Garden of Death (8 page)

Moments later, Rhonda rounded the corner and came up to the booth. She wasn't happy to see me, and she barely hid her displeasure. “What can I get for you?”

“I'll take a couple of squash, some celtuce, and four of the heirloom tomatoes. Everything looks really good.”

“Glad you think so.” Her tone was cool and detached. She quickly rang up my purchase and put the items into a brown paper bag. “It wasn't easy to find a place to garden, but we managed.”

“Yes, Ramona mentioned that. I'm glad things worked out for you two.” I handed her ten dollars.

“Things didn't work out, Willow,” she said sharply. “We made the best of a bad situation. Dr. White was right about you. If it hadn't been for your aunt, someone else—like us—would have been able to use that lot.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Simon said. “Willow got that lot fair and square, and she's done a great job on the garden. It's really beautiful.”

Rhonda handed me my change. “I haven't seen it, so I can't say, and now that Charles—Dr. White—was found dead there, I'm certainly not going to go.”

“Were you two friends?”

“I wouldn't say that, but when we first moved out here, he used to be my doctor.”

I thought about what Kylie said and wondered if she was another disgruntled patient. “
Was
your doctor? Did something happen?”

“That is none of your business.” A group of people began to crowd around the booth. “If you don't mind,” Rhonda said, “I need to take care of my customers.”

“She's a frosty one, isn't she?” Simon said as soon as we were out of earshot.

“Sub-zero.” I glanced at Kylie, who was still on the phone. “Let's try to find her friend.”

We circled the parking lot, but Simon couldn't point out the woman whom Kylie had been talking to. We decided to try and talk to Kylie again, but before we could, she put her phone away, got up from the table, and hurried out of the parking lot, but not before glancing in my direction.

“Should we follow her, see what's up?” Simon asked.

I checked my watch. We'd only been gone from Nature's Way twenty minutes. We had to get back to Merrily with the food, but we could probably take a little more time. And I wanted to make some progress; we still didn't have a single reasonable lead.

I wasn't sure what to do. But then, as Kylie reached First Street, before she scurried away, she turned and looked at me, again.

I grabbed Simon's arm. “Let's go.”

chapter nine

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

CRANBERRY

Botanical name:
Vaccinium macrocarpon

Medicinal uses: Historically, cranberry fruits and leaves were used for a variety of problems, such as wounds, urinary disorders, diarrhea, diabetes, stomach ailments, and liver problems. Today, cranberry products have been used in the hope of preventing and treating urinary tract infections or
Helicobacter pylori
infections that can lead to stomach ulcers, and to prevent dental plaque. Cranberry has also been reported to have antioxidant and anticancer activity. The berries are used to produce beverages and many other food products, as well as dietary supplements in the form of extracts, teas, and capsules or tablets.

Clearly, Kylie's errand had something to do with me. So we followed her as she walked briskly toward the harbor on Main Street. The Maritime Festival was already in full swing, and the sidewalks were jammed full of people while motorists vied for available parking spots.

Beyond the bank, the road was closed to traffic. After we walked past the Greenport Historical Society building, Kylie headed into the center of the street. We followed her as she threaded through the many vendors selling everything from nautical T-shirts to nautical CDs. At the Capitol One building, she moved to the sidewalk, but we stayed in the middle of the road, pretending to look at T-shirts and sun visors. A few yards later, she stopped at the Cheese Emporium, a cheese store and café, and went inside.

“Now what?” Simon said.

“We walk casually past the café and try to see inside. C'mon.” But moments after we crossed the street, Kylie came out of the Cheese Emporium with a bottle of juice and a cheese roll and sat at a table for four out front.

“So much for being casual,” Simon said. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to see who she's waiting for. Maybe it's that friend you saw—or someone else.” I glanced at the Coronet Diner on the corner, a Greenport institution. “Let's go to the Coronet, get some coffee, and see who joins her.” I looked in my bag for the small pair of binoculars I always carried.

