by Lisa Emme
“Well, Tiffy did tell you not to worry about moving anything.”
“I know, but…” Tess let out a sigh. “I’m just…”
“How about one last sleepover in my room?" I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, giving her a hug. “For old time’s sake.”
Tess’s eyes lit. “Yeah, for old time’s sake.”
Chapter Ten
The next day began uneventfully, except for the annoyance of finding myself in the newspaper, not once but twice (although technically the second article wasn’t actually about me, only reporting on something caused by me).
Barbie was the one to discover my most recent brush with fame.
“Oh, Harry! Look! You made Page Six again.” She held open the paper for me, spreading it on the counter to read.
The photo was one of the ones taken the night before in front of Dante’s and was a great shot of my hand in front of my face, fending off the paparazzi. The caption under the picture claimed I was a “…secretive regular to Dante’s” who “continues to elude reporters, keeping her identity under wraps…” I had no clue how I had managed to remain nameless, but I wasn’t going to complain.
“Oh, here you are again,” Barbie continued, leafing through the pages.
“What?”
“Well, not a picture of you, but look!” She held up the paper again, showing me a picture of the cherry blossoms. The headline read, “Blooming Mystery”.
Grabbing the paper, I laid it back down on the counter to read from the article.
“Residents living near the Elm Street park were amazed when the grove of Yoshino Cherry trees, previously believed to have all died off, burst spontaneously into bloom.”
“Crap,” I muttered. So much for the whole thing flying under the radar.
Barbie, who had also been scanning the article, pointed excitedly. “Hey! Max Hart is mentioned in the article.”
“Really? Where?" I skipped ahead to where Barbie was pointing.
“Local ethnobotanist, Dr. Maxwell Hart, a professor at MWU, who holds degrees in both botany and anthropology, says while the phenomenon is rare, it is not unheard of for plants that have been stressed in some way to appear dead when in fact they are only dormant.
“Says Hart, ‘This dormancy period allows the specimens to reserve resources until such a time that they have recovered when they seemingly spring back to life. That so many trees were able to survive is a gift. I hope everyone gets a chance to get out and enjoy their beauty while the blooms last.’”
Oh boy. I probably owed Max big time for the cover story. Maybe he’d take payment in free baked goods for a year? As I mulled it over, something Barbie said suddenly popped back into my head.
“Hey Barbie,” I said, leaning in close so I could keep my voice down. “How did you know the cherry blossoms had anything to do with me?”
Barbie blushed, ducking her head. “Well, I know you have a talent for plants, and Tess told me about how you figured out where the jewels you recovered were hidden. And then I remembered you acted kind of weird when I first told you about the cherry blossoms, so I sort of, you know, put two and two together.”
“Hmmm, just what we need around here. Another detective.” I smiled at her so she would know I was joking. “Just keep it to yourself though, right?”
“Of course, boss! What happens in the coffee shop, stays in the coffee shop.” She gave me a playful salute.
“Great!” I replied, glancing at the clock. “Speaking of my talent for plants, I have a job I need to do in the side garden.”
***
The side garden, as we were calling it, was the empty lot between my building and the corner of the street. Since I now owned the building and it didn’t cost me anything – well, at least monetarily speaking, there was still my arrangement with Salvador to factor into the price – I’d decided to buy the empty lot next door so I could develop it as a greenspace and community garden. I had already drawn up plans for the patio I wanted off the French doors of the coffee shop. The only problem I was having was learning who owned the vacant lot. Since Tess was now a private detective, I set her on the case. In the meantime, my own initial inquiries had led to an unfortunate consequence.
During a call to the city planning office, the clerk had noticed there was an outstanding work order for the vacant property relating to a recent city regulation change. As a result, one of the majestic boulevard elms (which were owned by the city), was marked to be cut down because it was deemed too close to an electrical junction box. Rather than move the eyesore green metal box, the city in an exercise of logic and wisdom only seen in bureaucrats, decided the tree would have to go. All because it was a measly two inches too close.
I couldn’t let them cut down such a beautiful tree – especially when it provided great shade and ambience for my soon to be completed patio – and so I had contacted the city inspection office requesting a reassessment. The inspector was due later in the day. All I had to do in the meantime was convince the sixty-foot tree to move two inches to the east. How hard could that be?
Actually, it wasn’t the tree I had to convince, but the dryad who lived in it. I wasn’t even aware there was a dryad living there until Tiffy mentioned it. Supposedly the dryad had adopted the entire boulevard of elms as her grove. With Tiffy’s help, I’d carefully worded my request. She’d also suggested peanut butter, one of her favourite treats, as a suitable offering to the dryad. Now, I just hoped it worked, because the inspector could arrive at any time.
I was getting settled sitting crisscross in the grass at the foot of the tree when Tess came bursting out of the shop.
“Harry! There you are.” She came to an abrupt halt. “What are you doing sitting on the ground?”
“Shhh!” I replied, closing my eyes. “Can’t you see I’m communing with nature?" I cracked one eye open to look at her with a smirk.
“Communing with the dog piss all over the ground, you mean.” She screwed up her nose, making a face. “Can’t you smell it?”
