Murder by Yew

by Suzanne Young

  He nodded. “Started two weeks ago. Now that they’ll be moving down here, he’ll be changing schools.” Tom slapped his knees hard with the palms of his big work-roughened hands, startling her with his fury. “The kids in his old school treated him like some kinda freak. You know, he’s been taking his hearing aid out and stuffing it in his pocket because they make fun of him.”

  As if sorry for his outburst or for burdening Edna with his troubles, Tom gave her a weak, lopsided grin and pushed himself out of the chair. “How about I clean up those clippings out front before I go?”

  “Oh no, I’m sure you have other things to do today,” Edna mildly protested, but Tom stopped her with an upraised hand.

  “Won’t take but a minute. I’ll get a rake if you’ll get some bags and meet me out front.”

  She didn’t argue. Cleanup would go faster with two, and frankly, she was tired of the task she had begun. She picked up the tea tray and went through the back door that Tom held for her before he headed off to the tool shed behind the garage.

  When she re-emerged with two pairs of heavy-duty gardening gloves and a box of lawn and leaf bags, Tom was standing by one of the yew trees talking with a short blonde woman. A late-model red Mercedes convertible with its top down was parked behind Tom’s battered old pickup.

  “Here she is.” Tom’s voice rose as Edna’s puzzled glance caught his amused one. “Someone here to see you,” he added unnecessarily as Edna approached the two and the woman turned around.

  Edna recognized her immediately. She was Dee Tolkheim, whom Edna had met the week before at a local garden club meeting. A young-looking woman with shoulder-length hair that curled delicately around her face, Dee wore a low-cut, blue-gray wool suit with a short skirt this morning, high heels better suited for the city than the country, and about five pounds of gold and silver jewelry. The color of her outfit matched her eyes almost perfectly.

  “Why, good morning, Mrs. Tolkheim,” Edna said while thinking, what on earth is she doing here?

  “Hello, Mrs. Davies,” her guest said, not moving from Tom’s side. “I was just asking this handsome man if you might be home.” Even in her dressy shoes, the top of Dee’s head barely reached Tom’s shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by unannounced, but you did say we should get together sometime. I was on my way home from shopping and realized you were quite close by, so I decided to see if you were in.” She tilted her head back to smile up at Tom. Dimples in each cheek gave her a kewpie-doll look. “I do lots of things on the spur of the moment.” Widening her blue eyes at Edna again, she repeated, “I do hope you don’t mind.”

  Edna noticed Tom’s returned smile and felt a pull in her chest. Jealousy? Ridiculous! She was a married woman, a happily married woman. Never mind that she was also ten years older than he. These conflicting feelings and thoughts flitted through Edna’s head and heart as she said, “Tom, have you been introduced to Mrs. Dee Tolkheim? Mrs. Tolkheim, this is Tom Greene, our handyman.”

  “So pleased to meet you.” She spoke softly and with a slight drawl as she extended a bejeweled hand toward Tom and glanced sideways at Edna. “Won’t you call me Dee?”

  Edna wasn’t certain to whom Dee had spoken. Clearly, Tom was flustered as he took the delicate white hand in his own rough one.

  Mentally comparing herself to the petite blonde, Edna felt like an old workhorse next to a thoroughbred colt, a weed next to a rose. Sure, Dee could probably stand to lose fifteen pounds, too, but on her the extra weight looked voluptuous, not dowdy.

  Dee was staring at Tom as if waiting for him to say something, but he seemed tongue-tied. Edna broke the silence.

  “What can I do for you, Dee?” Watching the other two, she felt like a third wheel. Can’t the woman see he’s wearing a wedding ring?

  Slowly pulling her hand from Tom’s grasp, Dee said, “I thought maybe I could get some of that rue we talked about.”

  “Rue?” Edna’s mind went into overdrive, spinning back to the previous Thursday and a conversation about the acrid herb that grew beneath an old oak tree on the far side of the compost heap in what she and Albert referred to as the “back forty.” It was their joking name for the half-acre of untamed land at the west end of their property.

