Murder in the Secret Garden (20 page)

By the time Jane finally crawled into bed, it was so late that the night had already begun to morph into the next day and she felt sick with exhaustion.

After re-creating the scene from the bridal suite, Jane had watched McCullough and two other officers load Hannah, Victoria, and Carson into police cars. Carson had refused to ride in the same vehicle as his wife, though Victoria had been completely oblivious to his existence. She'd been far too preoccupied comforting her sister.

“I know you're scared,” Jane had heard her whisper. “But by tomorrow morning, it'll be all over and everything will be okay. You'll see. Have I ever let you down before?”

Hannah had shaken her head, her eyes filled with doubt. Jane couldn't blame her. Not only was Victoria's statement cryptic and strange, but Hannah also had every reason to be terrified. She could no longer hide in her guest room. It was time for her to confess to her crime. She'd deliberately poisoned Andrew Green and her secrets were about to be laid bare.

Jane had watched a female officer gently help Hannah into the backseat of the cruiser before closing the door.

“We'll be in touch,” she'd said, giving Jane a polite nod.

The police cars had eased away from Storyton Hall's entrance, their tires crunching over the gravel driveway as they headed for the massive iron gates. A few days ago, the three passengers in those cars had arrived as honored guests. Now, they were being taken over the mountain for questioning.

Jane, who'd been flanked by Fins, had stared at the red taillights until they'd receded into the blackness. When there'd been nothing left to see, she'd finally closed her dry, throbbing eyes. Still, the image of the red lights had remained imprinted on her inner lids.

“We all need to grab a few hours of sleep,” she'd told the Fins and had gone home to find Billy sound asleep on her sofa. After laying a blanket over him, she'd trudged upstairs. She managed to kick off her shoes and climb under the blankets before she was pulled down into blissful oblivion.

It seemed as though she'd just closed her eyes when she felt a hand shaking her forearm and a high-pitched voice saying something about breakfast.

Jane tried to swat the offending hand away, but a second hand clamped onto her shoulder and another voice rambled on about a man and the doorbell. The persistence of both disturbances dragged her closer to wakefulness.

“I need . . . a few more minutes,” Jane croaked without opening her eyes.

As though from a great distance, she heard whispering followed by the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs. And then, silence.

It was the silence that forced her into alertness.

Slowly, she dragged her sleep-heavy body out of bed, changed out of yesterday's clothes, pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a well-worn Virginia Tech tee, and downed three
ibuprofen before heading downstairs to see what mischief the twins had gotten into.

Edwin was in the kitchen. He stood on one side of the island like a professor at a lectern while Hem and Fitz sat on stools on the opposite side, cracking eggs into mixing bowls.

“Eggcellent.” Edwin said with the hint of a smile and, after a heartbeat, the twins giggled at his corny joke. Catching sight of Jane, Edwin's smile grew. “Good morning. We're making omelets. Would you like to place your order? We have an array of possible fillings.” He waved a hand at the small glass bowls lined up on the island. “Bacon, feta, cheddar, mushrooms, tomatoes, scallions, ham, spinach, or avocado.”

Never had Jane regretted her role as Guardian as much as that moment. She wanted to freeze time—to linger for an hour while Edwin showed her sons how to prepare her omelet. She wished she could calmly sit at the counter and watch them work. And then, after she was served, she could praise them over each and every bite of her breakfast.

“Three of my guests were taken in for questioning last night,” she said to Edwin. “I need to shower and get to the main house as quickly as possible.”

Edwin turned to the boys. “We'll make this a take-out order. Right, gentlemen?”

“Right!” the twins shouted.

“We'll be ready when you are,” Edwin told Jane. “Master Hem, write down your mother's order. Master Fitz, prepare the frying pan.”

The omelet smelled so delicious that Jane ate it while walking from her house to Storyton Hall.

The twins, fueled by eggs, bacon, and the idea of spending a morning at the Jules Verne Pool, said good-bye to Jane and Edwin and raced off.

“You always seem to know just when to show up on my doorstep,” Jane said to Edwin.

