Murder in the Secret Garden (13 page)

“Thoreau said something like, ‘Men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after,'” Sinclair said. “Perhaps your great-uncle is best suited to the task of investigating the captain. From what I've heard, a compatible fishing partner must read his mate's moods. He must know when to talk and when to be quiet. Your uncle has fished for most of his life. He claims to be able to judge a man based on the lures he uses.”

“In that case, we should line up all the Medieval Herbalists and subject them to an inspection by either Muffet Cat or Uncle Aloysius. Why didn't we think of this before? The murderer could already be behind bars,” Jane groused, but immediately regretted her behavior. “Forgive me, Sinclair. I'm angry, overwhelmed, and tired. Sending my uncle to speak with Captain Phil is an excellent idea.” She turned to Lachlan. “He won't be the only one spending time outdoors tomorrow. You and I are going hiking in the morning.”

Confused, Lachlan reached for his phone. “Did the herbalists schedule a last-minute excursion?”

“You could say that,” Jane said. “Tom Green is taking them to see the druid. According to Tammy Kota, it's supposed to be a secret. She only told me because Tom was acting a bit odd toward the end of the wedding feast. He'd had too much to drink and kept mentioning Kira's name. I tried to put Tammy's concerns to rest by making up a theory about Tom processing a loss of his own, but I don't believe that. What if the wine allowed his real emotions to come through? And what if that emotion was guilt?”

“The tire tracks,” Lachlan said, his gaze on Sterling. “Could Mr. Green's delivery van be a match?”

Sterling stared at him. “Tom Green? A murderer?” Jane could see his entire body stiffen in protest over the idea.
“I'll look into it. Of course I will. It's just that Tom's been delivering flowers to Storyton Hall for over a decade. He's a soft-spoken, amiable guy.” Sterling glanced at Sinclair. “We've done background checks on all the locals. Nothing in Tom Green's history has raised concerns before, has it?”

“No,” Sinclair said. “Mr. Butterworth? Has Mr. Green's body language altered as of late?”

“On one occasion. When he returned from hiking with the herbalists, he looked like a different man.” Butterworth said. “The Mr. Green from that morning was in high spirits. His face was bright with anticipation and his head was held high. The man who came back to Storyton Hall focused his gaze on the ground. His eyes were dull. His gait was hesitant and his shoulders drooped. It wasn't because he was physically fatigued either. Mr. Green was troubled and we know why. He was offered membership into a society he was most eager to join in exchange for taking the herbalists to the druid.”

Jane pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. She was ready to take some aspirin and call it a night. Sensing her need, Sterling opened a desk drawer and took out a bottle of ibuprofen. After swallowing several tablets, Jane outlined her plan. “Tomorrow, Lachlan and I will follow the herbalists into the hills behind the village. Lachlan should have no difficulty tracking a group of their size.” She gave Lachlan an encouraging smile. “While we're gone, there's still so much to be done. Sterling, will you examine the tires on Tom's truck?” At Sterling's nod, Jane turned to Butterworth. “You and Sinclair can search the guest and reading rooms for the missing herbal. I don't expect you to find it, but we have to try.”

Butterworth inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Finally, Jane looked at Sinclair. “Edwin Alcott has offered his assistance. Since I'm not sure if I can trust him, I declined for now, but he told me to ask about the origin of the Fins.”

“I thought he might,” Sinclair said.

“Why?” Jane asked, wishing the pills she had taken would work faster.

Sinclair spread his hands. “Because the Fins were once Templars. Like the Freemasons, the Fins separated from the Templars to pursue a different mission. Our forefathers and Mr. Alcott's forefathers were allies. That's what he wants you to know.”

“A link from centuries ago doesn't mean that we should trust him,” Butterworth muttered.

“Only Miss Jane can make that decision,” Sinclair said.

Jane thanked each of the Fins for their tireless work and then informed them that she was through with making decisions for the day. “I need to rest,” she told them. “Not only do I have to hike for who knows how many miles to find this mystical druid, but I also have to tell Uncle Aloysius that the very first book I took from the secret library to share with the public has been stolen.”

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Lachlan asked politely.

“Thank you, but I prefer to be alone,” Jane said. “Part of me hopes that someone will jump out of the bushes and attack me. It's been frustrating enough to make so little progress in solving Kira's murder and now, someone dares to steal a book from our library—!” Too irate to continue, she twisted the doorknob and flung open the door. “Let's just say I'm spoiling for a fight.”

*   *   *

The next morning, after the twins polished off a breakfast of strawberry pancakes topped with banana slices, they prepared to attend the early church service with Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius.