  The two women had met the previous week at the September meeting of Greenthumbs, a local garden club. Both of them were guests of current members, and each was applying for the club’s one vacant spot. The club was as much a social group as it was a gardening association, and initiation into the club also insured one’s acceptance into the community. Membership lasted for as long as the woman—for this was strictly a woman’s organization—lived in the community.

  In the by-laws, enrollment was limited to fifty. Whoever wasn’t selected would have to wait for an opening in the rolls and go through the application process again. Generally, opportunities to join the coveted club occurred only at the demise of a member, for very few of the women ever moved away. Edna and Dee had each been asked to give a presentation at next month’s meeting. Nothing was stated specifically, but the women knew the quality of her talk would determine the winner.

  Edna and Dee had both participated in a group discussion about rare herbs, several of which, Edna mentioned, grew in her yard. The talk had begun with the mention of rue and how effective it was in relieving arthritis pain. She recalled it was Dee who mentioned the versatile herb had also been used in the old days to scrub floors and, as it was, deterred plague-carrying fleas and ticks from entering one’s house. Delighted at this new piece of knowledge, Edna had exclaimed that they must get together sometime and share herb lore.

  After the meeting, on the ride home, Edna had asked her friend and sponsor, “Tuck, why would such a young woman want to join a club in which the average age must be sixty-something?”

  Helen Tucker had laughed. “Edna, dear, how old would you guess Mrs. Tolkheim to be?”

  “Thirtyish.”

  “Try fiftyish … mid fiftyish, to be more precise.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not.” Tuck’s voice lowered to her gossip tone. “She was married to Joel Tolkheim—senior, not junior. He was seventy-five, you know. Died this past spring. Heart attack. No wonder, marrying someone his son’s age.” She’d tut-tutted, shaking her head.

  “Is that the Tolkheim estate over in Watch Hill?” Edna and Albert had gone to a dinner party in the area last month. On the drive home, they had passed the huge white house built at the edge of the sea. A shiver had prickled Edna’s spine at the sight of the widow’s walk standing out against the night sky in the light of a full moon.

  “The family’s summer cottage.” Tuck snorted a laugh. “It’s always tickled me that a house that size is referred to as a cottage. Junior’s contesting the will, of course.”

  Edna was used to Tuck switching tracks without warning. “Why ‘of course’?”

  “Well, wouldn’t you? I mean, look … Joel left the summer house to Dee, including all of its contents. Even though Junior got the New York apartment and the house on Long Island and the family business in the city, he doesn’t want his stepmother to inherit the summer place. She was married to his father less than a year, you know, and that house is loaded with family heirlooms and valuable paintings and … well, who knows what all.”

  “Edna?” Tom’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  “Sorry. I must have been off gathering wool. What was it you were saying?”

  “I was telling Ms. Tolkheim here about your tea. I think what you gave me today was the best yet.”

  Edna smiled at the compliment, but before she could speak she saw Dee place a hand on Tom’s forearm. “I believe Edna said that you’re a handyman.” She raised her eyebrows and flashed her dimples. “Are you?”

  “What’s that, ma’am?” He smiled back.

  “Handy?” Her laugh was low, rumbling.

  He glanced at Edna, and she saw the blush creep up the back of his neck and color his cheeks. He se
emed to have met his match in the flirting department. If he figured he could best Mrs. Dee Tolkheim, he’d better think again.

  Returning his gaze, but saying nothing, Edna waited to see how Tom would handle himself. She was impressed when he turned to Dee and said coolly, “Do you have work around your place that needs doing?”

  “Of course,” Dee said, her laughter in check, but her dimples deepening. “Are you available anytime soon? There are a number of things I need fixed before the winter weather arrives.”

  “It’s really my cousin you’ll need to talk to, but I keep an appointment book in the glove compartment. I can check to see what I have open.”

  As he started to turn toward his pickup, Edna said, “Wait a minute, please.” Then, turning to Dee, she said. “Tom’s right. You should contact Norm Wilkins at Honeydew Home Repairs.”

  Dee’s smile left her eyes, then returned so suddenly that Edna wasn’t certain she’d seen the flicker. “You’re so right. I will call that gentleman and see about making an appointment. If I can just get some rue …” Leaving the sentence unfinished, she stared innocently at Edna.

