Death In The Garden Read online

  But if Bootsy was sedated and Devlin was downstairs, at whom was Sam shouting?

  Chapter Five

  Back at Gillentine Gardens, I parked my Jetta and started toward the stairs to my apartment. I stopped when I saw my grandfather driving up.

  The garage had been converted from a large carriage house sometime in the 1920’s, and it was packed with family vehicles, tools, and Grandpa’s antique auto collection. I tried not to wince as he maneuvered his boat of a sedan into the space next to my Jetta.

  Grandpa muttered under his breath when he bumped his head struggling to squeeze his long, lanky frame out the car’s door. He finger-brushed the thick waves of his silver hair from his forehead, but one errant lock fell back across his brow. In spite of that, I thought him very handsome in tan Dockers and blue plaid shirt.

  Once free, he came over and gave me a hug. “How’s my favorite granddaughter holding up?” It was his standard joke, me being his only grandchild.

  This time I didn’t resort to my usual answer of fine. Instead, I asked, “Did you see Walter? How is he?”

  “I’m only telling this tale one time. You may as well come into the house and listen with your grandmothers.” His arm around me, he guided me toward his home.

  I looked toward the garden center where cars still filled the parking lot. “Even though it’s my afternoon off, I should change and get back to work. Couldn’t you give me a condensed version?”

  “No.” He tugged gently. “There’re plenty of people working over there to handle the crowd. Most of the supposed customers are probably just looking anyway, trying to get a gander at something to do with the murder.” He laughed. “Be a good time for a sale on shovels.”

  The house had been built by my ancestors and added on to over the years. A long covered porch wrapped around the front and extended down one side for about thirty feet until it bumped into the sunroom. Two stories tall—not counting the attic rooms—the house originally conformed to Victorian architecture. Later additions failed to follow convention and sprawled outward at the back and on one side.

  As long as I could remember, the house had been pale yellow with white trim. I loved it and wouldn’t change a thing about its higgeldy-piggeldy appearance. When my grandparents die, which I hoped wouldn’t be for a long time yet, the house would be mine. I planned to conserve and treasure it and to someday raise my own family there.

  Grandpa and I entered through a side door, which led into the family room of the back addition. This had been added thirty years ago when my parents married and came here to live.

  Grandpa called out, “Meg. Mother. I’m back and I’ve captured Heather.”

  Grandma appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. As always, her carefully-dyed blond hair was expertly coifed. She amazed me, and looked at least a decade younger than her sixty-four years. Looking as if she’d just posed for a magazine feature on the perfect modern grandmother, she wore navy linen slacks and matching knit top. Her apron did nothing to conceal her trim figure. Her earrings echoed the single strand of pearls at her throat.

  Inhaling the wonderful blend of perfume, face powder, and lavender soap that I’d come to associate with her, I kissed her cheek.

  Grandma smiled and said, “My, don’t you look lovely?”

  “Thank you.” I touched the large rhinestone and pearl brooch on my dress. “I wore one of the old pins you gave me.”

  “Come into the kitchen. We’re canning green beans and can use your help.” Grandma held the door open for us to follow her.

  The air was heavy with the smell of the canner and green beans. Newspapers spread on the breakfast table protected the work surface. Clean empty jars drained by the sink. Those filled with newly canned beans cooled atop towels that lined the counter on the other side of the range. I usually spent Tuesday afternoons with my grandparents. With my mind on the murder and Walter’s arrest, I’d forgotten I’d been slated to help process beans.

  I leaned down to kiss my great-grandmother, who sat at the breakfast table. “How are you, Gigi?”

  Though she was eighty-five, Gigi still had an active social life. Her silver hair was perfectly groomed and she wore jeans and a bright purple T-shirt. “I had to cancel my bridge game to help with these shitty beans. We wasted two days last week putting up enough black eyes to feed a frigging army, and now we’ve got these damned things.”

  I grinned at Gigi’s profanity, which had only surfaced the last few years after a lifetime of decorous living. “You’ll be glad this winter when you have home-canned vegetables.”