“Why aren't you coming with us, Mom?” Fitz asked, eyeing his mother's green T-shirt and cargo pants.

“I have to work,” Jane answered. “Be good in Sunday School. A little bird told me that a new shipment of audio books is supposed to arrive at Run for Cover on Monday. I believe one of them is the next book in the Harry Potter series.”

Hem bounced on his heels and then elbowed his brother. “Do you think we have enough money?”

Fitz closed his eyes and performed some mental calculations, his lips moving as he pictured the crumpled dollar bills and loose change on the top of his bureau. “It depends how much we put in the offering plate,” he whispered to Hem.

Though Jane was tempted to intervene, she wanted to see what decision her sons would arrive at without her influence.

“We can't give less because we want something,” Hem whispered after a long pause.

Fitz looked disappointed, but nodded his head in agreement. Suddenly, he brightened. “Maybe we could ask Mrs. Hubbard to pay us early. I bet she would.”

“That isn't a good idea,” Jane said gently. “If you spend money that you haven't earned yet, then you might not do your best work.”

Hem was affronted. “We would so!”

“Yeah,” Fitz added with a scowl. “We like the garden!”

Jane tried not to smile. “It's wonderful that you're both taking such pride in your work. It really is. So let's do this: Keep your offering the same and, if I hear a good report from Aunt Octavia about Sunday School, I'll lend you the money for the Harry Potter audiobook. You can pay me back on Friday after you collect your hard-earned dollars from Mrs. Hubbard.”

“Isn't that the same thing as spending money we haven't earned?” Hem asked.

“There's a difference between getting a payday advance from an employer and a loan from your mother,” Jane said. Seeing the baffled expression on the twins' faces, she threw back her head and laughed. “I'll explain these tricky financial
terms another time. Come on, we don't want to keep Aunt Octavia waiting.”

As the little family headed outside, Fitz stopped by the garden gate to collect a plastic bucket.

Jane peered in at the contents. The bucket was stuffed with dandelions. The plants were slightly shriveled, but not dead because their roots were soaking in several inches of muddy water.

“What are you doing with this?” she asked.

“We're bringing the dandelions to Pig Newton,” Fitz said. “For his Sunday supper.”

Jane took the bucket from him, as she didn't want the dirty water to slosh out of the bucket and onto his church pants. She shooed the boys through the gate. “You two run ahead. Get your wiggles out!”

Fitz scooped a stick off the ground and pointed it at Hem. “I'm going to turn you into a newt!” He shouted some nonsense words followed by a shrill squeaking sound.

“Oh, yeah?” Hem grabbed his own stick and parried the attack with more nonsense words and a low, rumbling noise. “I'll block your spell with an instant fog!”

Watching her two sons race across the wide swath of green lawn, Jane felt, for just a moment, that all was right with the world.

*   *   *

Two hours later, Jane leaned against the trunk of a black oak tree and drank thirstily from her water bottle. She and Lachlan had been hiking for over an hour, moving steadily south by southeast. Because they had climbed up and up into the hills, Jane felt as though they were traveling north, so she was completely turned around.

For a time, there had been a clear path. The villagers maintained several miles of walking trails, but those were all on lower elevations.

The lack of trails didn't bother Lachlan one bit. He continued to surge forward, pointing out broken branches and crushed plants left in the wake of Tom Green and The Medieval Herbalists.

At the beginning of their hike, Lachlan had offered Jane a walking stick. She'd refused it at first, having never needed one before, but he'd insisted that she take it.

“It's a good thing to carry in the summer,” Lachlan said, pressing the stick into Jane's hand. “There are snakes in these woods. Thorns too. Not to mention poison ivy, poison sumac, and dozens of spider webs. Once we leave the trail, we'll be doing plenty of bushwhacking. You'll be glad of this stick at that point. Trust me.”

Jane had been glad of the stick. She'd already used it to keep a seemingly endless supply of brambles and cobwebs away from her face and hair.

Now, Jane leaned on it as she climbed over a cluster of uneven rocks. Ahead of her, Lachlan suddenly stopped and peered down at the ground.

“What is it?” Jane asked. She tried not to sound out of breath, but she was having a hard time keeping pace with Lachlan.

“Someone is riding a horse,” he said.

Jane looked from the pile of droppings to Lachlan. “It must be Hannah. She could never make this hike on foot.”

“This guy's garden must be a sight to behold for these herbalists to go through this much trouble. I know they garden and take nature walks, but this is a completely different kind of hike.” Lachlan squinted up the hill. “People like them don't venture into the wild.”

