by Wendy Tyson
After that, everything happened quickly.
Megan saw Dillon reach for Barbara’s ponytail. He yanked hard and she yelled, causing Xavier to turn and lose his balance. Megan grabbed the stone and flew on top of Xavier, pounding him in the head. He held on to the gun, but his arm was pinned under Megan. She sat on it, bending his arm backward. He moaned and dropped the gun.
“Stop.” Barbara’s voice was an angry whisper. “Get off of him or I kill this kid.”
Barbara had Dillon in a headlock, pistol aimed at his head. Dillon’s eyes were dancing back and forth widely. At first Megan thought it was terror, only he seemed to be motioning toward the trees on either side of the tent.
Trying to alert her to something or someone.
Or asking her to pretend.
Megan stared beyond Barbara, into the trees. She opened her mouth slightly, feigning relief and surprise. Dillon’s eyes stopped moving.
Barbara turned slightly in the direction of Megan’s stare. Xavier was bleeding profusely from his head and neck where Megan had attacked him with the stone. He’d dropped the gun, and Megan snatched it. She was still sitting on him. She dug her butt into Xavier, incapacitating him as much as possible, and raised the gun toward Barbara’s head just as Dillon kicked Barbara behind the knees. Barbara fell and he grabbed her hand, trying to wrestle the gun free.
Megan shot at the tree in the distance. The shot reverberated up her arm, throwing her off balance, but the sound was enough to startle Barbara. She was tall and strong, but Dillon was taller and stronger. He pulled the gun from her grasp and forced Barbara onto the ground. Megan motioned for him to come to her.
He handed Megan the pistol.
“There’s rope in her bag,” he said, pointing to a knapsack under the tent’s small rainfly. “She was going to use that to…”
“It’s okay, Dillon. Get it out and let’s tie them up.”
Dillon worked quickly. He secured Barbara to a tree and tied Xavier’s legs and arms together. Megan was relieved to see they had reception. She called King and 911. Denver had been the one trying to reach her, and she called him as well.
“Let Eloise know Dillon is safe.”
“I will. Megs, I’ll get there as soon as I can. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“We’ll be fine.”
Megan didn’t want to waste battery, so she sat quietly by Dillon while they waited, his hand in hers, each holding a gun on the miscreants.
Eventually, Megan said, “I know two ladies who are going to be so happy to see you.”
Dillon gave her a tentative smile. “I heard about Mrs. Birch. Is she okay?”
“She’ll be better knowing you’re safe.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. After a few moments, he said hesitantly, “Think I can stay over some time? I can help with the animals, earn my keep.”
“Of course.” Megan squeezed his hand. “You’re welcome any time.
Thirty-Four
Camilla snuggled in the hay next to Heidi. Her pink snout snuffled around the ground for more apples, but Bibi’s basket was empty. The pig settled for a belly rub from Dillon, resting her head against this thigh.
“You know,” Megan said, looking at Dillon, “Camilla was bred to be a pet, not a farm animal. She’d much rather be indoors, sleeping on a bed with her person.”
“I know,” Dillon said. “She’s so cute.” He glanced up at Megan. “I think she’s happy.”
“You’re really good with her. I think she’s happiest with you.”
Dillon beamed.
“Would you like to have her?”
Dillon didn’t say anything for a moment. They’d learned that he would become quiet with any sort of emotional turbulence, positive or negative. Megan glanced back at Eloise, who was standing by the gate of the enclosure looking in. They’d discussed this beforehand, and Eloise had agreed that Camilla would be good for Dillon. The ordeal with Barbara and Xavier had set him back, but now that it was a few weeks behind them, he had some stability in his life, and he was making rapid gains.
“I sure would love to have her,” Dillon said, staring down at the pig. “If you really mean it.”
Megan smiled. “Of course, we really mean it.”
Bibi put his hand on her shoulder. “How about if you and I hang out here with Camilla and the goats and let your foster mom and Megan work out the details.
Bobby King and Denver were waiting for them in the kitchen. King said, “How’d he take it?”
“Over the moon.” Megan smiled. She hugged the Chief, who was wearing shorts and a t-shirt today. He was heading to a basketball game, not a murder scene, and for the first time in weeks he looked well-rested.
Megan poured four glasses of Bibi’s sun tea and asked them to have a seat.
“I can only stay for a few minutes,” King said. With a sheepish grin, “Bibi have anything sweet?”
Megan pulled a container of chocolate chip cookies out of the cabinet and handed them to King. Ever since Dillon had entered their life, Bibi was baking daily—and not out of stress.
After wolfing two down, he offered the container to Eloise, who declined.
“We’re all set with Camilla?” Eloise said.
“Yes. Damnest thing, aye?” King was referring to Cat Mantra. “The person living in the storage unit had been Harriet’s daughter. She’d heard about the BOLD-Pioneer Village event and wanted to see for herself. The pig had been hers. She’d shown up at the school the day Barbara and Harriet were there, finally exposing her whereabouts to her mom.”
