Murder in the Secret Garden (22 page)

McCullough dipped his chin. “I see no need to cuff you. If you'd just walk with me out front, we'll keep this nice and quiet.”

“Thank you,” Victoria said as Jane echoed the sentiment with her eyes. “Can my sister walk with us?”

McCullough allowed it, and the two sisters held hands through the lobby and down the steps to the waiting cruiser. Jane didn't want to watch their parting, but did so anyway.

Hannah stood alone in the driveway, her arms wrapped around her body, until the police cars were gone. And then Tom joined her. He returned the hyacinth she'd left behind in Shakespeare's Theater, and as she brought it to her nose to breathe in its scent, he spoke softly to her.

And when he offered her his hand to lead her back inside Storyton Hall, she gave him the smallest of smiles and took it.

For Jane, the rest of the day was a seemingly endless blur punctuated by the ringing of phones and a barrage of questions from curious guests.

The Earles were so anxious to get the ball rolling on Carson's legal separation from Victoria that they left Storyton in the company helicopter without even waiting for permission from the authorities.

As for Hannah, she seemed to grow in strength and confidence as the day progressed. By teatime, she'd hired a defense attorney to represent her sister and rented a small house in Alleghany County. She'd done none of these things on her own, however. Tom had advised her, driven her around, and done his best to comfort her.

When Jane noticed the pair seated at a table in the Agatha Christie Tea Room—a man and a woman on the verge of keeling over from exhaustion and grief, but still able to smile at each other—she believed that some higher power had brought them together. The thought warmed her heart.

By that time, most of The Medieval Herbalists had
checked out. Not the Poison Princess, of course. Though she'd already given her lecture to a packed theater, Constance Meredith wasn't going to leave when an army of television crews was about to descend on Storyton Hall.

And descend they did, because any story involving Earle Pharmaceuticals was a big story. By four in the afternoon, news vans were double-parked outside Storyton's iron gates. Jane and the Fins watched several early reports in the privacy of the security room and found them to be very similar. They focused their venom on the corrupt partnership between Earle Pharmaceuticals and physicians like Andrew Green. Kira's murder was also mentioned, but it was more of a footnote at the end of the main piece despite attempts by both Sheriff Evans and Officer McCullough to give the deaths of Kira Grace and Andrew Green equal weight.

Tammy, who'd also decided to stay an extra night after Constance had insisted on paying not only for her room, but also for dinner and drinks, was incensed over how the media marginalized Kira's murder.

“Don't stand for it, then,” Jane heard Constance tell Tammy as she approached the two women while they sat in the Ian Fleming Lounge.

“What do you suggest I do? Wait until one of the reporters is doing a live shot and then lunge for their microphone?” Tammy asked. “It would take something totally over the top to get them to want to tape me. I'm an aging hippie. A Bohemian soap maker. They won't pay attention to a word I say.”

“I'll make them listen,” Constance said. “I'll hook them with the poison angle, and when they're on the line, that's when you'll inform their viewers that
the druid's
most recent victim was one of the most talented photographers of our time. You'll tell them how Kira Grace might have talked too loudly and worn crazy clothes, but that she made the world a better place because she was full of life and laughter. Tell them that she was our friend and that we're going to
miss her.” To Jane's surprise, Constance hid her face in her hands.

“Oh, Connie.” Tammy put an arm around Constance's shoulder and squeezed. “Why don't you ever show your softer side to other people? Beneath all that talk of paralysis and necrotic tissue is a woman with a tender heart.”

Constance cursed under her breath, and suddenly both women were giggling uncontrollably.

After she'd witnessed so much grief, the sound of their girlish merriment was a balm to Jane's spirit. Glancing away from the two herbalists, Jane gazed around the room. The lounge was crowded. Many of the new guests had checked in that afternoon and still wore looks of wide-eyed wonder. They didn't seem the slightest bit nervous about staying at Storyton Hall, and Jane guessed this was due to the fact that the media had downplayed the resort's connection to the murders. The Internet and television reports focused on images of Andrew Green's homestead, along with photographs of Mr. and Mrs. Earle and select Earle Pharmaceutical's board members in what was now being called the Benetyne Scandal. Storyton Hall was mentioned, but never in a negative light. Because of this, Jane began to believe that their future bookings would remain intact.

Someone barked out a hearty laugh from the far corner of the lounge, causing Tammy to turn and spot Jane.

“Hi, there!” She raised her glass. “Me and the Poison Princess are blowing off a little steam. Would you like to pull up a stool?”

Jane smiled to show that she appreciated the invitation. “Thanks, but I need to get home. However, I didn't want to head out without speaking to you first. Ms. Meredith, do you mind if I borrow Tammy for a few minutes?”