Stopping, Edwin reached for the now-empty plate. His hands lingered on Jane's. “I know you have things to take care of, but I believe I know the identity of the book thief.”

This was the last thing Jane had expected to hear. “You do?”

“Yes, and you'll be happy to hear that I don't think she ever intended to remove it from Storyton Hall. I believe she merely wanted to make sure that it was no longer on display.” Edwin looked up, saw a couple strolling arm in arm in their direction, and steered Jane toward the entrance to Milton's Gardens.

“She?” Jane asked when they were completely alone once more.

Lowering his voice, Edwin continued to speak as they walked over the garden paths. Unlike the couple they'd just passed, there was an urgency to their gait and to their bent heads and rapid whispers. “Tammy Kota is responsible for the herbal's disappearance, and I believe she fully intends to return it before leaving Storyton.”

This brought Jane to a dead halt. “Tammy? Why would she steal the book only to return it?”

“I think she was trying to keep it from harm. Last night, I did some research on your herbal. One of my contacts was able to help me discover exactly why that book was so valuable. It wasn't the description or drawings—though they are certainly wonderful—but one illumination in particular that made this herbal so unique. And for women living in the twelfth century, extremely dangerous,” Edwin quickly explained.

Jane, who'd seen a number of materials in Storyton's secret library written for the sole purpose of denigrating, ridiculing, and even sterilizing women, felt her ire rising. “In what way?”

“The monk copying the original text changed a single entry in your herbal. On the page recommending how to stop blood loss in females, he added a snake to the illumination
of the woman. This was to equate all women as Eve the Temptress, no doubt. But censoring the fairer sex wasn't enough for this monk. He changed the herb cited as well. I can't remember what the original plant was supposed to be, but this monk changed it to feverfew.” Edwin's expression was stern. “Feverfew would increase the flow of blood. It would produce the opposite reaction as the original plant cited.”

“That's reprehensible!” Jane cried.

“According to my source—another man of God—this monk's treachery was discovered and he was thrown out of the Benedictine Order. The book wasn't destroyed—probably because books were so precious back then. Despite its grievous and deliberate error, the herbal was kept hidden away until it ended up in the hands of a Steward.”

Jane frowned. “But all the herbalists would have known that the herb recommended on that page was the wrong one, wouldn't they?”

“Only those proficient in Latin. The name of the herb is buried in the rest of the text,” Edwin said. “The language restriction narrowed my suspect list to Claude, Constance, and Tammy. Tammy graduated from a Catholic high school where she won an award for her excellence in Latin. Also, she's the only person who knows the real Constance Meredith. Constance, whose mother was a missionary and died shortly after Constance was born. Her mother hemorrhaged, you see, and the doctor overseeing the delivery was completely inept. Especially compared to the village midwife. However, Constance's father wouldn't allow an untrained, native woman to treat his wife. As a result of his pigheadedness, she died.”

“The doctor couldn't stop the bleeding?” Jane asked, feeling overwhelming sadness on Constance's behalf. Here was yet another child who grew up without a mother.

Edwin looked aggrieved. “The tale is unclear, but the
midwife told her children that the doctor gave Constance's mother the wrong medicine. Instead of saving her, it's possible that he hastened her death.”

Jane sucked in a quick breath. “Just like the recommendation in our herbal.”

“Exactly,” Edwin said. “My theory is that Tammy didn't want Constance to see that page. She's probably Constance's only true friend among the herbalists.”

We all keep parts of our stories hidden
, Jane thought.
A chapter or two buried deeply within ourselves so that it can't hurt us anymore. But the words and images find a way to the light. They always find a way. Stories aren't meant to be hidden. Even the ugliest, most painful ones must be revealed or they'll rot inside of us like moldy pages.

Jane took the breakfast plate from Edwin's hand and placed it on the ground. She then slid her arms around his back and pressed her head against his chest. “I don't know how you discovered all of this, but thank you. So much misery was carried to Storyton inside the hearts of this group of herbalists that I'd like to believe that at least one of them, Tammy, is different. Having spoken with her several times, I think she's earned the chance to prove her character.” She pulled back and gave Edwin a small smile. “I don't expect Sinclair to be wild about this scheme.”