  Gigi scowled, but patted my hand. “You can buy the damn things already canned and avoid this mess.”

  Ruby Crawford, the housekeeper, pointed at the floor where a couple of bushel baskets sat. One was empty, but the other was heaped with fresh green beans. She was a tall, handsome woman with mostly gray hair and glowing skin the color of creamed coffee. “You grab you some of them Blue Lakes, Heather, and start snapping while y’all are talking.” She handed me an apron and shot Grandpa a meaningful glance. “Wouldn’t hurt menfolk none to help neither.”

  Grandpa stood beside the table. “I may have to eat the dad blamed things but I don’t want anything to do with them until they’re cooked and on my plate.”

  I grabbed several handfuls from the basket, dropped them on the table in front of me, and started pulling the strings off and snapping the pods into two-inch lengths. The pungent odor of the pods always reminded me of home. “Now, Grandpa, tell us about Walter.”

  “They’ve formally charged him with Rockwell’s death. Scottie will try to get bond set and post bail, but it won’t be until in the morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me”—he shot a glare toward Ruby—“I’ve got to work on the old Ford.” He hurried from the room as if he feared he’d be trapped inside.

  Grandmother shook her head. “I hope the judge sets bail low enough so we can get Walter out.”

  I was furious they’d arrested him. “That’s so unfair. Just because it was his shovel.”

  “No.” Gigi appeared thoughtful. “Probably the old fight was on record.”

  Grandma glanced at me. “Now, Gigi, we promised Walter we wouldn’t discuss that.”

  My grandmother hated gossip. Gigi reveled in it.

  Gigi shrugged a bony shoulder. “It’ll be all over the news by morning—or a distorted version of it will.”

  “What was the old fight about?” I looked from Grandma to Gigi. “Please explain.”

  Gigi said, “Heather’s right. If we’re going to help Walter, we have to consider all the facts.”

  Grandma reached for more beans, but then rested a hand on either side of the pile she’d made. She stared at me, as if weighing whether to speak or not.

  I threw up my hands. “I know I’m still a child to you, but in the real world I’m twenty-eight and a fully grown woman running a successful business. That is, unless this notoriety drives away all our paying customers.”

  “Heather’s right. She’s all growed up now.” Ruby stepped to the range and removed the canner lid. Steam poured into the already warm kitchen, but the ceiling fan over the table swirled a low breeze to cool us.

  Grandma sighed, but apparently she agreed. “Back when Walter and Nora met, she was dating Vance Rockwell.”

  This was big news to me, but I didn’t interrupt.

  “When Walter asked Nora out, Vance went wild with rage. He told Walter she was his girl and Walter had better stay away from her or he’d be plenty sorry. Walter told him she was a free woman and could choose who she dated.”

  I nodded. “Good for Walter.”

  Grandma reached for more beans. “It didn’t stop there. Nora broke off with Vance, but he was obsessed with her. He’d follow them on dates, sit behind them at the movies, that kind of thing.”

  “What did they do—were there restraining orders back then?” I asked.

  Grandma looked at Gigi, who shrugged.

  Grandma continued, “
I don’t know if there were or not, but Nora didn’t do anything official. She told Vance she didn’t want to see him again, but he still dogged them. She and Walter figured he’d eventually get tired of following them around and find someone else.”

  “Did he?”

  “Sort of. He went off to Dallas and married.” Grandma looked uncomfortable. “Now, I think that’s more than enough gossip for one day.” She stood and went to the counter where she washed the beans she’d prepared for canning, apparently intent on ignoring my questions.

  I’d never known anyone as opposed to gossip as Grandma, so I decided to give in—at least, for now. After working a few minutes more, I stood. “Did you hear a crash from the garage? I think I’d better check on Grandpa.”

  Grandma turned and frowned at me. Gigi winked.

  Ruby pointed her forefinger at Heather. “Don’t forget we could use some help in here.”

  “I’ll come back in a few minutes. See, I’m leaving my apron on.” I hurried from the house.

