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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Bindweed
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The night had turned cold. Streetlights wore halos of wispy fog. A gentle breeze swirled the mist in an eerie pattern, blowing leaves across the windshield of Bailey's truck. We were only a few blocks from Hawthorn. I had the urge to see the street one more time before I went home.
Unsure how Bailey would react, I kept my voice casual. “Do you mind driving by the flower shop? I don't want to go inside, but I'd like to give it a—uh—visual check.” I glanced at Bailey's profile to see how he took my request.
“If I turn here,” he said, easing the wheel to the right, “we can travel the entire length of Hawthorn. Would that suit you?”
I met his knowing gaze and shook my head. “Am I that transparent? I should keep you guessing, but that takes too much effort.”
“Has Toby's death been on your mind all evening?”
“No. Thanks to you, I've managed to push it away.” I patted his thigh. “You were the perfect date. This evening was wonderful. It was just what I needed. But I can't squash my thoughts forever.”
“Bretta, with me you don't have to try. I've been there. I know how a case can eat away at you. It's the controlling part of your personality. You have to have all the questions answered.”
I made a face. “I'm not sure I like that description.
Controlling
sounds overbearing and not very charming.”
“You've already charmed me. I wouldn't have you any other way.”
We drove in silence for a time, then I asked, “Did I tell you that Sid took me into Toby's house this afternoon?”
“No. Was the experience enlightening?”
“It was, up to a point.” I proceeded to tell him what I'd seen. When I finished, Bailey commented, “Sounds to me like Toby was programmed.”
“Programmed?”
“Yes. Agnes tried to anticipate every eventuality in her son's life—a home, a job, his meals, his recreation, his friends. Over and over, like a recording, she drilled into him how he should spend his time.”
“Do you think she threatened him with dire consequences?”
“I doubt it. She probably felt it wasn't necessary. Toby was impressionable. Agnes had years of directing Toby—what he should do, where he should go, and to whom he should speak. He wasn't ever going to be what society terms ‘normal,' but Agnes knew Toby couldn't be without human contact. A recluse is an oddity and vulnerable to outside forces. By introducing him to people of her choosing, she could give him a controlled environment, hoping to bind him to a life she thought would keep him safe.”
“Before she died, do you think there was already someone in his life she feared might influence Toby in a bad way?”
“That's highly possible. It would go a long way toward explaining why Agnes went to such lengths to make provisions for Toby.”
Seeing that we were on Hawthorn, I wiped a spot of moisture off my side window. “Drive slow, if you can.”
“It's late enough that there isn't much traffic.”
Bailey let the truck's engine idle us along. One by one I gazed at the stores that represented Toby's clients. Mr. Barker's bakery, Merry's Delights. Leona's Boutique. My flower shop. Agnes hadn't chosen Josh from the video store as one of Toby's stops. After seeing the electronic setup in Toby's bedroom, I decided I needed another chat with that young man. Abner Garrett of Garrett's Grocery Store was next. Followed by Harmon Purvis's pharmacy, Melba's candle store, and Diana's discount shop.
Musing aloud, I said, “It must have worried Agnes no end that Toby might meet someone she thought would be unacceptable. Those last few months before she died must have been heart wrenching as she planned Toby's life.”
“That's where the protectiveness comes in. From what you've told me, she did everything she could to make his future secure.”
“But it didn't work, did it?”
“That's a given, since Toby is dead.”
“But why is he dead? Was he mixed up in some devious plot? Was someone exploiting his naivete? I feel sure that Agnes taught him right from wrong. Are we dealing with some slick-tongued shyster who preyed on Toby's gullibility? Did this person see an opportunity to use Toby? And to what purpose?”
“Again, those are excellent questions, but you'll have to ask someone who's more attuned to the facts. I've picked up bits and pieces from what you've—”
“Look, Bailey. Flashing red lights.” I leaned forward, peering through the windshield. “I can't tell, but they look like they're at Yvonne's house.” I quickly amended that statement. “No. No. They're at Toby's.”
