Garden of Death (6 page)

“Maybe that's where they got the idea for the Green Light Tour of Greenport.”

“What's that?”

“Every Saturday in the summer and fall merchants put a green lantern out front if they'll be open after hours for customers. It's a way to increase business.”

We walked over to the next booth where the paintings had a strong impressionist influence. One, a painting of the local farmer's market, was really good, and I stepped closer to examine it. As I did, I heard a cheerful voice saying, “See anything you like?”

It was Kylie Ramsey of the farmer's market, another one of my competitors for the garden lot. Kylie was in her early thirties and attractive, with long brown hair and green eyes. She was very tan from working in the sun. She gave me a look like she'd just sucked on a lemon. “What are
you
doing here? I heard about Dr. White. Don't the police want to talk to you?”

“We've talked to them. Simon and I are judges for the event.”

Kylie shook her head. “Judging others might not be the best thing for you to be doing right now, Willow.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I mean, a lot of people in this town are unhappy about the way you got the land. You really don't want to make any more enemies.”

“Is that a threat?” Simon asked.

Kylie shrugged. “More like . . . a warning. I just think Willow should know how people feel about her.”

“That's becoming very clear,” I said. “But that doesn't mean I understand it. Kylie, I offered to share the space with you.”

“That wouldn't have worked.” She straightened the painting on its easel and wiped an imaginary spot of dust from the frame.

“Fine,” I said. “You don't like me, you don't think I deserved the lot. I don't know what I can do to change your mind. But do you have any idea about who would
want Dr. White dead?”

Kylie's eyes narrowed as she studied me. “I'm not talking to you. I know what happened last year at the Bixby estate. You're a snoop who causes trouble.”

“What happened last year was that she solved the murder,” Simon said. “She saved my life.”

Kylie gave a Simon an overly bright smile. “Good for you.”

Simon's eyes narrowed as he studied Kylie's artwork. “This is the painting that you're entering in the competition? It's pretty pathetic, isn't it Willow?”

“No, Simon. Actually, it's good,” I said honestly. “And we need to score it appropriately.”

“Well, I won't hold my breath,” Kylie replied, as she turned on her heel, and headed over to a potential customer.

•   •   •

We jotted down our scores
and headed for the last row of exhibitors. That's where we found our fellow judges, Harold Spitz and Maggie Stone. Both of them had wanted the lot as much as Kylie had. I braced myself for yet another confrontation.

“Enjoying the judging?” I said.

Harold mumbled something, and Maggie said, “Yes, we are. Everyone is so talented here.”

“Obviously they didn't see the stuff we saw,” Simon whispered in my ear.

“Hush, Simon,” I said, and leaned in to look at a painting of the Bug Light lighthouse. It was very realistic, so much so that it almost looked like a photograph.
“I like this one.”

Harold mumbled something else. “We don't,” Maggie said. “It's too realistic, and so pedantic, a bore, really.” She wrote something down on her scoring sheet.

“Oh,” I said. “I hadn't realized that realism was a negative thing.”

She gave me a look. “If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here? We heard about the trouble in the garden.”

“We made a commitment to Patty.”

“So that's why we're here,” Simon added. “Is that a problem?”

Maggie shivered in the hot afternoon sun. “Not at all, but murder is, well, so unsavory, and it does seem to follow you around, Willow. That's what I told them.”

“Told who, Maggie?” I asked.

“Mayor Hobson and the Village Board, of course. I simply told them that you weren't a good risk when it came to the lot because of all the murders you find yourself involved in. Unfortunately, they didn't listen to me. Maybe they will now.”

“
All
the murders?” Simon echoed. “Before Dr. White, there were two. Exactly two.”

Actually, there had been three, but I didn't say so.

Maggie shrugged. “And now Dr. White makes three. That's a lot of murders to come your way in what—a little over a year?”

The way she put it made me uneasy. It was a lot of murders. But I knew they didn't have anything to do with me. “Look,” I said, “I just try to help out where and when I can, especially when it comes to my family
and friends. Right now, I'm wondering who wanted Dr. White dead. Do you or Harold have any ideas?”

“Not a clue,” Maggie said.

Harold mumbled something to Maggie.

“What did he say?” Simon asked.

Harold said something else to Maggie.