Because she sensed that he was right, and because she needed to conserve her oxygen, Jane said nothing. For a time, they descended instead of climbing, and just when Jane felt there would be no end to their hike, Lachlan raised his hand in a fist and halted. He then sank to his knees and put
his finger to his lips. He then used his free hand to point at a clearing up ahead. They'd found the druid.

Her fatigue forgotten, Jane took a pair of binoculars out of her backpack and peered through them. She saw a log cabin with a front porch facing a large vegetable garden. The cabin appeared well built and tidy. There were two wooden rocking chairs on the porch and the morning breeze tickled a tuneless melody from a bamboo wind chime. Firewood was stacked neatly along one side of the house and chickens scratched at the ground around an enclosed coop.

The Medieval Herbalists were nowhere in sight. Other than the chickens, Jane didn't see another living creature until Tom Green abruptly exited the cabin through the front door. A second man was close at his heels. If Jane had expected the druid to sport a lush beard, a robe, and a cowl, she was to be disappointed. This man was clean-shaven and wore jeans and a T-shirt. Judging from his red face and dramatic gesticulations, he was also very angry.

Tom wheeled around to face the druid.

The two men were now only inches apart.

Jane inhaled sharply. “Good Lord!” she whispered to Lachlan. “The druid looks just like Tom. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were . . .” she trailed off, lowering her binoculars in shock. “Brothers.”

“The druid's taller, but he looks like an older version of Tom,” Lachlan whispered.

“A much older version,” Jane said. “The druid has lots of gray in his hair and beard. I don't think they're brothers. Maybe father and son.”

The druid was shouting now. Jane couldn't make out the words, but his meaning was clear enough. Judging by his red face and the direction in which he pointed, he wanted Tom to take the herbalists and go. With a final yell, he turned his back on Tom and stormed into his cabin.

Tom threw his arms up in defeat. He then crossed the yard and headed down a path descending through a tall field of grass.

“According to the survey maps I found in the library, there should be a stream at the end of that path,” Lachlan said. “I can see why the druid built his homestead here. It's a good location for horticulture, there's a fresh water supply, and he even has a hot spring nearby for bathing.”

“So he grows his own food, raises chickens, and produces
medicine. There are also several large sheds on the other side of his cabin.” Jane swept the area with her binoculars. “I wonder what he keeps inside.”

Lachlan jerked. “I don't know, but it's time for us to move. Here comes Ms. Billingsley. She's on a pony and the rest of her friends are right behind her.”

Jane swung her binoculars around to where she'd last seen Tom. He was now back in the yard, waving for the herbalists to follow Hannah.

“That isn't one of Sam's ponies,” Jane murmured. “He doesn't own a pinto.”

“We didn't see a horse trailer by The Potter's Shed either,” Lachlan said. “The pony must have been dropped off for Hannah and been tethered to the fence near the trail entrance. This was a highly coordinated excursion.”

The pony began climbing the grassy embankment, heading directly for them. Lachlan elbowed Jane and pointed at a copse of trees to her right.

Jane grabbed her backpack and scurried in a half crouch until she was squatting behind a trunk. “What if they come this way?” she asked Lachlan.

“They won't,” he assured her. “Too many stones. The pony might slip. Mr. Green will lead them to that break in the pine trees. The rise is gentler.”

They watched Tom hurry around the pony's side and grab hold of its bridle.

“I was just starting to enjoy myself,” Constance Meredith complained loudly. “What a treasure trove! And I had so many questions! Tammy did too. Why did we have to leave so suddenly?”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Meredith,” Tom called back over his shoulder. “I warned you about this possibility. The druid doesn't welcome visitors to his home. You're lucky you were able to see as much as you did.”

“We don't mean to sound ungrateful,” Vivian Ash said.
“It's just so rare for us to meet someone with as much knowledge of the natural world as your friend, but it was very kind of you to arrange this excursion. It was a truly unforgettable event. Thank you.”

From her hiding place, Jane couldn't see Tom's face, but she wondered if he still viewed the herbalists as being above him. Half of them were sulking, while the other half just looked exhausted. Especially Hannah. She was abnormally pale and Jane wondered if Hannah thought the trip was worth the pain she was undoubtedly feeling.

Lachlan was right. This group isn't used to hiking in the wilderness
, Jane thought
. How will they find the energy to run the medieval fair later today?

Tom headed exactly where Lachlan had predicted he'd go. Lachlan sat utterly still, watching, until the last herbalist was out of sight. He didn't speak at all. After tracking the group for another fifteen minutes, he finally whispered, “They're out of range.”

