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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Bindweed
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Sid chuckled. “Do you think so?”
I shot him a hard look. “I'm assuming that since you've asked, you know differently.”
He nodded to the closed door off the living room. “His room is in there.”
My heart picked up its rhythm as I turned the doorknob. This was the same action Toby had taken that had unleashed the hornets. When the wooden panel swung open, I slowly crossed the threshold into Toby's domain.
The single bedstead had been crammed against the wall to make space for two televisions. Stepping farther into the room, I saw one hooked to a VCR, the other to a DVD player. An oversize recliner faced the electronic setup, four remote controls within easy reach on a side table. A kitchen utility cart held a microwave. Next to it was a TV tray with a stack of paper plates and a roll of paper towels. The door of a cabinet was open wide enough that I could see boxes of microwave popcorn and bags of candy on the shelves inside. An apartment-size refrigerator hummed quietly. Near it were two overflowing wastebaskets. One contained empty Coke cans. The other
looked like a Dumpster for every fast-food restaurant on Hawthorn. Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Wendy's, and McDonald's were all represented, along with empty, oily popcorn bags and the wrappers from many, many candy bars.
I shook my head. “I would never have guessed that Toby was into junk food. I wonder if this is why he didn't want to listen to Lew talk about the curse of the fast-food restaurant.”
“I had my men show Toby's picture around these restaurants, but no one recognized him.”
“How did he get the food?”
“Beats the hell out of me. I'm not even sure that it matters.”
“It seems important to me. It's an unanswered question.”
“I have plenty of those.” Sid looked at the empty containers and shook his head. “All I can say is that it's a damned good thing Toby rode his bike every day, so he got some exercise, or it would've taken a crane to hoist him out of here.”
Sid pointed to the recliner. “By the way, I mentioned the contents of this room to Avery Wheeler. He said he hadn't authorized the purchase of the chair, televisions, VCR, or DVD player.”
I frowned. “Those were a rather large purchase for someone picking up pocket money washing windows.” I continued to stare at the trash. “I don't know how long that garbage has accumulated, but if he ate this kind of thing all month long, there must be an excess of groceries in the kitchen.”
Sid didn't look happy. “You figured that out, huh? As it happens, the contents of Toby's cabinets are sparse. So why isn't there more food in the kitchen, if he was eating takeout? He surely wasn't gorging on both—the required meals, as well as all this, too.”
I heard Sid, but I didn't comment. I was still taking in Toby's room. Stuffed animals in all shapes and sizes were
stacked on his chest of drawers, on the bed, and from shelves that had been hung from the walls. There were pictures of deer and skunks and birds and rabbits. A few were framed but most were taped directly onto the wallpaper.
Toby had kept the rest of the house spotless, which led me to believe that he rarely used the other rooms. But here, he'd indulged in his own personal vices. He'd literally turned his room into his own personal comfort zone.
Looking at the overflowing trash can, I wasn't sure if the fast food versus Agnes's menus was important, but the motivation behind Toby making that choice could be. Agnes had tried to watch over her son from the grave, steering him on a righteous path with proverbs stuck to the refrigerator, planning nutritious menus, arranging for the appropriate food to be delivered directly to his door. She had tried to keep him healthy in body as well as mind, but once she wasn't around, he'd picked up some new habits.
I frowned. Was it important that Toby had disobeyed his mother's wishes that he eat healthily? If he was compelled to deviate from one of Agnes's rules, wasn't it possible that he turned aside from others?
I went slowly back through the house, looking at everything more closely. I peeked in the bathroom, but it was immaculate. No dirty clothes on the floor. No bathtub ring. The cap was on the toothpaste. The lid was down on the toilet.
I went into the kitchen and opened the door to an almost-empty refrigerator. There was milk, some condiments, and a couple of shriveled carrots in the vegetable bin. The freezer compartment held a small carton of sugar-free, fat-free frozen yogurt. It had never been opened.
As I closed the door, I stared at Agnes's grouping of proverbs. Given my present thoughts, two stood out.
Waste not,
want not
. What was Toby doing with the food he didn't eat?
Idle hands are the devil's workshop.
Had Toby's hands been idle? Was there someone lurking in the shadows luring him down a path his mother would have considered unacceptable?
Toby had asked me about evil. When I'd told him that evil was “anything that causes others pain or harm,” he'd seemed relieved, assuring me that he “wouldn't hurt nobody.” But what if he knew something, or heard something, or saw something?
See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.
Why had he recited those words? I searched my memory for the context of our conversation. Lois had made a comment about baboons. Toby had picked up on it, bringing up the subject of his mother's flowers. Was that relevant?
My thoughts were getting me nowhere, and Sid was obviously impatient. He paced about the kitchen, rubbing his stomach, making faces. I gave him a quick nod. “I'm ready to see the garden.”
He snorted. “That's just fine and dandy, but what about your impression of the house? Have you got any thoughts?”