“Crazy,” Denver muttered, grabbing a cookie. “She returned to the only home she’d had—the school in Pennsylvania.”
“I guess you could say that.” King continued. “The storage unit was all Cat could afford, especially with a pet. It let her fly under the radar, given that she was hiding from her parents. Plus, the storage folks don’t ask questions or do credit or background checks. Cat paid a month’s cheap rent upfront and that was the end of it. She was in no position to take the pig—she’s back in treatment—and Harriet felt like that was the least she could do for Dillon given what all her company’s employees had put him through.”
Megan said, “Saul Bones, huh?”
King smiled. “The woman had a twisted sense of humor.”
“They can’t take Camilla back?” Megan wanted to be sure everything in Dillon’s life was stable—as stable as it could be—from here on in. That meant Camilla too.
“He’s yours and Dillon’s. If Dillon can’t take care of him, he goes back to the farm.”
“How about BOLD?” Eloise asked. “Closing its doors for good?”
“No,” Denver said. “Jatin and Harriet are regrouping, finding some new funding. Maybe renaming. Jatin says they believe in their product and plan to continue pursuing it.”
“So he never had anything to do with any of the this?” Eloise asked.
Denver frowned. “Bobby can verify, but Jatin says he was grilled by the police over and over, and he claims he knew nothing about Chase’s plans to leave or Barbara and Xavier’s actions. Same for Harriet.”
King nodded. “His fight with Chase the night before Chase’s death really was about Chase’s drinking. At least that’s what we believe.” King shrugged. “Neither Xavier or Barbara have pointed a finger at Jatin, so for now we think he’s clean.”
“Clean but broken,” Denver said. “It’s hard to recover from a betrayal like that.
Megan agreed—only she was pretty sure Denver was talking about himself as much as about Jatin. They had a special bond now, one that would deepen and serve their friendship. Despite that small upside, Denver had been quiet since the events took place, waffling between anger and remorse that his so-called friends put Megan and her family through so much. He’d also been talking in his sleep, and it was through his night-
time ramblings that she understood the depth of his wounds. She stayed with him most nights, holding him close, as though she alone could be a barrier against the dark.
King interrupted her thoughts. “Loved the article you were quoted in. The one by Donna Lewis. The best news is for the school. Dillon’s ordeal brought attention to its mission. Donations have poured in, donations for real scholarship funds so that kids from all kinds of families can attend.” King grabbed another cookie. “I didn’t want to stress him by going out there, but it seems like he’s doing pretty well. Maybe the school isn’t such a bad place.”
Megan looked toward the window at the barn beyond. “He’s found two new friends, Bibi and Camilla.” She looked at Eloise. “How’s he doing at home?”
“Better. He sleeps through the night. The nightmares have lessened. In a weird way I think surviving that, being instrumental in both of your survival, helped him to deal with what happened to his mom.” She glanced at Denver. “And having you around has helped as well.” Eloise smiled. “He looks up to you.”
Eloise’s smile broadened. “He even brought me flowers yesterday. He’d cut them from my perennial beds, but I could forgive that.” She laughed. “Benjamin Star said he’s opening up more in therapy.”
King took two more cookies and stood. “For the road.” Before leaving, he asked Megan about her grandmother. “Going through that must have been a punch.”
Megan pictured Bibi in the hospital bed, eyes ablaze despite the tubes and wires protruding from her body. “I think she felt it ended well. She never stopped believing in Dillon. It may sound silly, but I think Dillon embodied faith in her mind. He was vindicated, and her faith was justified. The lithium was just a trial, one she endured.”
Eloise laughed again. “I think that’s a fancy way of saying Bibi is a tough lady.”
“Ah, it goes beyond that,” King said. “I see stuff every day. You have to have faith that there is good in the world. And every once in a while, that faith is rewarded.”
“I suppose,” Eloise said. “I prefer to be a pragmatist. Expect the worst and you don’t get disappointed.”
“I don’t believe you for a second,” King said. “You would have never taken in that boy if that was your core belief.”
Eloise didn’t respond. She reached into the cookie container, grabbed one for herself, and tossed one to King and one to Denver.
“Go,” Megan said. “Before you miss your game.” She put the cookies in the cabinet and turned to face Eloise. “Ready to claim your new family member?”
Eloise smiled. “Let’s do this.
THE END
(Book #5)
SOWING MALICE
A Greenhouse Mystery #6
Wendy Tyson
Copyright
SOWING MALICE
A Greenhouse Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition | July 2020
Henery Press, LLC
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Tyson
Author photograph by Ian Pickarski
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-627-4
Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-628-1
Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-629-8
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-630-4
Printed in the United States of America
For Ian and Mandy,
who always make me laugh.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to….