“Roger that. I'm gonna get a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich for my breakfast. It's good for a hangover.”

“I thought you were writing last night.” I grabbed the binoculars at the bottom of my purse and took them out.

“I
was
writing. And then I had a few drinks to celebrate. Got to reward yourself when you do good.”

Simon certainly didn't have a problem with that. When he got the job as executive producer on his first TV show,
Parallel Lives
, he bought a beach house in Malibu; and when he sold his first nonfiction book for six figures to a major publisher, a loft in Soho.

Simon had been born into money and had earned millions more. When we lived together in L.A. he showered me with lavish gifts. I wound up with a closet full of designer clothes and boxes and boxes of Jimmy Choo shoes that I donated to charity when I decided to stay in Greenport. I didn't miss Simon's money. Jackson gave me so much more than Simon ever could.

We went into the Coronet, snagged a window table, and I used the binoculars to look across the street and watch Kylie. She was still sitting alone at the table, and she had an annoyed expression on her face. “What is she doing here instead of being at the market?” I said.

“She's obviously waiting for someone,” Simon said. “It must be something important for her to step away like this.”

We settled in and ordered. When our iced teas came, Simon's theory proved right. Kylie was joined by Rhonda's girlfriend, Ramona. “Simon, is that the woman you saw Kylie talking to at the market?”

Simon glanced across the street then shook his head. “No, she had dark hair and a better body. She was much younger.”

Ten minutes later, Harold and Maggie, our fellow judges from the art show, rounded the corner by Sweet Indulgences with a man I didn't recognize. The three of them went over to the Cheese Emporium and sat down at Kylie's table.

“Good friends meeting for breakfast?” Simon suggested.

“No. It doesn't look that casual. It looks like they're having a meeting of some sort,” I said, training the binoculars on each in turn.

We watched as Maggie started talking while the others listened intently. She put a file folder on the table, opened it, and handed a piece of paper to Kylie, then Harold and Ramona. They each looked it over.

They talked a little while longer, but before the waitress could take their order, all five got up and took off in different directions. Maggie and Harold crossed the street and walked over to the Coronet. I wondered if they'd notice us inside. But they were absorbed in another task. Maggie pulled out a sheet of paper, Harold handed her pieces of tape, and she taped the paper on the window next to the other announcements for plays, concerts, and charity events.

“What the heck is that?” Simon said.

Before we could get up and see, my phone pinged and I saw a text from Merrily.

How close are you? We need bread!

As we headed toward the door, I texted her back:

On my way.

Simon opened the door and we went outside to look at the flyer that had been posted in the middle of the big window opposite the counter. It read:

Petition!

To: The Greenport Village Board

From: Shop owners and citizens of Greenport

SHUT DOWN THE GARDEN OF DEATH!

Recent events at the new medicinal garden on Front Street, namely the death of Dr. Charles White, have convinced us, your local merchants, that the Village Board of Greenport made a grave mistake in awarding the Fox parcel of land to Nature's Way, and the owner, Willow McQuade, ND.

It is patently obvious that the publicity from this event will hurt business now and in the future and threaten the livelihoods of every Greenport merchant.

Furthermore, we also believe that the selection method that granted Ms. McQuade the Fox lot was seriously flawed and that she was awarded the lot was because of the previous “good works” of her aunt, Ms. Claire Hagen, and not on her own merit.

We think that there is but one choice: take back the medicinal garden from Ms. McQuade and declare the land the Dr. White Memorial Park.
We want to make this a neutral green space in the heart of Greenport that everyone can enjoy, instead of leaving it in the hands of a shop owner who is clearly irresponsible. If you stand with us in this fight, please sign below and leave your address and contact information. We will present this petition at the next board meeting.

I stood there, too shocked to speak or even move.

Simon put a hand on my shoulder. “I'm so sorry, Willow.”