I annoyed Sid to no end when I said, “Several.”
He waited. When I didn't elaborate, his face turned red. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I'm still mulling over all I've seen. I'm not ready to express an opinion.”
Sid glared at me. I kept quiet even though his ferocious stare was intimidating. He stomped to the back door muttering under his breath. The only words I caught were “—holes and opinions. Everybody's got one, but they're useless if you don't put them to work.”
I stepped off the porch and onto a grassy patch. Huge bushes towered over me, blocking my view. Wondering what variety the shrubs were, I plucked a leaf and identified them as crepe myrtle. I filed that information away. If I needed a thick screen in my garden, these plants might fill the bill.
While Sid turned off the fan and shut up the house, I made my way through the break in the shrubs. I was eager to see a fabulous array of plants. Once again I was in for a surprise. There were plenty of specimens, but the quality was lacking. All the shrubs were overgrown and undernourished. They'd been planted too close together, so that each overlaid its neighbor, creating a woven mat of foliage. There were birdhouses and squirrel feeders everywhere I looked. Little dishes filled with cracked corn and seed were sitting under the sheltering limbs of the raggedy shrubs. I counted three black trash cans with lids firmly clamped to the rims.
“What's in the trash cans?” I asked Sid as he hurried past me.
“Grain and rabbit pellets.”
I gestured to the full dishes. “The animals aren't eating much.”
Sid mumbled something. When I asked what he'd said, he replied, “The animals in this garden are eating their fool heads off. I just filled the dishes myself. No sense letting the grain in
the big cans go to waste.” He glared at me. “Do you want to see the chopped-off plants or are you more interested in the diet of—”
I quickly said, “The plants, please.”
Sid grumped as he walked on ahead. I followed, trying not to trip on the tangle of weeds. I craned my neck, wanting to see everything. There were so many different varieties of a species. Tenacious day lilies had poked straggly blooms through a thatch of crabgrass. Morning-glory vines slithered over an old wheelbarrow that had been abandoned. As we went deeper into the garden, the plants grew wilder and taller.
Abruptly Sid stopped. Looking around him I saw a wall of burgundy-colored leaves. The shrubs formed an interwoven line that ran approximately forty feet on the longest side, which was closest to us, and about thirty feet the other way. The branches stretched twelve feet into the air.
“Here we are,” said Sid. “I don't know what this stuff is, but it has thorns.”
“Red barberry,” I said. “It makes a great deterrent if you want privacy.”
“Down here is a break. We can go through it.”
After about twenty feet, we came to the gap. Sid stepped aside. I entered a well-maintained garden, trading one wall of vegetation for another. The plants in front of us were six to eight feet tall, with thick, robust stalks. Each leaf was the size of my hand and had points like a maple leaf. Stroking the felted surface of one, I looked around and spotted a few pink and white blooms. Toby hadn't exaggerated the size of the blossoms. They were a good six inches in diameter. I recognized the plants as hibiscus, though I was used to selling the tropical variety in my flower shop.
Sid said, “There's a narrow path that laps this entire enclosure.
Over there, to your left, are the plants that have been chopped off.” His radio squawked. He unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt and turned away to carry on a private conversation.
I used the time to examine the stumps. It looked as if the stalks had been about the size of a half-dollar. This particular grouping was several years old, judging by the number of stalks each rootstock had produced.
After Sid had clipped his radio back on his belt, I said, “I'm assuming you know these are hibiscus plants?”
“That's the information I got. Actually, I was told they are hardy hibiscus—perennial in our area.” He jerked his head at me. “Let's go. I'm needed back at headquarters.”
“I'd like to stay—”
“Nope. You're leaving, too.”
“But, Sid, I haven't seen enough. I want to—” I stopped. His sour expression told me I was wasting my breath.
As we left the area, Sid said, “Hibiscus flowers come in shades of burgundy, pink, pale pink, and white. According to what I've learned, these are much taller than the new hybrids that are available now. My source says that before breeders decided to shrink the plant, it wasn't uncommon to see hibiscus as tall as a fence post.”
“Who supplied your information?”
“Eddie Terrell.”
“Eddie is landscaping my garden. I'm surprised you called him. I got the impression from Toby that you didn't think the chopped-off plants were important.”
Sid's voice was grim. “That was before Toby died. When his heart stopped beating, everything connected with his life became significant.” He looked over his shoulder at the plot we'd left and scowled. “Though I can't for the life of me understand the reasoning behind taking the stalks.”
“Toby told me his mother showed him how to start new plants on the windowsill. I saw some in the kitchen, but they were all dead. Agnes also told Toby that some of the plants might ‘go away.' He assumed she meant that they would die, but what if she knew someone would be cutting them down?”
“For what reason?”
“I don't know. Did Eddie have a theory?”
“I didn't ask him.” Sid stopped next to his patrol car. “Do I dare ask if you have an opinion on the plants? Or are you keeping
that
to yourself, too?”
