“Good morning, everyone.”
She hadn’t noticed the instructor entering the craft room, but she must have come in while Lilliana was chatting with Pieter.
“I see most of you have gotten your pots. They should be ready to decorate by now. You might want to test the bottom gently with your finger. If it’s still soft, you’ll need to let the pot dry further before painting it. You might try turning it upside down and coming back in a few days,” Grace said.
Willie came into the craft room and apologized for being late before lumbering over to an empty chair. Meanwhile, Nancy was tapping the bottom of her pot with a doubtful look on her face. She tapped a little harder, and her finger broke through the soft clay. Nancy looked like she was going to cry.
Grace intervened with a smile. “Those things happen, Mrs. Gardner. It looks like instead of painting today, you’ll be making a new pot.”
“Could I?” Nancy asked.
“Certainly,” Grace said. “I was just about to say that, if your pot isn’t ready for painting today, you can come back during the week. Pieter has volunteered to help anyone who would like to come in between classes. You can arrange a time with him.
“For those of you who will be painting today, you can use these cups,”—she held up a stack of the same ones Pieter was using—“and pump some paint into them from the large jars I have here.” Grace pointed toward a row of plastic paint jars that each had one of those pump devices attached to the lid, just as if they were filled with ketchup or mustard. “You don’t need very much to decorate your pots, so it’s better to take less rather than more.”
Lilliana could imagine the kind of mess some neophytes made by taking too much paint and slathering it on too thickly.
“Also take at least one of these brushes to paint with,” Grace said. “And fill a large paper cup with water so you can wash out your brush between colors. Any questions?”
When there weren’t any, she said, “I’ll be around to help you if you need it.” Her voice had a note of finality to it, indicating the instructions to the class were over. Chairs scraped across the floor as most of the class headed to form a line in front of the paint jars. Willie went to retrieve his pot. Mary thumped over to Pieter to arrange a time during the week when she could come back and see if her pot was dry enough to paint.
Lilliana waited until the crowd around the paint thinned, then got up to choose her colors. She picked a turquoise and a dark red, thinking they’d show up nicely against the pale clay with which she’d made her pot.
There was something relaxing about painting designs on the clay, somewhat like the time she spent in her plant room repotting and grooming her African violets. She started out anxious as to whether her pot would be pretty enough to put one of the sale plants in it, then decided she’d rather enjoy the creativity of painting without the worry. If it didn’t turn out to be a masterpiece like Pieter’s, she’d keep it for herself. Maybe she’d keep it for herself anyway.
Willie had picked orange and black paint and was busily wielding a large brush to paint a Halloween theme on his pot. He hadn’t done a bad job with his, but seemed content to settle for a large picture of a pumpkin instead of something more refined.
“A little early for pumpkins, isn’t it?” she asked.
Willie grinned at her. “I like Halloween. Always liked all the kids in their costumes coming for trick or treat. Besides, who doesn’t love a holiday where the whole idea is to collect and eat a lot of candy?”
Lilliana, concerned that Willie might be putting on weight again, asked quietly, “How are your wafers tasting?”
“They’re fine now. I ate like a bird yesterday. Must have been a bad batch,” Willie said. He examined his design with a critical eye. “I think I’m going to get some green paint and try some vines around this pumpkin.”
Finished with the turquoise, Lilliana put down her pot and swirled her brush in the cup of water. Pieter had finished painting his first pot and was working on the second one. “When do you think you might be able to sell those pots to me?”
He looked up from his work and pondered the question. “Well, the paint has to dry first. That takes a couple of days. Then the pots need to be fired in the kiln. Miss Dalton said we’d probably put them in next week. That takes several hours—sometimes more than a day. I don’t think we’re going to add a glaze for the class, but you might want one for the plants you’re selling?”
The way he asked it, he implied the answer, so Lilliana nodded.
“Okay, a day to cool down, then put the glaze on, then a few more hours in the kiln.” Pieter touched his index finger to each of the fingers on his other hand, as if counting something, as he stared into space. When he arrived at a figure, he directed his gaze at Lilliana, “I’m afraid it will be at least a week.”
“That would be fine,” she responded, although she had hoped it would be sooner.
“How did your second pot turn out?” Lilliana asked Nancy as she followed her out of the class.
Nancy literally gave her the cold shoulder, turning her back so swiftly she stumbled with the momentum. She hurried down the hall toward her apartment, almost running away from Lilliana.
Disturbed, Lilliana charged after her. “Nancy.”
Nancy showed no indication she’d heard her calling her name. A few of the class members paused to see what was going on, but most headed for their apartments here on the second floor or toward the elevator to go downstairs.
“Nancy!” Lilliana said louder as she hustled after her friend.
Nancy stopped outside her door. Lilliana continued her trip down the hall until she was standing beside Nancy. “Is there something wrong?”
Nancy’s face sagged. A tear trickled down her cheek.
“Why don’t we go inside and talk about it,” Lilliana suggested.