Bailey eased down on the accelerator. We could have closed the distance quickly, but Bailey had to brake when an officer waved us to a stop. Bailey rolled down his window. “What's going on?” he asked.
“Police business. You'll have to take another route.”
From my perch on the edge of my seat, I scanned the uniformed figures. Sid had to be here. Finally I spotted him, leaning against the rear fender of one of the patrol cars. I opened my door and started toward him. Hearing rapid footsteps behind me, I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see Bailey. The officer was bearing down on me. I didn't want trouble, so I stopped, but I called out to Sid. “Sheriff? Can I speak to you?”
Sid looked up and grimaced. But after a moment, he said, “Let her through.”
I didn't need any more encouragement.
Sid gave me the once-over, taking in my stylish dress and high-heeled sandals. He looked past me to Bailey's truck and said, “Out and about on a Saturday night? Must be nice.”
“What's going on, Sid?”
“Did you have a pleasant evening?”
Patiently, I said, “Yes, Sid. We had a lovely time. Why all the patrol cars?”
Wearily, he rubbed a hand across his face. “I've wrapped up this case. We have a suspect in custody.”
Craning my neck, I could see a silhouette in the backseat of Sid's car, but I couldn't make out who it was. I turned to Sid for answers but bit back the words when he winced as if in pain. Taking a closer look, I saw he was paler than usual and his eyes were bloodshot. I asked, “Are you okay?”
“Been better. I suppose you had a tasty meal in some fancy restaurant.” In a wistful tone, he said, “I remember a time when I ate at a leisurely pace from an honest-to-goodness plate.” He tried to take a deep breath but flinched. “Haven't felt good all day. Earlier I had a chili dog served on a flimsy piece of cardboard, followed by a nasty case of indigestion.”
“I have some Rolaids in my purse. Do you want me to get them?”
“Nah. I have my own stash. We've about got things wound
up here. Once I do a couple hours of paperwork, I can go home.”
“Who are you—uh—processing?”
Sid mumbled, “All that trash from the fast food in the bedroom and almost nothing to eat in the kitchen. If Abner Garrett delivered the groceries, and if Avery Wheeler paid for them—then where's the food?” His lips turned up in a sly smile. “I let it be known to a couple of blabby Hawthorn Street store owners that I was reprocessing the house tomorrow, concentrating on the inside of the kitchen cabinets, where I hoped I'd find new evidence.” Sid swayed on his feet, then jerked upright. “Feel kind of woozy.”
I touched his arm and felt the radiating heat. “You're sick, Sid. I think you're running a fever.”
He dashed a hand across his forehead. “I'm sweating like a porcupine in a balloon factory, but it's cold out here.” He tried to stand up straight but couldn't quite make it. “Don't have time to be sick. Pain in my gut, but I've been able to ignore it. Garrett used Toby to make money. Scammed him out of the groceries. Damnedest motive for murder I've ever seen.”
“Scammed him out of the groceries?” I looked back at the car. “Is that
Abner?
”
“That's right. What a jerk. He crept back to the house tonight to have a look around, and we nabbed him. When we read him his rights and snapped the handcuffs on him, he broke down.” Sid licked his lips and closed his eyes. “Admitted that he'd taken advantage of Toby. Abner had followed Agnes's instructions. He received full payment from Avery Wheeler for the food, but then he bought back the groceries from Toby at a ridiculously low price.” He opened his eyes and blinked at me. “Don't give me that look, Bretta. I don't like it.”
I wasn't surprised that my dubious expression didn't please
him. “Sid, has Abner confessed to putting the hornets in Toby's bedroom?”
“Not yet, but he will.”
“Sid, you're too sick to see—”
“I don't want to hear it. Get her out of here,” he said in a hoarse tone. Two officers stepped forward. One was reaching for my arm when Sid doubled over in pain. Through clenched teeth, he muttered, “Fire in my gut.”