With a yelp, I jumped to my feet, dusting off my butt with a frown. “Eww!”
Tess snorted. She grabbed my arm, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You’ll never guess what.”
“What?”
“TBD Investigations already has another case.”
“Wow, that’s great. Who’s the client?”
“The Bronstein’s insurance company. They were so impressed with how we recovered the stolen gems, they’ve hired us to investigate a series of burglaries and help reclaim the stolen items.”
I narrowed my eyes in thought. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean all the so-called cat burglaries, do you?"
In recent weeks, there had be over a dozen high-rise apartment thefts of small works of art and jewelry – items that were high-end and not so easily fenced. So far, the police had been stymied by the thief who was able to not only gain access to heavily secured apartments, but crack open the safes with ease, almost as if they had the combinations.
“Those very ones,” Tess replied with a grin.
“But Tess, the thefts are part of an active police investigation. What makes you think you’ll be able to solve it before the cops? How will you even get access to any of the information or crime scenes?”
“That’s the beauty of it. I’m now an official representative of the insurance company. The police will have to let me in…let us in.”
“Us?”
“Well, yeah. You’re part of TBD Investigations, aren’t you?" She looked at me hopefully. “I thought maybe you could come with me when I check out the homes that were hit in case there might be a helpful ghost or two hanging around.” She shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve already got Bryce on the job, reviewing any video of the areas hit to see if he can spot anything or anyone in common in the days leading up to each burglary.”
I let out a sigh. “I suppose I could…Oh, shit!” I looked in alarm to the street in front of the shop where a city works truck had just pulled up. “He
’s here.”
“Who’s here? What’s wrong?”
“The city inspector. Remember? I told you about the tree.”
Tess looked at me, mouth agape. “I sort of thought you were kidding about moving the tree. Can you really do that?”
I shrugged. “Well, not without some help.” I gave her a push towards the street. “Now give me a hand and go stall the inspector. Take him into the coffee shop and give him a free cup of coffee and a butter tart or something. I need you to stall him as long as you can.”
I turned my back on Tess as she hurried over to greet the inspector and gazed at the tree. I sure hoped this worked.
Placing my hands on the rough bark, I closed my eyes and whispered a greeting to the elm, pushing out with my magic. Almost immediately, the tree responded with a soft vibration under my palms as it eagerly absorbed the energy I offered. After a moment, I began to speak:
“Oh, wise and venerable dryad, hear me for I bring ill tidings. The human norms, jealous of the strength and beauty of your wondrous elm, seek to harm it, bringing it low. I humbly approach you with a plan to confound and confuse the silly mortals. It is a trick only you, the most cunning and talented dryad, can do. Wake the father elm, show him his legs. A mere dorn to the east and their sinister plan will be defeated. For your formidable grace, I offer this small token in return.”
I cracked open the jar of peanut butter I had grabbed from the storeroom and held it up to the tree and waited.
And waited.
I was about to give up when a dainty, green-hued hand reached out of the tree, palm up expectantly. With a gulp, I pushed the container into the hand, gawking in surprise as both disappeared back into the tree. After a moment, the leaves above me rustled as a tremor passed through the tree and then a slight form stepped from its trunk.
The dryad was female – very female, if you know what I mean – and scantily clad in a motley of green and brown that barely covered her buxom form, her attire reminding me of something you’d see in a cartoon. Her hair was short, I guess you’d literally call it a pixie cut, and like her skin, it was a deep, forest green. She smacked her lips, holding up the now empty peanut butter jar, peering inside with a small sigh, and then, with a shrug, she thrust the jar at me.
Taken by surprise, I reached for the jar and then scanned the yard, worried what the neighbours would think about seeing a small, green, half-naked woman.
“Whoa,” I said, “Do you think you should be–”
“Relax,” she replied, rolling her ‘R’. “I’m not some dozey bairn, now am I? ‘Tis only ewe that can see me.” She put her hands on her hips and eyed me critically. “So, yer the witch that doone kilt that git, Eliassander.” She looked at me skeptically. “Ye doona look like much.”
Surprised by the recognition and somewhat insulted, I shook my head. “Actually, it wasn’t me that killed him, it was–”
“Oh, aye,” she replied impatiently. “T’was the wee zombies. I ken that now, doon’t I? But yer the witch that done created them.”
She had me there. Not knowing how to respond, I decided silence was a virtue to which I should aspire.
After an uncomfortable few minutes, the dryad grinned. “No skin off me nose. Couldn’t stand the bastard. I’m Trella.”
“Harry, Harry Russo.”
“Oh aye, I ken who ye are, Harry Russo. Some uppity witch that thinks she can boss around the Fae.”
“What? I never...” I put up my hands in defense, peanut butter jar still in one hand. “No, of course not. I was merely bearing news I felt you should hear in order to protect your grove.”
“And why should I care about what some puny humans do?" Trella made a face, wrinkling up her nose in disgust. “If any of the blighters put so much as a greasy finger on me trees, I’ll squash them like the bugs they are.”
