18 Deader Homes and Gardens (29 page)

Another truck appeared from the road that crossed the bridge. A woman in jeans and a T-shirt slid out of the driver’s seat. She stretched her muscular arms above her head and arched her back. “Drove straight through,” she said. “Gotta use the can.” She entered the appropriate outbuilding.

“Rudy, you and Wayne get this unloaded,” Ethan said. He stopped to consult with Charles. “We’ll use it for the county run later today. Miguel, make sure you get a good variety of healthy plants this time. I don’t want to send out a single spider mite, so hand check every leaf.”

This was not the time to congratulate Ethan on his beautification project. I crept behind the buildings until I came to the path to the Old Tavern. I made it to the fringe of the grass without raising an alarm. The ambulance was parked near the door. I dashed across the open space and hid behind the Mercedes. A white van with an official decal on the door was parked behind the Mustang; presumably the medical examiner was present. A police car was nearby. People moved in the living room, but they were indistinguishable in the dim light.

When the front door opened, I risked poking my head up far enough to watch the exodus. The two police officers who were stationed at the gate went to their car. The medical examiner, Nattie, and Margaret Louise came out, their expressions subdued. Following them were two paramedics pushing a gurney. The body bag was zipped. A jolt of fear stabbed my gut. I curled my fingers and waited for Jordan to appear in the doorway. Surely no one would be unruffled by the death of a fourteen-year-old, I told myself. The body was loaded into the van. The medical examiner spoke to the police officers, who then drove away. The paramedics left in the ambulance. I heard Nattie thank the medical examiner for his promptness. Margaret Louise simpered at him and clutched his hand. He said something that made them smile.

I had only a few seconds before he drove away, the body bag secured in the back of his van. I took a deep breath, stood up, and called, “Hey, Nattie! Did you find my cell phone in your kitchen? I was sure I had it with me, but I’ve searched my car and my purse.” I approached them rapidly. “Aren’t you the medical examiner? We met at a banquet last year, one of those obligatory police department banquets. Such a bore! I’m Claire Malloy, and my husband is Peter Rosen.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the poor man stammered, having never even seen me before that moment. “Peter Rosen, good man. Those banquets are ghastly, so I avoid them when I can. Rubber chicken, green beans. Gives me indigestion for days. It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Rosen.”

Nattie and Margaret Louise resembled a couple of goldfish in a glass bowl. Their eyes were round, and their lips moved silently. I rewarded each of them with a warm smile and turned back to the medical examiner. “I gather that you’re here in your official capacity. Who died?”

“The old gentleman died in his sleep,” the medical examiner said with proper gravity. “Based on what I’ve been told about his health problems and advanced age, I’ll notify his doctor for confirmation and then rule it death by natural causes. Have the funeral home director call my office tomorrow. My condolences, ladies.” He got in the van and drove down the blacktop road to the gate.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Margaret Louise.

“Offering my condolences, obviously. Moses died in his sleep. I guess that’s the most serene way to go. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Nattie frowned. “I thought you left Hollow Valley after our previous conversation more than an hour ago. You’re not lingering to give Jordan a chance to conceal herself in your car, are you? I’m disappointed in you, Claire.”

I refrained from pointing out which of us was more disappointed in the other. Maybe I didn’t appreciate how much thicker blood was than water. “Where’s Jordan?”

Margaret Louise shook her head. “She claimed that she was too upset to be here while the body was removed. That does not concern you, since she is not to leave with you under any circumstances. The police officers at the gate have been advised to search your car.”

“Rats,” I said. “They’ll find the Picasso, the Matisse, and the Modigliani I stole from the Museum of Modern Art in Paris a couple of years ago. Do you know how difficult it is to get a fair price on the black market? The best offer I’ve had to date was a measly hundred million.”

They backed away from me. I advanced, taking credit for the theft of a Corot and a Degas from the Louvre, King Tut’s golden death mask from the Egyptian Museum, and a neighborhood kid’s basketball from his front yard. I kept it up until they reached the door, went inside, and locked it. The manic verbal attack had exhilarated me, but the adrenaline ebbed as I thought about Moses’s death. He’d annoyed and frustrated me. The majority of his babbling had made no sense. I felt sad, but I was not enveloped with grief. If he hadn’t died from system failure, cirrhosis would have caught up with him soon.