She turned to us. “Harold says that there was no shortage of people in the village who wanted that man dead.”

chapter six

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

BORAGE

Botanical name:
Borago officinalis

Medicinal uses: Borage leaves, flowers, and seed oil can help you feel happier and can even inspire courage. In 1597 herbalist John Gerard quoted in his writings an old saying: “
Ego borago gaudia semper ago
,” meaning “I, borage, always bring courage.” In fact, the flowers have long been used to bolster courage; perhaps the fact that they nourish the adrenal glands explains why. In medieval times the flowers were even embroidered on the mantles of knights and jousters to give them courage. Borage was also snuck into the drinks of prospective husbands to give them the courage to propose!

Borage leaves and flowers have also been used in treatments for anxiety, mild depression, grief, heartbreak, and worry. As a flower essence, borage is used to lighten mild depression and ease discouragement. Borage helps bring joy, optimism, enthusiasm, and good cheer, improves confidence, and dispels
sadness.

“Like who?” I asked Harold. “Who wanted Dr. White dead? Did that include you?”

But Harold just shrugged and moved on to the next booth.

“Leave him alone,” Maggie said. “He didn't get along with the man, but he certainly didn't want him dead.”

“Who do you think had it out for Dr. White?” I asked. “I find it hard to believe that you have no opinion.”

“Me, too,” Simon said.

Maggie blew out a sigh and gave me a look that suggested that we were both incredibly tiresome. “Dr. White wasn't well liked, not by his wife, not by his patients. God knows what kind of people he got involved with when it came to those real estate deals. Joe Larson, for one, is no saint. The two of them together made sure that none of us had a chance for that lot. But they couldn't figure out how to stop you.” She checked her watch. “Now, if you'll excuse me. As you know, we need to finish up by 4 p.m.”

She walked over to Harold. She said something to him, and he seemed to get angry. Suddenly, his face became as red as a raspberry. She tried to placate him, but he stormed off.

“What's going on over there?” I wondered aloud. “He seems really upset.”

“And she's buzzed,” Simon said. “Her breath smells like vodka.”

“I thought you couldn't smell vodka on someone's breath.”

“Most people can't, I can. My mother and father drink vodka martinis every day at five o'clock.” Simon's parents were retired, wealthy, and lived on the Gold Coast of Long Island. His father had been a thoracic surgeon to New York's elite.

“If what they said is true, then we have a pretty large suspect pool. Harold might even have had a reason to want White dead. This is going to be a difficult puzzle to piece together.”

“Yeah, but you're up to the challenge,” Simon said breezily. He studied a truly awful painting of a tall ship on an easel. “Now, what do you want to give this masterpiece—a one or a two?”

•   •   •

We finished judging by four
o'clock and helped Patty tally the scores. Within an hour, we had our winner, second and third place, and three honorable mentions. Patty asked the entrants and the public to gather around the stage behind the merry-go-round for the results and subsequent auction.

The first-place winner was Kylie Ramsey. Even though Simon had given her a low score, the rest of us had agreed that her painting was the best. Patty handed her the award, a sculpture of a seagull on a boat pier.

The crowd applauded. Kylie threw me a strange look that I couldn't decipher.

Second place went to the photograph of the seashell on the beach that I liked, while third place went to the guy who painted the cigar store. He placed because of the generous scores given by Maggie and Harold. I wondered why they were helping him.

After the
Suffolk Times
photographer took photos and everyone had been congratulated by friends and family, Kylie walked over to me, holding her trophy. “Thanks for being fair about judging me. This means a lot.”

“You're lucky that Willow is nice
and
fair,” Simon said.

“Thank you,” Kylie said.

“You're welcome.”

She turned to go, but stopped herself. “I'm sorry for what I said about you and your snooping. I'm just upset about losing the chance to give the farmer's market a permanent home in the village.”

“I meant what I said about sharing. You're welcome to use the outdoor teahouse space anytime. Or you can set it up in the parking lot behind Nature's Way.”

“Thanks, but I think we'll stay put at the church annex parking lot for now. They've been nice and don't mind us being there on a Saturday morning. I think it was just my ego that made me want the lot. You know, I wanted to make the farmer's market bigger and better.”

She looked at the trophy but seemed to be deciding whether to say something else. “You were asking about Dr. White. I didn't know him well, but I wouldn't have chosen him if I needed surgery, that's for sure. Too many of his patients are suing him for botched
surgeries, including a friend of mine. She's still in pain and it's been five years since her surgery. Doctors like that shouldn't be allowed to practice medicine.”

“Well, if it's the surgery that caused the pain, I agree,” I said. But I knew that pain was complex and surgery couldn't always cure it. “Can I ask who your friend is?”

Kylie looked at me suspiciously. “You think she had motive to kill him?”

“I have no idea,” I said honestly. “I'd just like to ask her about Dr. White. It might lead to something.”