Nancy nodded and unlocked the door. She lived in one of the small studio apartments that consisted of a bathroom, a combined living area, and a tiny section optimistically labeled kitchenette on the floor plan, one that amounted to a small refrigerator and a counter on which to put a microwave. A small cabinet mounted overhead might barely hold a cup, a glass, and a dinner plate. Nancy hadn’t folded up the convertible sofa in the living area today, which left only the bed to sit on.
“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed as she saw the bed. “Wait just a minute while I fix this.”
“Let me help you, Nancy.” She was afraid the woman would hurt herself, although Nancy probably did this every day. Or, since she hadn’t done it today, maybe she didn’t. Lilliana knew what it was like living alone. You tended to do things more for convenience than for show. Which reminded her... She probably ought to examine her own apartment with fresh eyes now that there was a strong chance she might have company of her own.
Once the major piece of furniture had been returned to something suitable for sitting on, the two women sat.
“Would you like some tea?” Nancy asked, then looked worried. “I’m not sure I have any. Let me go look.” She started to rise from the sofa.
“Please don’t bother,” Lilliana said. “I’d rather you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Oh, Lilliana,” Nancy wailed. “I’ve seen you with Christopher in the dining room. And at the movies. How could you?”
Of course. She’d been so worried about her own appearance with him, the gossip and teasing that was sure to follow, Lilliana had almost forgotten there were other women interested in Christopher. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”
“But you knew I liked him.”
“Yes, I knew. But I didn’t see him taking a particular interest in you”—that sounded a little harsh, but Lilliana always believed in being truthful—“so when we started seeing one another in various places”—no sense in being too specific, Lilliana thought—“it didn’t occur to me that I was trespassing on your territory.”
“Do you really like him?” Nancy asked.
> What was that about being truthful? She almost regretted that in herself. Almost. Instead she nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
“And he likes you.” Not a question this time.
Lilliana nodded again.
Nancy sat quietly for a moment weighing this information. “What about Pieter?”
Lilliana smothered a laugh. “I don’t think he’s involved with anyone.”
“But do you like him, too?” Nancy asked.
“As a friend,” she said. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Do you think he might like me?” She looked anxious, as if afraid of more rejection.
“I think he’s available.” Not a direct answer, but she wanted to deflect Nancy from thinking about Christopher. “Why don’t you see if he’ll help you with painting your pot this week?”
“Grace did say he was willing to do that, didn’t she?”
“She definitely said that. And I know for a fact Pieter will be spending extra time in the craft room working on his pottery.”
“I’m going to ask him,” Nancy said with confidence.
“That sounds like a plan to me.” Lilliana smiled.
Crisis averted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AFTER her conversation with Nancy on their way out of the pottery class, Lilliana hurried back to her apartment. Nancy had gone off to find Pieter so she could set up a time to meet him in the craft room.
The components for the fairy garden were still sitting untouched in their bags in her plant room. Her arrangement with Esmeralda would do no good unless she put the completed garden on her patio. The small plants she’d bought were already wilting from lack of sun and water, and she scolded herself for forgetting about them.
After she placed the dish-shaped container on her work table, she gazed at it as she planned. She supposed her African violet soil would do, as long as she put a layer of marbles in the bottom for drainage and used a fertilizer more suited for foliage than blossoms. Her hands began the actions with the thought, grabbing the container of marbles from the shelf underneath the bench and putting several handfuls inside to form the lower layer. She then added a layer of soil over the top, being careful not to pack it down.
The plants had revived a little since she’d given them a bit of water before starting. It always amazed her how resilient young life was. Once she’d put the plants in their places in the soil, she carried the dish to the patio and placed it on the table, then went back for the bag containing the house, bench, bridge, and mailbox. When she returned, Bernadine was standing at the edge of the patio looking at her new addition.
“Good afternoon,” Lilliana greeted her.
“Watcha got there?” Bernadine leaned over and peered at the garden.
It was no use lying to try to hide what it was called. Since the Camerons had displayed them at the Fourth of July celebration, someone was bound to know what a fairy garden was. Being caught in the omission would only draw more attention to what she hoped would be an unremarkable decoration on her patio. “It’s called a fairy garden. I thought it would be kind of cute to have one with the miniature pieces and all.” She illustrated by pulling the house out of the bag and holding it up so Bernadine could see.
“Where’d you get it?”
“At the Camerons’ new shop,” Lilliana said, then had a terrible thought. “Are you thinking of getting one?”
If other residents set out fairy gardens on their patios and balconies, Uaine might get confused and go to the wrong one.
“Let me see what it looks like after you set yours up.”
Since she had the house in her hand, and as it was the largest piece, Lilliana decided to find a spot for it first. “I think I’ll put the cottage beside the tree.” She suited the action to her words by settling it next to the miniature boxwood on one side of the dish. Then she traced a path in the soil with two fingers. “The ground cover will spread over the soil, but I want this part to remain clear.”
She pulled the bridge out next and put it at the end of the path she’d traced, then extended the path on the other side. “I’ll have to figure out something that will look like a stream running under the bridge.” She set the bench alongside the path.
“Looks like you could use more stuff,” Bernadine said.
