was that songs about life at sea were sung as the sailors left for places unknown, and songs about home were sung as they headed for land. Shanties weren’t performed anymore except for shows like this and in the movies.
“This is going to be good,” Jackson said as he set up the chairs. “I’ve been looking forward to this concert for weeks.”
Obviously, he wasn’t the only one. The park was quickly filling up with couples, friends, and families eager to see the show. I glanced around, scanning the crowd, wondering if I’d see Kylie or Maggie or any of the others who were joining forces against the garden.
“See anything interesting?”
“Not so far.”
“Why not take a break?” Jackson asked gently. “There’s plenty of time for all of that later.”
He was right. I needed to work on the case, but time away to clear my head was good, too. “Okay, I’m officially taking a break.”
“Good, you’re going to enjoy this. I know you don’t like sea shanties as much as I do, but this concert could change your mind.”
I took his hand and smiled at him. “Consider my mind open.”
• • •
Fifteen minutes later, the lights dimmed and Mayor Hobson introduced Manly Men Singing Sea Shanties. The group was a perennial favorite, and when they took the stage, the crowd erupted in applause.
There were five singers, all of whom looked like they had just come off a fishing trawler. The group started with “Blow the Man Down,” and people began clapping and singing along. Jackson joined in and was having a grand time. For a little while any trouble that the two of us had melted away.
“This is ‘Spanish Ladies,’ ” Jackson said as the group started a second tune. “It’s a capstan shanty sung on homeward-bound journeys. You’ll like it.”
“We’ll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy,” the song began.
“There’s a lot about drink in these songs,” I noted.
“I’m sure a lot of sailors had the sea version of cabin fever,” Jackson said. “If you were stuck on a boat for months, with bad weather, backbreaking work, and no way to communicate with anyone at home, alcohol was probably one of the few comforts. Most of them probably could have used AA.” Jackson had joined Alcoholics Anonymous years ago, and it had changed his life. Before AA, he had been prone to bouts of depression and got into fights when he was drinking. It had even affected his performance on the job. After the police department put him on probation, he joined AA and began recovery.
Six months later, though, he was injured when he slipped on black ice chasing a suspect. He was never able to return to his work as a police officer, but with treatments from Allie and Hector and the supplements and dietary changes that Aunt Claire and I suggested, he felt much better.
The group finished the song and moved on to “Blood Red Roses,” a shanty about going around Cape Horn that I recognized from one of Jackson’s CDs. While he enjoyed the show, I scanned the crowd again. I couldn’t help myself; a lot was at stake, for all of us.
This time I spotted Sandra and Martin Bennett on the far side of the lawn, sitting with her friend Kylie Ramsey and, surprisingly, with Maggie and Harold as well. So, Sandy and Martin wouldn’t sign the petition to shut my garden down, but were still friendly with their fellow business owners. A few feet away, Ramona Meadows and Rhonda Rhodes, the heirloom vegetable growers, sat on a blanket with their two black Labs.
During the next hour or so, I split my attention between the singers and the group to my left. But their attention seemed to be on the show. Finally, the lead singer announced that they’d come to their last song, and began to sing, “When I was a little boy, my mother always a told me that if I did not kiss the girls, my lips would grow all moldy.”
“Now, that is just weird,” I told Jackson.
“I agree, but the song is really just about a sailor’s adventures with women from all over the world until he finds the one who is ‘just a daisy.’ ”
“Okay, that is super corny, but I have to ask: Am I your daisy?”
He leaned over and kissed me. “You bet.”
Rhonda got up and walked across the lawn. I told Jackson that I’d be right back and got to my feet.
He tugged on the hem of my sweatshirt. “McQuade, what are you doing?”
“I’m following Rhonda. She might be up to something.”
“What happened to taking a break?”
I gave him a kiss. “Break’s over. But I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
I followed Rhonda as she made her way through the crowd and to the path that ran along the dock’s edge. A few moments later, she stopped outside the camera obscura, a building that resembled the bottom layer of a lopsided cake with what looked like a periscope on top. Rhonda leaned against the side of the building and stared out at the water. Was she waiting for someone?
While the band kept playing, Rhonda kept waiting. Finally, Joe Larson came around the corner and approached her. I walked around the camera obscura to try and hear what they were saying, but could only catch snippets. Rhonda’s voice was high-pitched and anxious as she said, “You promised me!”
Larson replied, “You have to be patient,” and something that sounded like, “It’ll happen soon” or “I’ll have it soon.” But then, unfortunately, he glanced around the corner and spotted me. He said something to Rhonda and she hurried away.
“What are you doing—following me?” Larson demanded.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said. “This is a public space.”
“Where’s your bodyguard with the high-powered lawyer?”
“Simon’s a good friend, that’s all.” I looked over at where Jackson had been sitting. He was on his feet now, searching the crowd for me. I needed to get back. The group began to sing the last chorus of the song.
Joe looked at the camera. “You ever been inside this thing?”
“Yes, a few times.”
“Our tax dollars at work. What an eyesore.”
The camera obscura was one of Greenport’s quirkiest attractions. Basically, it’s a darkened room into which light enters through a small opening, and is then reflected by a mirror through a lens onto a viewing table. So even though you’re standing inside a dark room, you can see images of Greenport projected onto the viewing table. Rotating the camera allows you to see in all directions. I loved the camera obscura. Its images were vibrant and serene and always made me appreciate the scenic beauty of the area even more.
“Clearly, you’re not an art lover,” I told Larson. “Leonardo da Vinci did experiments with the camera obscura. Vermeer used it as a drawing aid in the seventeenth century, and Canaletto used it for his paintings of Venice. There are only five of these cameras in the U.S. and about fifty in the world.”
“Fascinating. I gotta go.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Make it quick.”
“How do you benefit if the town shuts me down? Odds are, you won’t be able to build anything else on the lot.”
“I’ve got my own reasons and they’re none of your business.”
I thought about what Simon had said about the find in the garden. “Like pirate’s treasure?” I suggested
Larson gave me a skeptical look. “You’re nuts, lady. Stay away from me.” He walked off into the crowd.
The song ended, and the crowd called for an encore. But as I walked back over to Jackson, someone took me by the shoulders, spun me around, and shoved me inside of the camera obscura. I landed on my knees on the wooden floor as the door closed and made a decisive clicking sound.
There was no light seeping in now. I was in a totally black space, and I couldn’t help the feeling of dread that was slicing through me. I keep a small flashlight on my key chain, but I didn’t have my keys on me now. I got to my feet, brushed off my pants, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. But that didn’t help. With almost zero light filtering in from the night sky, the darkness was thick and black.
This must be what it feels like to be blind, I realized. Walking slowly with my arms outstretched in front of me, my fingertips finally found a wall. I felt around frantically for the seams of the door and then the doorknob. I turned and pulled. It was locked, of course. I ran my fingers over the lock but couldn’t find any mechanism to unlock it. I pulled at the knob again and shouted for help but the noise of the concert, which I could hear faintly through the wooden walls, drowned me out.
Calm down! I told myself, trying to beat back a rising wave of panic. I knew that Jackson would come looking for me, but when? And would he be able to hear me?
I felt around the walls for a light switch but there was none. Carefully, my hands outstretched, I moved back toward the center of the room until I touched the viewing table.
But the only things I could see were the lights from the docks and the inky black water in the marina. It wasn’t light enough to make a difference inside and I continued to fumble around in the dark. I went back to the door and pounded on it. The crowd erupted in more applause. I waited to see if the band would play another song and when they didn’t, I started yelling.
Garden of Death Page 10