  “The witchbane is out back beyond the wall,” Edna said, using the more common name for the herb. She looked at Dee’s feet in the impossibly high heels. “I don’t think you’d better be walking over there in those shoes, though, and I must help Tom clean up here. “

  Edna hoped Dee would take the hint and just leave, but her unwanted guest fluttered a delicate hand and cooed, “Oh, I don’t mind waiting. I’ll just follow this little brick path. I know it must lead to the kitchen garden you spoke of. You don’t mind my looking around, do you?”

  Before Edna could answer, Dee strolled off more gracefully than Edna would have imagined in those city shoes. Turning to Tom and catching him gazing after the hip-swinging beauty, she snapped, “Are you going to rake, or shall I?” The sharpness of her tone surprised not only her but Tom, as well, from the look on his face. Without a word, he bent to his task.

  In almost no time, he had the branches and twigs raked into a large brush pile. As he stooped to grab the first armful to dump into the plastic bag Edna held open, Hank came running up behind them, chased by a giggling Danny, who ran smack into Tom’s behind, sending him sprawling into the middle of the debris.

  The youngster stood stunned as his grandfather struggled to his feet. With green twigs sticking to his clothing and hair, Tom might have passed for a kin of Sasquatch. Danny’s face started to crumple with the first signs of tears when Tom grabbed him and lifted the boy high into the air. “Look what you’ve done to your poor old grampa.” Tom laughed and gently bounced his grandson above his head until Danny began to smile, then laugh aloud, and finally squirm to get down. Once on the ground, he resumed chasing the dog, who had stopped to rest and watch but was now leading the boy a merry chase around the circular garden in the middle of the driveway.

  Watching the two and laughing, Tom began to brush the debris from his hair and the front of his shirt while Edna, chuckling herself, picked greenery off his back. She swiped at a clump of twigs stuck to his lower back, then noticed that one had caught on a small scrap of paper that was sticking out of Tom’s pocket. Before she could stop her motion, the paper ripped and the top portion fluttered to the ground.

  “Oops.” She bent to pick it up and, handing it back to Tom, she apologized. “Hope this isn’t too important.”

  “Nah.” Tom pulled his wallet from the same back pocket and stuffed the torn slip into the paper money section. “It’s the name and number of a private detective. I got it from Mary.”

  She stepped back to look up into his face, wondering for a moment if he might be kidding. There was a definite twinkle in his eye that she took as a challenge. Trying to recall something about Tom that would warrant the use of a detective, she suddenly gasped, “You don’t think your son-in-law is having an affair, do you? Is that why Nancy has left him?”

  She’d never known anyone to hire a detective before, and she found, similar to her reaction over her neighbor’s arrest, she was fascinated. The fact that Mary had supplied the name was something Edna stored in the back of her mind to be considered later.

  Tom snorted. “Oh, no. It hasn’t anything to do with Walt.” He laughed again, this time with more amusement, apparently seeing more humor in her remark than Edna thought necessary. “I’m trying to locate a long-lost friend. When I mentioned it to Mary, she said she knew a private eye. If I can find my old buddy, it’ll be a great surprise for our upcoming high school reunion—our fortieth.”

  Edna was disappointed it wasn’t anything more exciting. “I guess finding people is what detectives are good at.”

  “Well, I think this one will earn his money. Last I heard from Bobby was a letter I got from Albuquerque, New Mexico.”

  “I wouldn’t think it’d be difficult for a detective to find a man in Albuquerque.”

  “Except the letter was sent nearly forty years ago, and my friend has a pretty common name.”

  “Oh?”

  “How many Robert O’Brien’s do you suppose there are?”

  “Probably thousands,” said a voice from behind them.

  Edna jumped and spun around to see Dee Tolkheim standing not more than three feet away. So engrossed had Edna been that she hadn’t heard the woman approach.

  Dee sashayed up to Tom. “Bend down,” she commanded.

  Coloring slightly, he lowered his head. She plucked a small bunch of green needles out of his hair. “There now,” she said with a slow smile.