It had been well over thirty minutes since the druid had kicked Tom and the herbalists off his land, and he had yet to reemerge from his cabin.

“What now?” Lachlan asked.

Jane was just about to say that she hadn't come all this way to leave without talking to the druid. She had to stand on his doorstep and see how he'd respond to Kira's name. She didn't have the chance to explain this to Lachlan, however, because at that moment, a muted scream of agony made her forget her plans.

“Where did that come from?” With her heart hammering in her chest, Jane glanced around. She pictured Hannah on the ground, having fallen off the pony and seriously hurting her back or neck.

Lachlan stood up. “The cabin,” he said, reaching down to take Jane's hand. He hauled her to her feet and began to move. She followed, copying his slouched jog and the
way his gaze darted left and right, constantly assessing their environment.

As they neared the cabin, another scream echoed from inside.

“He must in terrible pain,” Jane said, ready to kick in the door and rush to the druid's aid. The sound was unlike anything she'd ever heard. It made her heart wrench to think that such a bestial howl came from a human being.

Lachlan clearly didn't feel the same way. He thrust his arm out to block her path. “An injured man is a dangerous man.”

Jane stared into his haunted blue eyes and knew that while part of Landon Lachlan stood on the druid's front porch with her, the other part was back in Afghanistan or Iraq, reliving some covert operation. Reliving his own personal pain.

“We have to try to help him,” she whispered.

Lachlan put his fingers to his lips and crossed the porch until his back was between the door and the window. Keeping his shoulder pressed against the wood, he cast a lightning-quick glance through the window. He then grabbed the door with one hand and beckoned Jane forward with the other.

“He's on the floor in the fetal position. His arms are crossed over his stomach,” Lachlan whispered. “He's vomited. I don't think he has the strength to attack us, but be prepared to defend yourself in case I'm wrong. Remember your training. Keep your hands near your face and kick before you punch.”

“Just get in there!” Jane cried and gave Lachlan a shove. He might be in Army Ranger mode, but she couldn't tolerate the pitiful groaning coming from the other side of the door.

Once inside the cabin, Lachlan kept his distance from the druid. He remained as tense as a threatened snake, but not Jane. She dropped to her knees next to the tortured man. “Sir? We're here to help. What can we do?”

The man's eyes were rolled so far back that the irises
were barely visible, giving him a ghastly, zombie-like appearance. He squeezed the lids shut and mouthed a word.

Jane couldn't hear, so she leaned in until her ear was close to the man's lips.

“Miss Jane,” Lachlan warned but Jane hushed him.

“Char . . . coal,” the man on the floor said in a half whisper, half moan. Unable to raise his hand, he pointed a crooked finger at a cabinet on the far side of the room.

Lachlan flung open the doors and began scanning the bottles, vials, and glass jars on the shelves. “Here!” He grabbed a plastic tub and showed it to Jane. “Activated charcoal.”

“Tell me how to prepare it,” Jane commanded.

Lachlan read the directions and Jane scrambled to fill a glass with water from the pitcher on the druid's kitchen table. She then mixed in the powered charcoal as quickly and thoroughly as possible. “Lift him up,” she told Lachlan.

He got behind the druid and gently raised his shoulders. The man let out another shriek. Jane winced, but the hand holding the glass to the sick man's mouth didn't tremble. In her firmest mother's voice, she said, “Drink this. All of it.”

The man tried. He swallowed once. “Arsenic,” he croaked before Jane pressed the cup to his lips again. He managed a second swallow. However, his throat seemed to close and the third swallow came gurgling back out of his mouth. His eyes bulged and he stiffened in agony.

“What do we do?” Jane asked, her panic rising. “Either he chokes trying to drink this or the arsenic he ingested will kill him.”

Lachlan locked eyes with her. “You have to get that into him. He's dying.”

“I'm going to pour the charcoal into your mouth a little at a time,” Jane said loudly, hoping the man could hear her through the pain. She nodded at Lachlan, who held the druid's head firmly in place while Jane opened his mouth and slowly emptied another two tablespoons of the mixture
straight down his throat. His gag reflex kicked in and the muscles in his throat tightened. Black spittle flew across Jane's face. Without flinching, she continued to pour the contents into the druid's mouth, dribble by dribble.

By the time the glass was empty, black droplets were running down Jane's chin onto her T-shirt. She set the glass aside, wiped her face on her one dry sleeve, and took the man's hand. He began to thrash wildly. His grip became so powerful that Jane had to pull her hand away.