In a calm tone I said, “I'm not being difficult, Sid. I need to think through what I've seen in the house and this garden. You'll be the first to know when I have something worthwhile to tell you.”
Sid snorted. “You're being as cagey as a lawyer.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I talked to Avery Wheeler about the details of Toby's estate. At first Avery wasn't going to cooperate, but after I pointed out that capturing Toby's killer should be the top priority, the old walrus stopped hemming and hawing. He said that Agnes made provisions if Toby should die young. Money that is left after burial expenses is to be equally divided among the eight shop owners who took an interest in Toby's well-being. I've seen the projected numbers, and you'll all get a nice chunk of change, but it doesn't feel like the motive for this murder. This feels spontaneous, spur of the moment.”
I didn't agree and said so. “It would seem premeditated to me. Someone had to go out into the woods and find a hornet's nest. The task of getting it safely out of the tree and back to Toby's would take time and, I would think, expertise. Even rigging it to the doorknob of Toby's bedroom would take a certain kind of finesse. I wouldn't have a clue how to go about it.”
Sid flashed me an annoyed glare. “I don't mean that. I'm talking about the emotion behind the killing. It doesn't feel like a smoldering rage. The kind of hate that builds and builds until murder seems to be the only option. Every action the killer took was smooth and calculated. Maybe I'm letting the suspects color my judgment, but this was the act of someone used to making quick decisions.”
At first I didn't get what he meant, but as understanding dawned, my tone showed my outrage. “You mean because we're owners of our own businesses, and have the ability to resolve problems, any one of us is capable of murder?”
Sid nodded slowly. “That's right. Our killer is cool and detached. But leave yourself out of this equation, Bretta. Those aren't words I'd use to describe you.”
Before I could think of something profound to say, Sid got into his patrol car and drove away.
In the last few weeks, my Saturdays have fallen into a pattern. I come home from the flower shop at noon, if work allows. Spend time in my garden, using muscles that don't get used the rest of the week. Hot and grimy, I shower, dress, and go over to Bailey's where we watch TV, fool around on the couch, and then he walks me back to the house.
Ho-hum. Bailey and I had fallen into a rut. The same old same old. We needed something fun and exciting to do. Something to raise my spirits and get my mind off how unfair life can be.
I parked my SUV on the concrete apron in front of my garage, but instead of going inside, I took the path to Bailey's house, which sat at the farthermost edge of my property. At one time the cottage had been part of this estate, but when I'd bought the mansion and the land, that piece of real estate had
been excluded from the sale. I'd tried to buy the cottage, but before I could wear down the owner's resistance, Bailey had stepped in with an offer that had been snapped up.
I'd been upset when I first learned he was the new owner. I'd had plans to make that cottage into a wedding chapel. Once my garden was restored, I hoped brides would flock to me with orders for their nuptial flowers. I still thought it was a good idea, but not at this time. Having Bailey in my life was more important than a wedding chapel, and strangers parading around my garden.
I paused on the path and stared at the cottage. It sat east of the mansion and was a charming structure with a steep-pitched roof and dormers. Its exterior was white and it used to have robin's-egg-blue shutters. Bailey had painted black over the blue, and he'd removed the window boxes because he said the plants needed too much care. His idea of decorating had been to nail a rack of deer antlers above the front door.
Without any color, the cottage looked drab. My designer's eye saw a grapevine wreath hanging between the wooden interior door and the glass storm door. Bright fall leaves with German statice, and maybe some pheasant feathers to pick up the hunting theme. It would add a welcoming touch and wouldn't need watering.
Would Bailey agree? It couldn't hurt to ask. I took a couple of steps toward the house, but stopped when Bailey skulked around the corner of the cottage. His back was to me, his chest plastered against the clapboards. The object of his attention seemed to be the window next to the front door. I would have called to him, but the gun clutched in his hand scared me speechless. He had on a bulletproof vest—another fact that frightened me. I was out in the open, an easy target if there was gunfire.
I had to let him know I was close by. I opened my mouth, but before I could get a word past the lump of fear in my throat, Bailey bellowed, “This is Special Agent Bailey Monroe. I have a warrant for your arrest. Come out with your hands up! Do it
now
!”
His harsh, authoritative tone made goose bumps ripple down my spine. My wide-eyed stare swung to the door, but nothing happened. I looked back at Bailey. He advanced another cautious step. Ragged breath squeezed out of my lungs.
He shouted, “Come out now! The house is surrounded.”
Surrounded? My head swiveled. I hadn't seen anyone. I blinked in confusion. Was he bluffing? Had he cornered someone in his house? Before I could complete another thought, Bailey took another step toward the door. He cocked the gun. The ominous sound was my undoing. I squeaked, “Ohh.”
Bailey spun on his heel. Gripping the gun with both hands, he aimed the barrel at me.

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