“Perhaps. I want to see how the plants grow first.”
“Did it cost much for all that?”
“Not a whole lot. The dish and the cottage were the most expensive. The plants cost hardly anything at all.”
Bernadine took her eyes off the garden and turned them toward Lilliana. “Do you think fairies will really come to a fairy garden?”
Now it was definitely time for a lie. Odd that the lie would be more believable than the truth. “Fairies aren’t real, you know.”
“Are you sure about that? My granny used to tell tales about the wee folk.”
“Have you ever seen a fairy?” Lilliana temporized.
“Not personally, no. But I’d like to.” Bernadine looked wistful. “I always thought it would be nice to have a fairy to grant you wishes.”
Lilliana thought she had fairies mixed up with genies. “It would, wouldn’t it?” She wondered how she could get Bernadine to move along. Or at least change the topic. Fortunately, Bernadine had somewhere else to be.
“Well, it’s almost time for bingo,” Bernadine said. “See you later.”
“Have a good time,” she replied, relieved. Once she was sure Bernadine wasn’t coming back, she pulled the mailbox from the bag, positioned it beside the cottage, and raised the flag.
The signal set, Lilliana had nothing to do until dinnertime. It was the perfect opportunity to read, but she’d finished the latest John Grisham legal thriller last night and hadn’t yet picked out a new book. That was a problem easily remedied.
When she got to the library, she could hear the murmur of voices behind the closed door. Odd. The library door was supposed to remain open, unless there was something like the African Violet Club meeting going on. She ran her forefinger down the schedule taped to the door until she reached today’s date. There was nothing on it for the entire day, much less this particular time. Lilliana rapped twice on the door and opened it, an apology ready in case she was interrupting something.
Chief Cartwright and Rebecca Cushing looked up at her from their seats at the library table. Cartwright’s face was pinched tight over a clenched jaw. Rebecca nibbled her lip as her hands fidgeted in front of her.
“I’m busy in here, Mrs. Wentworth,” the chief said.
“So I see,” she responded dryly. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Lilliana,” Rebecca began before Cartwright shot her an angry look.
“What is it, Rebecca?” It appeared as if Cartwright was bullying the old woman. That surprised her. He was usually considerate and sensitive to the residents of the retirement home.
“The chief thinks I gave Nancy my gun.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.
Not asking for approval or waiting for an invitation, Lilliana sat next to Rebecca. “Let’s see if we can straighten this out.” She stared at the chief, daring him to tell her to leave.
He sighed and shuffled the papers in front of him. “Let’s start from the beginning then. Tell me about the Fourth of July.”
Rebecca looked at her for encouragement. Lilliana nodded.
“Well, like I told Lilliana, I saw Nancy Gardner follow Fox Fordyce behind the restrooms.”
“Let’s back up a bit,” the chief said. “Did you and Mrs. Gardner go to the celebration together?”
“Why, yes, we did. We talked about it after lunch while we were sitting at the pool. Neither one of us wanted to go alone. We decided to walk over to the school together.”
“Where did you meet?”
“Meet? We met a few weeks ago. Right here. At Rainbow Ranch.”
The chief looked exasperated. “I mean where did you meet before going to the school?”
“Oh. Let me see...” Re
becca cupped her chin in her hand as she thought. “I know. Nancy said she wanted to take a shower and change before going. I didn’t see the point in that. It was over a hundred degrees and would stay there until late at night. We’d just sweat like pigs walking down the hill, never mind up again.”
“And?” the chief said.
“Oh. I told her I’d wait in my apartment, and she should come knock on my door when she was ready to go. I wanted to watch Jeopardy, you know.” As if everyone watched Jeopardy in the afternoon. Of course, Lilliana did enjoy the quiz show herself. When she knew the answer to a question—or the question to an answer—it reassured her that she hadn’t forgotten everything.
“So she came to your apartment...”
“That’s right. I told her she’d have to wait until after Final Jeopardy.” Rebecca nodded as if confirming to herself that’s what had happened.
“Did Mrs. Gardner watch television with you?” the chief asked.
“I think she did. I really didn’t watch her. I was too interested in the question and which contestant won.”
“Did she stay in your living room or could she have gone into another room?”
“Well, come to think of it, she did say she was going to use my bathroom. It struck me funny, since she’d just come from her place. Why hadn’t she used her own bathroom?”
The chief ignored the rhetorical question, but jumped on the content of her statement. “So Mrs. Gardner did have an opportunity to take your gun?”
Rebecca reddened and avoided the chief’s eyes.
“Where did you keep the gun?” he asked.
“I used to keep it in the bedroom. In the drawer of my nightstand, you know, in case someone broke in while I was sleeping.”
“And I assume the bathroom is near the bedroom?”
Rebecca licked her lips. “Yes, it is.”
“So Mrs. Gardner could have easily gone into your bedroom and stolen your gun while you were watching the game show.”
“Well, n-n-no,” Rebecca stammered.
“What is it, Rebecca?” Lilliana asked.
African Violet Club Mystery Collection Page 50