“Call an ambulance,” I said. “The sheriff is sick.” When neither man moved, I took Sid's arm. “You need to go to the hospital, Sid. Let a doctor check you out. You might have food poisoning from that chili dog.”
He gasped. “Hurt before I ate that piece of—oh God.” He rode out the pain with his arms folded across his belly. After a few minutes, he looked around. “Deputy Hawkins, you're in charge of getting the prisoner to the jail and processed. Sam, take me to the emergency room.” Another pain bent him almost double.
Sam grabbed one arm. I took the other, and we helped Sid into a patrol car. They took off with the siren blaring and the lights flashing. I watched the car disappear down Hawthorn before I turned to the car that Deputy Hawkins was entering.
I crossed to the driver's window and leaned down. “Get back, ma'am,” said Hawkins. “
I
won't put up with your meddling.” He jerked the gearshift into drive and pressed on the gas. In the backseat, I had a glimpse of Abner Garrett. Tears streaked his face, but his eyes met mine. Sadly, he shook his head.
 
I found out the next morning that Sid had undergone an emergency appendectomy. The surgery had gone well, but as a precautionary measure, he'd been placed in intensive care for
observation. Deputy Hawkins was running the sheriff's office—which meant I couldn't get an ounce of information about Abner Garrett's arrest.
It was Sunday afternoon. I was out in my garden, taking a stroll, enjoying the peace and quiet. The garden's progress was coming along nicely under the guidance of Eddie's capable hands. A stretch of soil appeared devoid of life, but labels stated that spring bulbs nestled beneath the surface. I tipped my head to look above me. The hard maple trees were just starting their fall parade of colors. In sharp contrast, the green of the cedars, pines, and junipers made a crisp backdrop to the perennial plantings.
I hadn't been sure how Eddie was going to blend one plant group into another. He'd suggested that we let nature be our guide. He had pointed to the sky, using the shape of the clouds as inspiration, arranging the first group of plants in a pear shape, then reversing the next bed so that it ran along behind the other. The results were flowing and not too fussy. From the bottom bed he'd used a “drift” of flowers. This was a thin, longish line of plants that carried the eye to one of the focal points of the garden. In this instance it was a swing.
I'd had an old tire swing hung from a stout tree branch, but then I'd complained to Eddie that the rubber stained my clothes. His alternative was an elegant glider set under an arbor. Given time, the wood would be covered by a clematis vine. The variety Henryi had been settled on.
Earlier this summer I'd enjoyed the star-shaped white blossoms. I love white flowers in the garden. At night they have an unearthly quality in the moonlight. But I also want to be surrounded by lots of color. Purple makes peace, while red shrinks the beds and blue makes them appear larger. Yellow borrows a ray of sunlight from the skies, while green adds tranquility to
the soul. I'd learned all of this by listening to Eddie, who in turn had inherited his wisdom from his father.
I went to the glider and sat down. As I leaned back I saw a huge garden spider hanging from a web that was anchored to the wooden crosspieces that formed the swing's frame. Spiders don't bother me, and this one was a beautiful specimen with an oval abdomen patterned in yellow and black. She was sitting head down at the web's hub. I assumed she was waiting for her next meal, though she looked as if she'd been eating regularly. She was a portly creature, but when I set the glider in motion, she moved with grace along the gossamer strands of her home.
The spider reminded me of the main character in the book,
Charlotte's Web.
That indomitable creature had immortalized her friend, a pig named Wilbur, by weaving words of praise into her web.
“Well, Charlotte,” I said aloud. “I could use some insight. I don't suppose you could draw on your shrewd lineage and weave the name of Toby's murderer into your web?” I peered at the spider and saw a leg quiver. “Go ahead,” I encouraged. “Don't be shy. I won't tell a soul.”
I chuckled softly and reached into my pocket for the papers Melba, Yvonne, and Leona had given me. While I'd waited for lunch to finish cooking, I'd read over their notes but hadn't found anything that was helpful. I'd hoped that in a different setting, I'd find some informative nugget that would push me in the direction of a solution.