  Walking along the concrete walkway toward the garage, I inhaled the sweet perfume of Grandma’s roses, which were especially fragrant this spring. I believed it was due to the three new antique varieties we’d planted, each known for its heavy scent. I longed for an hour to sit on the bench beneath the wisteria arbor and enjoy the garden or climb into the swing beneath the rose arbor. Maybe this evening I could spend time here. Right now, I was determined to ferret out more information about Walter.

  In the garage, Grandpa wore overalls and worked under the hood of his 1910 Ford touring car.

  I leaned on the opposite front fender and peered in, as if I understood what he was doing. “Grandma said Vance used to date Nora.”

  He stopped tinkering and looked at me. “So?”

  “Did he leave Gamble Grove because she chose Walter?”

  “Hand me that wrench.” He pointed at his workbench and I noticed a gooey black blob on his chest.

  Careful not to get grease on my dress, I passed him the wrench. “Okay, quit stalling and talk.”

  Grandpa shot me a glare. “Vance had teamed up with George Douglas to design and sell computer printers in Dallas. George’s wife had brought quite a bit of money into the marriage, so George and Vance had plenty of working capital. George patented some thingamabob that’s used on all the personal-sized printers made today.”

  “Wow. All the printers? Think of the royalties from that.”

  Grandpa nodded. “Too bad George didn’t live to see any of the money. Died under mysterious circumstances. Never was cleared up. Of course, Vance was there to comfort Bootsy and, before the year was out, they were engaged.”

  Suddenly, it hit me. “You mean the Bootsy I know? That Bootsy first married Rockwell’s partner?”

  “Same one. She’s a nice looking woman now, but she was a knock out back then.” He raised his head to look at me. “You really think raking over all this is going to help Walter?”

  “It might. Go ahead with the story. I guess that’s why Rockwell stopped chasing Nora?”

  Grandpa snorted and put some torque on the wrench. “Not hardly. The day before Vance was supposed to marry Bootsy in Dallas, he came back to Gamble Grove and called on Nora. She and Walter were married by then, but that didn’t stop that bastard Vance. He told Nora he’d always loved her. Said that if she’d leave with him, he’d forget Bootsy.”

  “Desert his bride at the altar for another man’s wife? That was nervy and disgusting. I imagine Walter would have been angry if he’d found out.”

  I watched my grandfather’s face. “Oh, my goodness. He did find out, didn’t he, Grandpa?”

  He shrugged. “You remember Walter and Nora lived about a block down the street. Walter came home for lunch while Vance was there and went crazy. Happened while you were at school, but we heard the commotion and sirens from here.”

  “Who called the police? The neighbors?”

  Grandpa shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe the event had happened. “Nora. She was afraid Walter would kill Vance and didn’t want that for Walter. It took four policemen to separate them. Vance had to be hospitalized. He threatened to press charges, but he changed his mind and left town. Didn’t come back until Nora died.”

  I straightened and crossed my arms. “I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but you have to agree Rockwell was a truly rotten person.”

  “To the black-hearted core.” Grandpa nodded. “Meg always thought Nora went to the hospital and talked Vance into dropping the charges, but Nora would never admit it. When she died, Vance came back and acted mean as a snake to Walter.”

  I frowned. “You mean they fought again? I don’t remember hearing about it, and I remember Nora’s funeral. I was twelve.”

  “Oh, they fought all right, and it was a doozy. But that one was kept quiet. No police involved. We sure weren’t telling a nosey little girl.”

  Grandpa shook his head again and bent back to his car engine. “Guess the record of that first one was enough to get the police interested in Walter, though, coupled with his shovel being the murder weapon. Then there were the several brawls he’d had when he’d been drinking.”

  “Much as I disliked Rockwell, it’s pretty sad. All his money and he didn’t get the woman he wanted. Pined for her for years.” I paced back and forth near the car’s headlights. “It’s pretty heartbreaking for Bootsy, too, if she knew.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He looked at me again. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping with those beans?”

  “I can take a hint, so I’m leaving.” I passed by him then turned back. “But I’m not the only one who’s AWOL from the bean cannery.”