Jordan could be anywhere. I looked in the backyard, then at the bridge, the road, and the wooded mountains. If she was escaping, she had a healthy head start. I had no intention of beating the bushes, figuratively or literally. The delivery trucks had not yet driven away to distribute botanical bliss across the state. Jordan might have found an opportunity to hop in the back of one. She had experience, if not expertise, in that form of transportation. Without the Mohawk and the bling, she had a chance of blending into a large town or a city. She had street skills. It was a discouraging thought.

I tucked in my blouse, pulled a twig out of my hair, and walked back to the nursery. I wasn’t sure how to approach Ethan, if Charles was still lurking nearby. When I saw the two of them, I waved. They waited in silence, as unflinching as the columns at the Karnak Temple near Luxor.

“I came to offer my condolences,” I said. “Moses was … quite a character.”

Ethan nodded. “Thank you. I’ll miss the old coot.”

“Do not speak ill of the dead,” Charles said sternly. “Moses was the great-great-grandson of Moses Ambrose Hollow, the patriarch of our family. We have suffered a painful loss on this day.”

Not so painful as to interfere with business as usual, I amended mentally. “I see that the trucks are being loaded. This is a busy season, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ethan said, his forehead wrinkling. “Is there something I can do for you, Claire? I want to get the trucks on the road as soon as possible. The drivers are waiting for me to do a final inspection to see that we have everything on the order list.”

“How fascinating. Do you mind if I tag along?”

Charles harrumphed. “This is not a playground. You have no legitimate reason to be here. As the CEO of Hollow Valley Nursery, I demand that you leave the premises immediately.”

“Or what? Are you going to have me arrested for trespassing? I look forward to answering reporters’ questions at the gate. Whatever I say will be both entertaining and enlightening, and might hint at illegal activity. Is that what you want, Charles?” The final word was laden with derision.

Ethan intervened. “There’s no harm in letting you see how efficiently we operate.” He took my arm and led me toward the nearest truck. He held up the clipboard and read the names and quantities of the trees, shrubs, and flowers. A workman inside the truck responded to each with a curt confirmation. I listened intently for a telltale gasp from an unauthorized passenger. As we started for the next truck, he slowed down and said, “Pandora told me what happened the other night. I’m sorry you had to see her at her worst. She’d always thought of herself as an earth mother, raising children in an open setting and embracing nature. After a couple of years, she began to unravel.”

He may have been thinking of her as a pile of mohair yarn, but I saw a bale of barbed wire. “So you don’t mind her nocturnal activities?” I asked.

“I can’t put her in a cage. It’s awful to say this, but I tolerate her unacceptable behavior for the sake of the children. We love them dearly.” He wiped away a tear. “She’s agreed to therapy. If it doesn’t help, well … I’ll have to do something.”

We arrived at the second truck. Ethan told one of the workmen to climb into the back. He and the workman ran through the routine, although it appeared that three more hemlocks were required. There were no gasps. While we waited, our backs to Charles, he added, “Please don’t tell anyone else about … what happened. They’re already worried about her. If they found out the truth, they’d go ballistic. You’d be able to hear Charles in the next county.”

“Okay,” I said, “as long as you tell me the truth about something. Are there any plans to turn the valley into a housing development?”

“That’s ridiculous. Hollow Valley has been in the family for a hundred and fifty years. It’s our enclave, our business, our heritage. No one would consider selling a square foot of land to some developer.”

“Terry Kennedy wasn’t a member of the family,” I pointed out. “He was free to sell his acreage to anyone he wanted. Before he was murdered, that is.”

“The land was never rightfully his,” Ethan said with a trace of anger. “He was a poker player, wasn’t he? He took a gamble when he intimidated Winston into signing that worthless paper. Our lawyer has assured us that there will be no problem convincing a judge to find that Winston was under mental duress, and therefore incapable of entering into a legal contract.”

“It’s a shame that Terry won’t be in court to present his side of the story. He might have presented a compelling version of the events prior to the signing of the deed. The executor of his estate won’t be able to call any witnesses.”