“This can't be happening,” I said, as anxiety squeezed my chest. I felt like I couldn't breathe. “I knew that most of the applicants were bitter, but this is really low. And Kylie and Ramona . . . I didn't think they were so completely against me.”

Simon snatched the sign off of the window, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into a nearby trash can. “We're not going to let them do this to you. I'm calling my lawyer.”

This time I didn't stop him.

•   •   •

Simon worked fast. As we
walked back to Nature's Way, he got on the phone with his über-lawyer, the one who had defended him last fall when he was accused of the TV producer's murder. I only heard Simon's end of the conversation, but he told him to get on the case, no matter what the cost.

Moments later, Simon clicked off his phone. “He'll take care of it. He says its harassment, pure and simple. He'll squash the motion and that petition by issuing
a cease-and-desist notice today. He says it's a piece of cake compared to my problem last year.” He put his arm around me. “So don't worry, it's going to be okay.”

But I was worried. I thought I had a full plate before, between the opening of the garden and running Nature's Way on Maritime Festival weekend. But now, solving Dr. White's murder, and this action by the shop owners that threatened to destroy everything we had built, seemed like too much to handle.

Simon walked me back to Nature's Way. It was almost eleven, and the tours started at noon, so I really hoped that Jackson and Nate had been able to get most of the work done.

After I brought Merrily the bread, eggs, and other goods from the farmer's market, we went to look for Jackson and found him in a section at the front of the garden that had plants with healing properties for the skin. The misty morning had evolved into what was going to be a humid and hot day, and Jackson had worked up a sweat. I watched as he gently extracted a plant from its plastic pot and set it into the ground. Meanwhile, Qigong was “helping” by digging small holes in the section.

When we walked up, Qigong scampered over to greet us, nose covered in dirt, while Jackson firmed up dirt around the new plant and pointed to a patch of calendula. Calendula was one of my favorite remedies. Its bright orange and yellow petals were used in an essential oil that was an astringent, an antiseptic, and an anti-inflammatory. It was good for everything from rashes, cuts, and wounds to insect bites and even a soothing facial.

“I had to replace two of the calendula plants, but the rest of it was okay,” Jackson told me. “Nate's almost done in the back and then he's setting up the booth in front with Wallace, so I think you're in good shape for your garden tours and merchandising. I'm going to work on the patio next, after I fill up these holes. Qigong's good company, but he does like to dig.”

But when he saw the look on my face, he knew something was very wrong. We told him what had happened and what Simon had already done to fix it.

Wordlessly, Jackson put down the spade he had been using, took off his gloves, and wrapped me in a big bear hug. He knew what this meant and how hard we had both worked on the garden. The idea of it being destroyed was simply unbearable.

Since no one was around, I let myself cry, knowing that it would bring healing. Jackson held me while I did, until I was calm again. When I was done, I pulled a few tissues out of my bag and wiped my face. I picked up Qigong and he happily licked the rest of my tears away.

“It's going to be fine. Simon and I will make sure of it.”

“You two, you're going to work together?”

We had collaborated on the last case at the historic Bixby estate and fortunately, everything had ended well, but I was still a little surprised by how positive he sounded about their new partnership. But when I thought about it, it made sense. Jackson loved me, and so he was putting my welfare first, even though Simon drove him crazy at times.

“Sure, we're the Three Musketeers, right?” Jackson said. “Simon will take care of the lawyer stuff, and I'll make sure the garden is in good shape, while you give
tours and take care of Nature's Way.”

“And solve the case,” Simon said. “Don't forget that.”

I smiled at them, feeling supported, relieved, and much calmer. “You can count on me.”

chapter ten

Willow McQuade's Favorite
Medicinal Plants

DANDELION

Botanical name:
Taraxacum officinale

Medicinal uses:
Dandelion is one of the planet's most famous and useful weeds. Historically, it has been used to treat liver disease, kidney disease, and spleen problems. The entire dandelion plant is useful as a medicine and a food. Dandelion greens are edible and a rich source of vitamin A, iron, calcium, and minerals. Dandelion is also often used as a mild diuretic for fluid retention, and a liver tonic to help purify the blood. Dandelion can also be used to help clear the body of old emotions such as anger and fear that can be stored in the liver and kidneys. In addition, dandelion can be used to treat mild digestive problems and various skin conditions.