  Edna couldn’t bear the thought of another coquettish display. She wanted this woman off her property. “I’ll get you some of the rue Mrs. Rabichek left to dry in the tool shed,” she said, turning to hurry off on her errand. Once Dee had her witchbane, she’d have no more excuse to stick around.

  It took Edna longer than she expected to retrieve the dried swag from the shed. She had to hunt for the step stool in order to reach high enough to untie the twine that was holding it to one of the rafters. Mrs. Rabichek must have been very agile to hang these so high, she thought, picking at the tight knot.

  She wondered why Dee wanted this particular herb. Rue was used to ease joint pain. Did she have arthritis? Edna smiled at the thought that beneath the glamour, Dee was aging just like the rest of them. Or maybe she had trouble with indigestion. Too strong a tea would cause vomiting, Edna remembered from Mrs. Rabichek’s journals and wondered if this year’s growing season had produced a particularly strong batch. Perhaps Dee wants to improve her eyesight, Edna thought of yet another property of the versatile herb. Dee would certainly be vain enough to want to avoid wearing glasses or even contact lenses.

  Finally able to untie the stubborn knot holding the dried witchbane in place, Edna thought it would be good to get rid of the foul-smelling stuff, although the dried plant wasn’t nearly as pungent as the live. She had almost asked Tom to dig it all up last month but decided not to destroy anything until she understood better why Mrs. Rabichek had planted what she did.

  When Edna at last returned to the front of the house, she found several bulging bags lined up next to the front walk and Tom’s pickup was gone. Dee’s convertible was still in the driveway, but the top had been raised, as had the windows. The woman herself was nowhere to be seen.

  A vague uneasiness crept through Edna as she started for the kitchen garden in search of her elusive guest.

  Three

  “Never thought she’d just show up,” Edna muttered, trudging along the red brick path. Still rankled by Dee’s coy behavior with Tom, Edna was bewildered that he had left without first speaking to her. Swinging the swag of rue, she rounded the corner of the house and wondered what Dee was up to. Edna was certain it had something to do with the garden club. They had no other connection.

  “Did you buy your place from some sort of medicine woman?” Dee was sitting on a wooden bench pushed up against the side of the house, her eyes half closed and her face tilted to the sun. Legs cros
sed at the knees, she gently bounced a calfskin pump from the toes of her foot.

  Momentarily startled, Edna paused before heading toward the sunny seat herself. “Why do you say that?” She sat down, feeling the late morning heat penetrate her fair skin.

  “Whoever lived here before planted some pretty potent stuff.” Dee dropped her gaze to the garden and lazily flicked a wrist, gold and silver bracelets jingling as she did so. Then, as if waking from a hypnotic trance, she straightened and gave Edna a direct and intelligent look. “You were right about what you said last week at the meeting. The former owner had unusual tastes. This garden is wonderfully diverse, isn’t it?”

  The comment both surprised and delighted Edna, who so far had found no one, with the possible exception of Mary, to share her enthusiasm and admiration for the work Mrs. Rabichek had put into this little quarter-acre. She felt a twinge of guilt for her previous uncharitable thoughts. After all, she had invited the women, including Dee, to stop by. Apparently, not everyone understood she should call first.

  Edna turned to look through new eyes at the large rock garden spread out before them. Medicinal and seasoning herbs grew among granite stones and in raised planters and portable pots set decoratively around the area. The red brick walk, connecting the front driveway to the back patio, split the garden across the middle. Crossing the main walk at right angles was a narrower path of the same moss-spotted brick that connected their weathered wooden bench to the manicured lawn on the opposite side.

  “Yes, there’s such a wide variety of plants and herbs, I’ve been trying to absorb it all. I find I have much to learn.” Edna had spent hours sitting on that wooden bench with Hazel Rabichek’s journals of home-brews and potions, studying the rock garden. It was during one of these sessions that she’d come up with the idea for her Greenthumbs presentation. Potions and poisons sounded just right for an October topic, so she was particularly interested in what had prompted Dee’s earlier remark about the potency of the plants. Was Dee thinking the same thing? Was she also planning a witches’ brew type of presentation? Edna wondered if that might be what the rue was for.