I looked at her skeptically. “You and I both know you can’t do that. Queen–”
“Shut yer gob, ye dozey witch!” Trella glanced around nervously. “Ye doona need to be saying her name. Do ye want her here all in our business?”
The “her” in question was Queen Elphamae, the current Faerie Queen. After the death of Eliassander, the Fae prince, I had gone back and brushed up on my Faerie lore. The Fae kingdom runs on a seven-year cycle with the Summer and Winter Courts alternating rule, unless of course, one of the courts starts a war with the other – something that happens fairly frequently. Currently, they were in year three of the Summer Court. A fact I found somewhat reassuring and disturbing at the same time. Reassuring, because since Eliassander was a prince of the Winter court, the current ruler didn’t particularly care if he was dead. Disturbing because the Winter Queen, Morganna, and her court had four more years to brood about his death and possibly plot revenge.
“No, not particularly,” I replied.
“Well then, doona say her name.” Trella rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Humans! Yer all a bunch of dozey gits.”
“Listen,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “You need to help m–”
Trella took a step towards me eagerly, listening.
“…the tree. You need to help the tree,” I finished, catching myself before making a mistake and incurring a debt to the Fae.
With a small sound of disappointment, Trella placed her hands on her hips. “And why should I be doing that, then?”
“I told you, they want to cut it down. It’s in the way.”
“Cut it down? Cut. It. Down?" Her face grew dark, her eyes narrowing in anger.
I waved my hands in a calming motion. “But you can stop it from happening. You’re the only one with the power.”
“And how will I be doing that?”
“The tree needs to move three inches to the east.”
“And if I do this thing for ewe–”
“For the tree,” I interrupted. “You’d be doing it for the tree.” The last thing I needed was to owe a favour to a Fae.
“Right,” Trella replied, a look of calculation in her eyes. “For the tree. Ye’ll give me more of that sweet, nutty butter?" She pointed to the empty jar I still held in my hand.
“Uh, sure.”
“A jar a week.”
“What? No, a month. A jar a month, for the rest of the year.”
“A jar a month for five years.”
I gaped at her and shook my head. There was no way I was delivering peanut butter to a tree for the next five years.
“A jar a month for the rest of the year, and a free pastry every day from the shop…” I held up a finger preventing her from interrupting. “Provided you come in wearing a glamour so the customers don’t freak out.”
“Och, I ken enough to do that,” Trella replied in disgust. She cocked her head at me. “Do ye have the drinking chocolate?”
“The what? Oh, you mean hot chocolate?" I nodded my head. “The best drinking chocolate you’ll ever taste.”
Trella raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Great,” I replied just as the French doors to the shop swung open. “You’ll have to hurry. We’re out of time,” I added as a heavy-set man with a walrus-moustache strode out, wearing a frown.
“I’m a busy man,” the inspector blustered to Tess, who followed on his heels. “If Miss Russo doesn’t care to show up then why file the complaint in the first place?”
Tess gave me an apologetic shrug.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I yelped, glancing over my shoulder at Trella as I hurried over to the inspector and Tess. I jammed the empty jar in her hands. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” I said, grabbing the inspector’s hand and shaking it. “I got tied up at another meeting. I’m Harry Russo. I hope you enjoyed some coffee and a treat?”
“What? Oh, yes, yes. Delicious butter tarts.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You wouldn’t be trying to bribe me, would you?”
“Of course not. You’re more than welcome to pay for the coffee…”
“That won’t be
necessary,” he harrumphed. “Let’s get this done, shall we?”
I cast another worried look over my shoulder, but Trella was gone. Unfortunately, the tree was still exactly where it was before.
“Sure thing,” I said, taking the inspector by the elbow and turning him to face the shop, his back to the tree. “Let me explain my plan for the patio.”
I described my vision to the inspector, carefully keeping his back to the boulevard and the row of elm trees.
“Yes, well, you’ll need to have an enclosure of some sort to designate the seating area,” he replied impatiently at the end of my spiel.
Suddenly there was a loud rumble, and the ground beneath our feet shook.
“What in tarnation was that?" The inspector looked around in confusion, beginning to turn towards the street side.
I grabbed him by the arm pulling him back towards me. “That? It was a heavy truck going by. They sometimes do that. Now you were saying something about the seating area?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the tree, tuning out the inspector’s droning explanation about designated seating. The elm swayed as if in the middle of high winds, three large open furrows in the grass at its base. I sucked in a breath and frowned at the mess, then waving my hand at the damaged lawn behind the inspector’s back, I gave a little push of my magic.
The furrows folded in on themselves, the grass filling the open wounds until nothing was left to indicate the tree had moved almost a foot to the left.
Tess stood, gaping at the tree. I cleared my throat to get her attention and waved her away, lest her befuddled expression arouse suspicion in the inspector.
“That’s great,” I said, interrupting the inspector mid-sentence. “I don’t want to take anymore of your time. Should we measure and get it done?”
The inspector cleared his throat, surprised by my sudden change of subject. “Yes, yes. Of course.” He pulled a tape measure from his pocket and then looked down at his clipboard. “Now, I don’t know why you think this tree is exempt. I measured this neighbourhood myself and that tree is under the minimum distance requirement.”