As a flower essence, dandelion reduces tension, especially muscular tension in the neck, back, and
shoulders. It fosters spiritual openness and encourages the letting go of fear and trusting in your own ability to cope with life. Use the fresh or dried leaves and roots of the dandelion, or the whole plant, in teas, capsules, and extracts. Try putting dandelion leaves into your salad, use it as a cooked green, and even use the flowers to make wine.

Much as I wanted to find Dr. White's killer, we only had about an hour before tours started, and I needed to turn my focus to more immediate things—finishing up repairs on the garden. But I was interrupted by the arrival of Sandra and Martin Bennett.

When Simon spotted them he grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “That's the woman that Kylie was talking to at the farmer's market.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

Simon nodded. “Very. They were having a pretty intense conversation. This one here was even crying at one point.”

“That's good to know,” I said, puzzled. I turned my attention to the couple. “Hi, you two. Come to see the garden?”

Sandra tucked a strand of dark hair back into her ponytail and smiled. “We thought we'd take the tour since we're not busy yet. Is it too early? The sign says you don't open until noon.”

“That's the plan,” I said. Even though I was pressed for time, I felt glad that some of the other merchants wanted to see the garden.

“Do you have time to show us around?” Sandra
was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with their logo, a happy-looking cow and the words: Organic Artisanal Cheese Fresh Daily! Maybe it would turn out that we could work together, I thought with a glimmer of hope. Maybe she and Martin would oppose the petition to close the garden.

“Sure, I can squeeze in a quick tour.”

“Nate and I will make sure everything is good to go,” Jackson said.

So, while they kept working I gave a tour through the front sections of the garden. Simon trailed along with the tour. Sandra and Martin seemed both interested and impressed with the work we'd done. Sandra was especially interested in the section of plants for pain—like feverfew for migraines, cramp bark for menstrual cramps, and arnica for muscle aches.

“It's amazing that this little flower can help stop a headache,” she said, examining the feverfew plant, which had small daisylike heads. “I've had bad migraines for ages now. I wonder if it would help me.”

“Are your migraines connected with hormonal changes?” I asked.

“My gynecologist thinks they are.”

“Then I can suggest some good supplements that might help.”

“Great. I'd also like to pick up some arnica. I broke my shoulder in a fall a few years ago, and I had to wait almost a month to have the surgery, and then . . . it didn't go well. So now I'm left with chronic pain. I tried talking to that doctor about natural remedies, but he was very dismissive. Long story, short: he's no longer my doctor and I'm looking for alternatives to
handle the pain, besides relying on prescription painkillers.”

“I think that's smart. Can I ask—who was this doctor?”

“I shouldn't say.” She turned to Martin and said something that I couldn't hear. “He's local.”

“And a real jerk,” Martin added.

Sandra squeezed his hand. “It's okay, honey.”

Simon shot me a look and I knew we were thinking the same thing. What were the chances that the doctor was Charles White—an orthopedic surgeon—and that Sandra was the one who'd been suing him for the botched surgery?

As we headed toward the back of the garden to continue the tour, Sandra surprised me by saying, “Where did they find Dr. White? I have to admit, I'm a real true-crime junkie. I read about it and watch it on TV.”

“Does she ever,” Martin said, rolling his eyes.

I hoped that the rest of my visitors weren't interested in the same thing. But I took them over to the cardiac section and pointed out where I had found the body. “Dr. White was right there, next to that foxglove plant.”

“How creepy,” Sandra said with a shudder. “Why in your garden? I mean, of all places. It seems strange.”