I started with Melba's notes first, but I was shaking my head by the time I'd finished reading. She made it abundantly clear that she didn't like Abner Garrett. I wasn't crazy about him either, but in a murder investigation it paid to be open-minded and without prejudice. Melba hadn't been able to do that. Everything she'd written directed suspicion to the grocer. In
view of his arrest, Melba might be right. I didn't have any trouble believing Abner capable of scamming Toby with the groceries, but I just couldn't see him prying open a window and rigging the hornet's nest.
I laid Melba's notes on the seat next to me and picked up Leona's. The tone of this writing made me uneasy. From the first line, she hinted that Toby's death had sexual undertones. For some reason she knew the length of time Toby spent in several of the shops. She equated that time with fooling around. She stated three different instances when she'd witnessed Diana touching Toby's arm, patting his shoulder, or smoothing his shirt collar even though no adjusting was necessary.
Leona went on to say that Diana wasn't happy in her marriage and had used Toby to pass away the time until she'd reached a decision on whether to stay with her husband or move on. Down at the bottom of the page, Leona had written, “I called a neighbor of Diana's and asked how ‘things' were progressing in that part of River City. My friend knew exactly what I meant. It seems that Diana and her husband have reconciled, and they're acting like newlyweds. I think this only proves my point further. Diana led Toby on. When she reconciled with her husband, she became concerned that Toby might have taken her attention seriously. Afraid that Toby might tell someone, Diana decided Toby needed to be stopped, so she found a hornet's nest and—”
I rolled my eyes. “What a crock,” I muttered aloud. It sounded to me as if Leona was a sexually frustrated woman with a galloping imagination. Folding the papers together, I laid them on top of Melba's and picked up Yvonne's. I'd saved hers for last because her notes were more interesting and had more details that involved Toby.
She had lived closer to him than the rest of us on Hawthorn
Street, and she felt she knew him very well. To reinforce that statement, she'd included several anecdotes. A couple had caught my eye. The first had to do with Toby going duck hunting with Phillip and Harmon. Phillip had been against the idea, but Harmon had argued that Toby needed a man's influence in his life. The outing had been disastrous.
Yvonne wrote, “Toby left the house in high spirits. I wasn't sure if he understood what was going to happen, but the guns intrigued him. Once the hunters were situated behind the duck blind, Phillip said it was difficult to keep Toby quiet. All was fine until the first flock of ducks appeared. Harmon took aim and fired. Toby was horrified when one of the ducks nose-dived into the water. When the men brought Toby home, he was an emotional mess. I couldn't leave him alone at his house, so he stayed with me that night. Toby was too tenderhearted to take hunting, and I'd told the men that would be the case.”
I stared somberly into the distance. It wasn't Toby's reaction to the death of a duck that interested me. It was the fact that it had been Harmon's idea to take Toby hunting. He had to know that Toby would be upset by the killing of an animal. Why allow him to come along? Was Harmon being malicious? Or was he merely thoughtless?
Glancing up at Charlotte, I saw she'd crept closer to the edge of the web. It seemed as if she was peering directly at me. “See what you think,” I said to her. “I'll read this last bit aloud.”
I scanned the sheet until I found the right passage. “Agnes and I were good friends,” wrote Yvonne. “After my divorce, I often got lonely. Agnes was a widow. Her husband had worked for the railroad and was killed while switching cars on the railway. The accident happened only a month before Toby was born. I was the one who took Agnes to the hospital and stayed
with her through the delivery. I watched Toby grow in stature and mourned with Agnes when he didn't develop mentally.
“Harmon was wrong to assume none of us knew Toby had a heart problem. I knew. Agnes tried to protect Toby from everything. He wanted a pet desperately—a cat, a dog, a rabbit, a bird—but Agnes said they carried germs and disease. Agnes didn't have to work when Toby was young. The railroad paid her a substantial sum of money, but even scrimping as she did, the money ran out about the time Toby turned eighteen. That's when Agnes went to work for Harmon.

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