Kylie thought it over. “I'd have to check with her first before giving out her name.”

“I understand,” I said. “But if you think of anything else please call me.” I pulled a business card out of my wallet and handed it to her.

After she left, Simon said, “Why didn't you push her for her friend's name? Pain can make people do desperate things. She could be the one who killed White.”

“I know that, but if I pushed Kylie too hard, she would have clammed up completely. Now, I can gently ask her again. Or find out some other way.”

“Okay, Nancy Drew, if you think so.”

The contest over, volunteers began setting up for the Maritime Festival auction. I used the time to quickly text Jackson and tell him what we were doing. He didn't reply but showed up just before the auction started at six. We told him what had happened and what Kylie had said.

“I hate to say it, but Simon's right. You could have pressed her for the name.”

“My gut said no,” I explained. “But I'll get the name. Don't worry. By the way, what did you make of those photos of that painting? It snagged third place.” I pulled out my phone, scrolled to the photos of the cigar-store painting, and showed it to Jackson again. “Did you notice anything unusual?”

He shook his head. “No, but I've heard that there's a men's club on the second floor made up of local businessmen, the mayor, and the Village Board. Sounds cozy.”

I had hoped that Jackson might have spotted something in the painting that I had missed. Obviously, I would have to do some digging. “Is everything okay at the store? What about Koren and Coyle? Are they still there?”

“Not too many customers in the store. Unfortunately, our friends are still in the garden.”

“As long as they're gone by morning,” I said. “Is the booth still busy?”

He nodded. “You're almost sold out. Nate's handling it. He told me that you made about twelve hundred bucks today. That's good news at least, right?”

I blew out a breath. “It sure is.”

Maggie, from the dog park, took the stage, announced that the auction was starting, and that all proceeds would go to benefit the animal shelter in Southold. I spotted Joe Larson on the opposite side of the crowd. “Larson is over there.” I nodded in his direction. “Let's see what happens.”

•   •   •

Half an hour later, Maggie
began the auction on the ugly cigar-store painting. Joe Larson found himself bidding against two other people, but when the price
reached $250, they dropped out and he won the painting easily.

He paid for it and quickly hustled it away before we could talk to him. We watched as he climbed into a silver Mercedes and drove off.

We crossed the street and headed back to Nature's Way to get ready for the Green Light shoppers. But before we went inside, we went to the garden to see what was going on. The ribbon from the opening had been replaced by yellow crime-scene tape and an officer stood sentry.

“Is Detective Koren here?” I asked him.

The officer, who had beads of sweat running down his face, gave me a grim look and said, “He left. What do you want?”

“I'm Willow McQuade, the owner of this garden and of Nature's Way and I wanted to see—”

He stopped me before I could finish. “You can't come in here.”

I reminded myself to breathe, and said, “Will Detective Koren be back?”

“Don't know. You better move along. This is still an active crime scene.”

“But the mayor said it would be open by tomorrow morning.”

“It'll take as long as it takes, miss.”

“But he told us that it would be done by then, and if he thinks—” Jackson took me by the arm and led me away before I could finish. This was good judgment on his part, as I was quickly becoming frustrated. “Koren had better keep his word. We've worked so hard, and I've got tours of the garden booked all weekend.”

“Don't panic yet. Let's go upstairs and see what's going on.”

We went to my bedroom, and while Jackson played with the dogs, I grabbed the binoculars, went out on the balcony, and trained them on the site of the murder. There, a group of crime-scene techs were working the area. The body of Dr. White had been removed.

“Techs are still working, body is gone, and no Koren in sight,” I reported. “Do you think he's coming back?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?” I kept the binoculars trained on the scene.

“Because it's dinnertime and he probably just went to grab something. Believe me, he'll be back. This is a big deal.” The two doxies, Rockford and Columbo, were now on their backs side by side as Jackson scratched their bellies.

I watched as the techs examined the south end of the garden. I hoped they were being careful around the plants, but I knew that wasn't their top priority.

As I trained the binoculars on the path, Koren and Coyle came into view. Both of them were carrying cups of coffee and brown bags; dinner, no doubt. Koren had his phone pressed to his ear, a stressed look on his face.

“You were right. Koren and Coyle are back.”

“I won't say I told you so.” Jackson got up, took the binoculars, and trained them on the cardiac section. “But Koren doesn't look happy.”

“No, he doesn't. He must be under a lot of pressure from the mayor and the festival organizers to solve this quickly. I hope that he doesn't zero in on you.”

“That makes two of us.”