“We don't know.”

“Do they know who did it?” Martin asked.

“We don't know that either, but some of the local merchants are circulating a petition to shut down the garden. Have you seen it?”

“We heard about it, but of course we'd never sign
something like that. Right, love?” she said, and took her husband's hand.

Martin gave me a sympathetic look. “No, of course not. I mean, we wanted the lot, too, but that feels too much like revenge.”

“It doesn't matter,” Simon said. “My lawyer will shut them down. He's working on it as we speak.”

“Good. It was a mean-spirited thing to do.” The wind blew a pink and white flower toward us, and Sandra caught it in her open palm.

“That's hawthorn,” I said. “It's good for the heart—calms palpitations.”

“Well, maybe those other merchants should try it,” Martin muttered. “I don't understand why they can't let this go. They're a bunch of hypocrites, too. They'll all go to White's wake this afternoon, even though they didn't like him. No one did.”

“I heard that one patient sued him.”

“True,” Sandra said. “And she wasn't the only one.”

“Are you two going to the wake?” Simon asked.

She shook her head. “No way. Besides, if the festival is anything like yesterday, we'll be slammed this afternoon. We nearly sold out of everything we had brought.”

“Working the booth is definitely a two-person job,” Martin added. “And today we made sure to bring more cheese and yogurt.”

“Where is the wake being held?” I wondered if I should attend—or if I could even get away to go. Or if they'd let me in. Still, if I did go, it might help me zero in on a few suspects.

“At Jellico's in Southold, by the monument,” Martin said. “The wake is from four to six, today and tomorrow, and the funeral is Monday at the Catholic church, also in Southold. The Whites lived down by Laughing Water, in a big house, you know, by the beach.”

While Martin talked, Sandra crouched down and carefully examined the section where Dr. White had been found. “How did he die?”

“Someone hit him on the head with a shovel.”

“That had to hurt,” Martin said.

“Yeah,” Sandra said. “How weird.”

What was weird was her fascination with Dr. White's death. But before I could press her for answers about her relationship with him, Nate ran up to us. “Jackson wanted me to come and get you. He's found something really cool in the garden!”

We followed Nate back over and found Jackson in the section of plants that had psychiatric properties, like St. John's wort for depression and valerian for anxiety. He was on his hands and knees, digging up something with Qigong's help.

“What's going on? Did you find something else?” I explained to Sandra, Martin, and Simon that we had found an antique earring in the garden Friday afternoon.

“Nate found a bunch of new holes in this section, probably courtesy of Qigong, and a valerian plant that had been uprooted. I was helping him fill in the holes and replant, and I found this.” He showed me a long, narrow object wrapped in a dirt-covered towel.

“Well, unwrap it, man!” Simon said impatiently.

Jackson carefully unwound the towel, revealing what looked like an old sword. The blade was long and
looked hand-forged, as if it had been beaten into its shape. The hilt was wrapped with the remains of what had once been leather, and at the very top of the sword, a dark red, glittering stone was set in the pommel.

Simon peered at it more closely. “I don't think that's a piece of glass,” he said, with something close to awe in his voice. “You'd have to get it appraised, but I'm guessing you just found a sword set with an unusually large ruby. If I'm right, the stone alone will be worth a small fortune.”

I couldn't believe it. “Come on, Simon. The whole thing is probably a fake.”

Holding it by the hilt, Jackson turned away from us and swung the sword experimentally. “It's got an awfully nice weight and balance for a fake,” he said. “I think this thing was meant to be used.”

“That's why you need an appraiser to look at it,” Simon said.

“Fake or not, how did it wind up in your garden?” Jackson asked. “It looks ancient. Where do you think it came from?”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe it's pirate treasure. In the 1600s pirates frequented the East End.”

Jackson looked at him. “You're kidding, right?”

Martin leaned in to stare at the sword.