My wonderful agent, Frances Black, who has stood by me every step of the way and who has made this series possible.
Kendel Lynn and Art Molinares at Henery Press, who gave Megan and Bibi a home.
My husband, Ben Pickarski, for his endless patience with deadlines, book events, and farming questions.
Rachel Jackson for her sharp eye and careful editing.
Stephanie Wollman, for her willingness to answer all of my medical questions.
Ian, Mandy, Matthew, and Jonathan for all of their support—online and offline.
Dru Ann Love, for being such a wonderful champion of the mystery writing community.
Cynthia Bayer Blain and Sue Norbury, for going above and beyond to support this series.
All of the readers, reviewers, fellow authors, and friends of the mystery community. Writing this series has been a dream come true, and I have appreciated all of the support and encouragement along the way.
One
If Winsome was reeling from a death in her midst, you wouldn’t know it, Megan thought. The stores and attractions were abuzz with summer activity, locals and tourists alike enjoying a taste of the warm Pennsylvania countryside. The normally quiet roads were alive with traffic, and as Megan made her way along Canal Street in the center of town, walkers, runners, and everything in between were making happy use of the town’s main amenity—the canal path. The only sign of the big memorial service scheduled for the top of the hill later that day was the number of cars parked outside of J.M. Morton’s Funeral Home.
Even inside Merry’s Flowers, with clouds pressing down outside, promising rain, there was a feeling of lightness in the air. Megan grabbed the potting soil her grandmother, Bonnie “Bibi” Birch, had asked for and made her way to the register. She was due to meet with her contractor at two o’clock, and she was in a hurry to pay and get back to the farm. Megan had depended on there being no line at Merry’s—which was usually the case. Today, as luck would have it, she had to wait.
Three women, all dressed from head to toe in designer black, stood at the register, waiting while Merry finished tying a white ribbon around a generous bouquet of blooms: white orchids, white lilies, and white irises interspersed with pale, blush-colored roses. The youngest of the group, a tiny brunette with mascara streaks marring sculpted cheekbones, was sobbing, her hip wedged against the wooden counter for support. The other two—an older woman with a sharp-edged platinum bob and a tall woman with a helmet of bottle-red hair—hovered over her with a mix of empathy, concern, and growing impatience.
Megan watched the scene unfold with an outsider’s eye.
“Claire, you can’t show up like this,” Red whispered—loudly. “You need to pull yourself together.”
Platinum nodded. “My god, she’ll eat you alive. Please. Stop crying.”
Merry Chance, the store’s proprietor and a woman known as much for her nosiness as her green thumb, paused to observe the crying woman over fuchsia spectacles. She caught Megan’s eye before saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The sobbing woman didn’t react. Instead, Platinum said, “Do you sell cards as well?”
Merry pointed to a rack of greeting cards. “Sympathy cards are on the top.”
Platinum grabbed her crying companion and pulled her toward the cards. Despite the older woman’s hushed pleas, the younger woman remained inconsolable. She stared at the cards, clearly uncomprehending.
Merry finished the bouquet and tapped away at the register. “Will they be purchasing a card?” she asked Red.
The woman glanced nervously toward the other two women. “Are you getting a card?” she asked. When Platinum’s only response was an exasperated glare, Red smiled apologetically at Merry. “Just the flowers for now…well, you can see she’s having a very hard time deciding.”
“That’s not a problem,” Merry said.
Red paid for the flowers, and Platinum started to pull her charge toward the front of the store. Mid-step, the younger woman crumpled to the ground in a heap of Gucci and Prada. Megan dropped the heavy bag of potting soil and rushed to help her.
“Claire’s fine, she’s fine,” Platinum said, waving Megan away. “She just needs some fresh air.”
The woman named Claire didn’t look fine. She looked like she’d watched one hundred horror movies back to back, and Megan said as much. But Red came over to help, too, and the two women pulled the younger one to her feet. After a moment of confusion, Claire resumed her crying. As the three women left the store, the cries turned to silent, shoulder-heaving sobs.
Feeling a deep wave of sympathy, Megan watched them get into their car through the shop’s window. She plopped the potting soil on the counter, her focus still on the women.
“Wonder what that was all about,” Merry said. “One thing’s for certain, they’re not from around here. Did you see the cut of the tunic on the brunette? That was no outlet find.” She shook her head. “No, not from Winsome. I’d remember the clothes.”
“Must be the von Tressler memorial,” Megan said. She pulled a credit card from her wallet and slipped it into the reader, chip first. “They’re probably here to pay respects to David von Tressler. His service was this morning.”
Merry’s eyes widened. “Yes! Visiting Melanie to pay their condolences. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh, I know. Because we’re never invited to anything at the von Tressler estate, so why would I think of that?” Merry’s ageless face was a mask of indignant disgust. “Moving here, thinking they’re better than us—”