  He pretended to be gruff. “Get out of here.”

  I laughed, but as I walked toward the house, I thought about Bootsy. How unfair. I wondered if she knew her husband had almost left her at the altar for another woman. Did Devlin know about his stepfather and Nora? Could the unsolved death of George Douglas have anything to do with Rockwell’s murder?

  So far, I hadn’t turned up anything that would clear Walter. Worse, everything I’d learned implicated him further. I remembered how devoted Walter had been to Nora, how devastated he’d been from her illness and death. Rockwell moving back here and flaunting his wealth must have galled Walter.

  What if he really had killed his old enemy? He definitely had reason to hate the man. No matter what, I still couldn’t abandon Walter.

  My gorgeous new black heels were pinching my toes. Longingly, I looked toward my apartment, but turned back toward the house. I reconciled myself to helping the other women instead of hurrying to my apartment and changing clothes. Better to get the stupid beans done, then I could escape.

  In the kitchen, I hoped I could glean info from the other three while we worked, in spite of Grandma’s dislike of anything she considered gossip. I sat at the table and bided my time. With the canner constantly in use, the room was humid in spite of the ceiling fan. The smell of the canned beans promised a bounty for winter meals.

  I worked silently for fifteen minutes before curiosity got the best of me. “Funny, but I don’t remember seeing Rockwell at Nora’s funeral. Guess I was too young for it to sink in, or maybe too upset. But him showing up must have caused talk.”

  Gigi took the bait. “Damned right. The worst part was, Vance blamed Walter for Nora’s death.”

  “You can’t mean that Rockwell thought Walter had killed her?” I’d never heard such a crazy thing.

  “No.” Gigi leaned forward. “He said if Nora had married him, she wouldn’t have died.”

  “What a horrid thing to say.” If Vance Rockwell were still alive, I’d give him a piece of my mind that would blister his ears. “Poor Walter. No wonder he started drinking.”

  Grandma said, “That’s when it started, all right, but I guess you remember that.”

  Gigi nodded. “What you don’t know is that each year on the anniversary of her death, Vance sent Walter a card reminding him
he was responsible. And on her birthday, he’d send a card telling Walter how old she would have been. Usually sent Walter on a three-day bender.”

  Grandpa came in, wiping his hands on a rag. “Vance was a mean sonofabitch, that’s for sure.” He’d discarded his greasy overalls. Apparently he’d only slid them on over his other clothes, because the blob of grease I’d had seen on them had soaked through to his shirt.

  “Dick Gillentine, please watch your language.” Grandma frowned at her husband. She rose and took a rag and some spot remover to work on his shirt.

  He snorted. “If my mother can talk like that, why can’t I?”

  Grandma sent Gigi the look that made the rest of the family quaver. Gigi only grinned.

  Grandma sighed, then turned her attention back to Grandpa and his shirt. “Because she’s hopeless and I can’t change her. You’re a work in progress and there’s still hope for you.”

  Gigi said, “Son, wait until you’re old as dirt like I am, then you can say whatever the hell you want.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at the familiar arguments, but my thoughts drifted to the past. I remembered delivering casseroles to the Sims’ house with Grandma or Gigi. Sometimes we’d take along flowers from Grandma’s garden, potted plants, or a book. I’d been in the seventh grade. Though I’d been sheltered growing up, even I had realized Nora was dying.

  I’d also known Grandma and Gigi had practically kept the Sims in food those last months. Not that Nora or Walter ate much. The cancer had robbed her appetite and he was too worried to think of food. I shuddered at the memory of Nora’s spare frame and Walter’s sorrow.

  I forced my thoughts back to the present. “Why did Vance say if Nora had been with him she would have lived?”

  Chapter Six

  “You remember there was only one doctor in town then, old Dr. Raney?” Grandma paused, so I nodded. “He kept telling her she was going through the change early and that was the reason for her problems. Wasn’t until the cancer was pretty far along that he decided to send her to a specialist in Dallas. By then, it was too late.”