“Nor do I.” Edwin leaned in and gave Jane a tender kiss. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No, thanks, I've got this.”

Edwin smiled. “I know you do. I'll be back for the final event. If it's still on, that is. I promised Eloise I'd go with her.”

“The Poison Princess's lecture!” Jane exclaimed. “I haven't given it any thought. I'm not sure if there'll be anyone in the audience—not when everyone hears that Hannah Billingsley was arrested under suspicion of murder.”

“Are you kidding? The whole village is coming.” Edwin
ran a fingertip down Jane's cheek. “Everything's going to be all right. You'll see.”

Scooping up her plate, Jane tried to hold on to Edwin's optimism, as well as the whisper of warmth on her skin, as she entered Storyton Hall.

Butterworth met her in the middle of the lobby.

“Coffee,” he said, presenting her with a mug and relieving her of her dirty dish.

“Bless you.” Jane closed her eyes, took a fortifying sip, and then met the butler's even stare. “Tell me. Are Mr. and Mrs. Earle raising hell yet?”

“They started carrying on at about half past six.” Butterworth consulted his gold pocket watch. “By now, I imagine they're directing their rage at anyone wearing a police uniform. While they were waiting for a car to be brought around, Mrs. Earle informed me that the family attorney is being flown out by company helicopter and that we should expect to see her son and daughter-in-law freed by lunchtime.”

Jane raised her brows. “I'm surprised she included Victoria in that statement.”

“It was clearly a struggle,” said Butterworth.

“I guess she doesn't care about Hannah's fate.”

Butterworth merely grunted.

“Well, right or wrong, I do,” Jane said. “And I can only imagine the discomfort she must be experiencing. I'm sure she's in dire need of her medication.”

“That investigation is out of our hands now. We have another to solve before day's end,” Butterworth reminded her.

Jane glanced down at her coffee cup and wondered if the Fins would find Edwin's story credible. “Actually,” she began, but was unable to continue for she saw Tom Green pushing a rolling cart across the carpet. It was Tom's custom to replace the floral arrangements on Mondays, but Jane hadn't expected to see him today. If ever, considering all that had happened.

“Good morning, Mr. Green,” Butterworth said as though this were an ordinary Monday.

Tom returned the greeting with evident relief and then gave Jane a hesitant smile. “I hear I have you to thank for my freedom,” he said in his quiet voice. “But Hannah . . .” His shook his head, his eyes sliding away to lock on the floral arrangement made of sunflowers, delphinium, alstroemeria, yarrow, and daisy poms destined for the lobby's center table. “I just can't believe it.”

“Did they tell you why she was arrested?” Jane asked.

“No,” Tom replied.

Jane pointed at her coffee cup. “Let's sit down together over some coffee and I'll explain what I can.” She gave him an encouraging smile and gestured at the row of silver coffee urns lined up on a rectangular table on the east side of the lobby.

Though she was more than ready for another hit of caffeine, her real motivation was to speak with Tom in private. The kind, quiet man had been hurt already, but Jane was about to add to his injuries. At least, when she wounded him, she would do it as gently as possible.

In her office, Jane invited Tom to sit in a guest chair. She then drew a second chair close to his. “My friend, I'm so sorry for all that you've been through. I'm also sorry for having doubted you in any way. Can you forgive me?”

Tom blinked in surprise. “I don't blame you or anyone else, Ms. Steward. You've always looked out for the people of Storyton and that's what you were doing when you came to talk to me at my shop. Someone was killed and you were trying to find out what happened. Even when the police took me in, you still keep searching for answers. Because of that, I'm here this morning, doing my job. So you see, there's nothing to forgive.”

Jane waited a moment for Tom to take a sip of coffee. Then she said, “I don't think it was Hannah's intent to cause
you grief. I really believe she likes you, Tom, and probably regrets having hurt you in any way. Unfortunately, her entire life has been colored by pain, and the source of her pain was your father.”