Lachlan did his best to hold the druid's head, but his entire body bucked and spasmed with such force that it became impossible.

And then, just as swiftly as the convulsions started, they stopped. The man lay on his braided rug, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his blackened mouth stretched open in a soundless scream. He looked like a monster—a creature from a nightmare—until Lachlan leaned over and pushed the lids down over his sightless, lifeless eyes.

Jane sat back on her heels. She felt sick. The shock of the druid's abrupt and violent death combined with the odor of vomit and charcoal made her feel unbalanced. She focused on the weave of the rug under her hands and tried to breathe deeply through her mouth.

“Come away, Miss Jane.” Lachlan eased her to her feet and led her outside. He settled her in a rocking chair on the front porch. He said nothing, but stood silently by her side, waiting for her to recover.

As for Jane, she stared across the druid's tidy yard to the break in the bushes where Tom Green had gone to fetch the herbalists. From this angle, she could see a clear path leading downhill.

To the walled garden
, she thought.
The secret garden.

The longer she stared at the green line of bushes, the better she felt.

“Poison,” she said after what seemed like an eternity, though she'd only been outside for a few minutes.

“It looks that way.” Lachlan studied her. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his backpack and worked them onto his large hands. “I'm going to get a towel for your face.”

He returned with a damp dishrag. The cool fabric felt wonderful against Jane's clammy skin. She cleaned herself up and then checked her reflection in the window behind the rocking chair. “You need to go for help,” she said. “I'm assuming our cell phones are useless up here.”

Lachlan nodded in confirmation. “We've crossed into the next county. Which means that this case won't fall in Storyton's jurisdiction.”

“Then the Fins need to investigate first,” Jane said. “Do you have more gloves?”

After giving her a pair, Lachlan dug out a bandanna from his pack. “Tie this over your mouth and nose,” he said. “It'll help block the smell.”

Leaving Jane to her preparations, he ran toward the largest shed. Jane snapped her gloves into place, tied the bandanna on, and moved to the cabin's doorway. The horrible scene laid out before her in the cabin's main room momentarily immobilized her, but she finally turned away and headed for the second room, which was a bedroom and storage loft. It was a comfortable space filled with ready-to-assemble furniture, two lamps, and a wardrobe. Jane had just opened the wardrobe and thumbed through some of the clothes when she heard the revving of an engine. Seconds later, Lachlan pulled up in front of the cabin riding a strange-looking motorcycle with large tires and a camouflage-design paint job.

Jane returned to the porch and pulled down her bandanna.

“The perfect hunter's bike,” Lachlan said, patting the seat appreciatively. “Or vehicle for a man who wants to move
about with stealth. This bike is designed to go off-road and is fairly quiet. It's not cheap either. Neither is the fully loaded ATV the druid has in that shed. I saw tracks leading south. I think this guy went over the mountain fairly regularly. I'm going to follow the tracks until I get a signal on my phone. I'll be back as soon as I can.” He hesitated. “Will you be okay? I don't like to leave you.”

“I'll be fine,” Jane assured him. “There's something you need to do before you return.” She held out her hand. “May I borrow your phone?”

Lachlan passed it over and waited for Jane to duck back into the cabin. When she reemerged, she showed him the photo she'd taken. It was of the small safe she'd found at the bottom of the druid's wardrobe. “It's locked, but we need to find out what's inside. I think we can conclude that either Tom Green or an herbalist poisoned the druid. But why? Because of what's locked in this safe? Because he murdered Kira? Hopefully, I'll have more answers by the time you come back, but if none of the Fins can crack this lock, then you'll have to ask for help.”

“Who can break into a . . .” Lachlan understood before he even finished his sentence. “Edwin Alcott.”

“I have no choice but to trust him.” Jane prepared to replace the bandanna over her mouth and nose. “Be careful.”

Lachlan pointed at the door. “Lock that behind you. I'll be as quick as I can.”

Jane watched him go. When she reentered the cabin, she ignored his command. Instead, she left the door ajar and opened all the windows. She wanted the mountain air to sweep the foul stench out of the cabin, and she also took comfort in the outdoor noises. The birdsong and insect sawing. The squirrel chatter and the shrill cry of hawks. The sounds were so ordinary, so peaceful, compared to the sight of the druid's body as he lay, frozen in his final spasm, on the floor.

For the first time since her arrival, Jane really looked at
the main room. Like the bedroom, it contained several pieces of easy-assembly furniture, but it included a futon and a flat-screen television as well. There was also a gas stove, a sink, a refrigerator, and a coffeemaker, so the druid had his creature comforts.