“Yeah, it’s a damn shame. I need to get the guys on the road.” He slammed the back doors of the truck and went to the cab to talk to the driver.

I was relieved to know that Jordan was not a stowaway on either truck. I looked over the workmen, wondering which one was Danny Delmond’s accomplice. The one who was responsible for his unseemly behavior grinned at me, but I shot him down with a withering stare that singed his nose hairs. Several of them looked as if they would fit the role of a hit man, and I couldn’t rule out the woman truck driver with the bulky biceps. I failed to acknowledge Charles as I went back to the Old Tavern. Jordan was not perched in a tree or snoozing in the backyard. I continued down the road and turned at the driveway to Winston’s house, or Terry’s house, or Terry’s heirs’ house. Not my house, alas.

Caron and Inez were sitting in the porch swing.

“What are you two doing here?” I asked as I came up the steps.

“Mother, do you know there’s a woman passed out in the master bedroom?” Caron demanded.

“Oh, good.”

“What does that mean?”

“Trust me,” I said with a sigh. “It’s very, very good.”

14

“Isn’t she that tight-lipped woman who lives around here?” Inez asked.

“Yes, and it’s better if she stays where she is,” I said. “We have a problem. Jordan’s disappeared, and I’m concerned.” I gave them a puzzled look. “So what are you doing here?”

Caron shrugged. “You told us that we had to be home at four o’clock so we can babysit this juvenile delinquent. We waited Forever. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. You’re supposed to keep your cell phone handy, you know. We finally decided to come out here and see what’s going on. It’s really crazy at the turnoff.”

“So crazy,” Inez added, “that we drove down to some little dirt road and parked and then came across the pasture. Caron wanted to see where that lady’s body was buried, but there was yellow tape.”

I gave them an account of my conversation with Margaret Louise and Nattie, and Moses’s death. “Jordan was furious the last time I saw her. She may be disturbed about Moses. I never heard her say much of anything about him.”

Inez clung to the spotlight, despite Caron’s growing displeasure. “She liked him because he didn’t give her a hard time. They used to sneak down here so he could get into the wine. He even let her have a glass, but she said it tasted nasty. He was like really old, wasn’t he? When my great-grandmother died, my parents forgot to tell me for a week. It was sad, but not tragic like when Bambi’s mother died.”

“Bambi!” Caron said with a sniff. “You can be so immature, Inez.”

I moved them to the ends of the swing and sat in the middle. The chains creaked in an ominous fashion but held our collective weight. “Let’s figure out where Jordan may have gone. Did she have any favorite spots, Inez?”

“Just the pot garden.”

An image came back to me—Terry, Jordan, and Inez, laughing ever so merrily as they sat by the pool. “Inez,” I said carefully, “I don’t want to hear another word about that. Not one word.”

Caron leaned forward to look at her. “You got stoned? That is way cool.”

“It is in no way cool,” I said. Now I wasn’t so enthusiastic about finding Jordan, who could introduce the girls to things that I didn’t want to think about. “I promise you that this will be discussed later—and at length.”

We swung for a few minutes. I tried to keep myself from composing the lecture I would deliver in the near future, but I had a difficult time trying to focus on Jordan’s whereabouts. She could be anywhere in the valley, sitting under a tree while she devised how best to seek revenge. She could be hitchhiking to Philadelphia in a rusty pickup truck driven by a fugitive from a chain gang. Or a street gang. She’d mellowed over the previous week, but she could have relapsed.

A voice from inside the house disrupted my meanderings. “I hear my drunk,” I said as I stood up. “It’s too soon to try to sober her up, but I’m afraid of what might happen to her if she staggers home in her current condition.” They expressed no interest in assisting me. I went to the master bedroom and found Felicia struggling to stand up.

“Got to go,” she mumbled. “Got to make dinner.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. “You don’t have to go anywhere. Charles can make himself a sandwich.”

She chewed on that for a moment. “No, this is Monday, I think. We have meat loaf on Monday, fried chicken on Tuesday…” Her hands fluttered in the air. “On Wednesday, we have a salad because we have to go to church and sit on a damn pew and listen to the choir mangle some hymn, and on Thursday we have spaghetti, and on Friday I’m gonna bake a great big humble pie and make the old fart eat it with his fingers!”