“No, not at all,” Simon continued. “When Captain Kidd found out that the British government had declared him a pirate, he sailed to New York on his boat, the
Adventure Prize,
in June 1699, and buried some of his treasure on Gardiner's Island. The authorities recovered a portion of it, but not all. To this day, people are still searching for it. What you found could
be pirate's booty from Kidd or someone else. Stranger things have happened.”

“Isn't that a little far-fetched?” Martin asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it's more likely that this thing is a reproduction or—”

“There's a way to find out,” Simon said. “An expert is giving a lecture about Captain Kidd at the Maritime Museum tomorrow night, as part of the festival. I was planning on going since I want to develop a project about pirates, maybe even Captain Kidd himself—a more realistic version than the Depp movies. We could check it out and show the expert this sword. He should at least have an idea of whether or not it's authentic to that time.”

“If what you say is true, this could be Captain Kidd's sword,” Sandra said, sounding excited. “Wouldn't that be something?”

“Except how did it get here?” Jackson said, still clearly bothered by its appearance in the garden.

Martin checked his watch. “We'd better go back to the booth,” he said to Sandra. “It's getting busy again.” He gestured out to the street, where crowds were starting to gather.

“Right,” she said. “But let us know what you find out, okay? This is better than true crime.”

“Stop by the store and I'll help you with those supplements, too, if you like,” I offered.

“I'll do that. Thanks.”

After they left, Jackson went over to the tool shed, found a clean towel, and wrapped up the sword again. “I kind of wish Sandra and Martin weren't here when
we found this,” he admitted. “I have a feeling that the fewer people who know about it, the better. We should probably ask them not to mention it to anyone—at least not before we know whether we're dealing with a real artifact or a reproduction.”

“I'll tell them,” Simon said. “I want to talk to Sandra again anyway. She seemed unusually interested in Dr. White's death.”

“She said she's a true-crime junkie,” I reminded him.

“Or maybe she's the patient who sued White,” Simon suggested.

“What do you mean?” Jackson asked.

Simon told Jackson what she said earlier about White. “To top it off, I saw her with Kylie at the farmer's market. Sandra could be that friend that Kylie was talking about yesterday.”

“And you're thinking that she killed White and was returning to the scene of the crime?” Jackson said. “Those things don't always happen in real life, Simon.”

“I know, but I still think it's worth checking out.”

“Me, too,” I said. “We need to find out more about her—and about what else might be buried in this garden. Do you think that's why everyone wanted this lot? Not for their businesses but to find treasure?”

“If there was a rumor about this as a site, yes,” Simon said. “People do strange things when it comes to money. All those merchants could even be working together to get whatever's buried here.”

“That's an unsettling thought,” I said. “But, if it's true, then their determination to take the garden away
from me suddenly makes an awful kind of sense . . . I think we need to go to that wake later on this afternoon. We could go after the garden closes and before the sea shanty concert tonight.”

Jackson shook his head. “I'll skip the wake. I saw enough death when I was a policeman. Besides, I want to work on the patio and the teahouse, make sure it's open by next weekend before the festival is over. Why don't you go, Simon? Keep an eye on Willow. We can go to the concert when you come back.”

“Will do,” Simon said. “I doubt I'll be able to write today after all of this.”

Jackson grinned. “Does that mean you want to be a waiter again?”

“Uh . . . let me think about it.”

“You do that,” I said. “Shall I take the sword inside?”

Jackson handed the towel-wrapped sword to me. “Put it in a safe place until later.”

•   •   •

I put the sword on
the top shelf of my closet under some sweaters next to Aunt Claire's diaries, papers, and books. But before I did, I unwrapped the towel and took a closer look at the sword. The metal blade was tarnished, and I couldn't tell what the metal was—some kind of steel? Beneath the eroded leather wrappings, the hilt seemed to be carved of wood. And the pommel, it, too, was made of a tarnished metal. I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and ran it under the tap, then dabbed at the dark red stone, cleaning dirt off all of its facets, making it shine.