Constance slid off her stool and gave the seat a firm pat. “Keep it warm for me. I'm going to see if I can get us an earlier dinner reservation. I'm famished. I missed all the
teatime treats because I was too busy talking to people after my lecture, but that's the price one has to pay for being as inherently fascinating as I am.”

Tammy tossed a maraschino cherry stem at her. “They just want to know more about your inherently fascinating friends.”

“Actually, that's true,” Constance said. “The Medieval Herbalists will be a top Google search for weeks to come.” She frowned. “And with Hannah's attention fixed on her sister's defense, who's going to manage our group now?”

“Don't write Hannah off yet,” Tammy said. “I have a feeling she can handle both challenges just beautifully.”

Constance scowled. “You're such a flake. Always seeing the best in people.”

“You know it. Go get us a table, would you? You can bully a waiter or two if that'll make you feel better.”

Unable to maintain her frown, Constance's mouth curved upward. She even managed to wish Jane a pleasant evening before leaving the lounge.

Taking Constance's vacant stool, Jane asked the bartender for a glass of water. She then took out her phone and, covertly hiding the screen from the other guests, showed Tammy the image being displayed.

“I wanted you to see this,” Jane began. “This is a bulletin board I keep in my office. I call it my Hopes and Dreams board. It's a childish name, I know, but it makes its point. After I write a hope or a dream that I have for this place on a piece of paper, I pin it to the board. Every hope or dream is represented by a different color.”

Tammy took the proffered phone. Her lips moved as she read, “‘Restore Chekov's Orchard.' You have an orchard?”

“We have fruit trees,” Jane said. “Mostly apple varieties. But I have no idea what shape they're in. The whole area is a mass of vines and underbrush.”

Looking back at the phone, Tammy continued reading.
“A folly? Cool. I can't imagine how much it would cost to— Wait! A spa? You want to open a spa?”

Jane smiled. “I do. It's the biggest piece of paper on that board. The hot pink one. The falconry program kind of leapfrogged this dream, which is okay because the raptors have been beneficial for the guests, our bank account, and Mr. Lachlan. But the reason I'm talking to you about this now is that I'd like you to be involved in this dream. I can't imagine opening a spa without you. You're the only person I can picture running it.”

Tammy stared at her, openmouthed in shock. “Me?”

“Yes. Your products are perfect for facials and massages. All natural, herbal, and environmentally conscious. And far beyond your products, there's your gift for reading people. For sensing their needs and wishes. There's no one more capable and caring. Are you interested?”

“Are you kidding?” Tammy's eyes glittered like a child's at a birthday party. But as she looked at the image on Jane's phone again, the light in her eyes faded.

Jane touched her arm. “I'm springing this on you very abruptly. Take a night to think about it, okay? Many things can happen between now and tomorrow morning. For instance, the door to the Henry James Library, which is normally locked at ten o'clock, will remain unlocked tonight.” She felt Tammy stiffen beside her. “A single lamp will illuminate the display case where the antique herbal was displayed. No one will be watching the library or the corresponding hallways. Upon its return, the herbal will be put away in protective storage. Because even though I hate to admit it, some books can be hurtful.”

“You knew?” Tammy asked very quietly.

When Jane nodded, Tammy shook her head in disbelief. “And you're still offering me a job?”

“What was your motivation in taking the book?” Jane asked.

“To spare Constance pain,” Tammy said. “But that's not
the only reason. I would never have done it if I hadn't just lost Kira. I was also lashing out. You need to know that. It wasn't purely altruistic. I'm no saint.”

Jane laughed. “I don't know many saints who can pick locks. How'd you learn to do that?”

Sinclair had already presented Jane with a thick file on Tammy. It was filled with the details a Guardian of Storyton Hall needed to possess before hiring a new staff member. And even though Jane knew all she needed to know about Tammy Kota, she still wanted to hear the answer in person. It would be the first step toward becoming closer to the woman she hoped would run Storyton Hall's spa.

“My dad taught me,” Tammy said. “He was a security guard and one of those survivalist types. He wanted me to have certain skills ‘just in case.' When I was a teenager, I thought he was nuts, but now, I'm glad I learned so many random things from him.” She gave a self-effacing shrug. “I'm pretty rusty, though.”

“You got the job done.” Jane flashed Tammy a grin and then tapped the clock on her phone screen. “Time for me to go home. Think about joining us, would you? I'll catch up with you before checkout tomorrow.”

*   *   *

Optimism flowed through Jane's veins like sunshine. Stepping out on the back terrace, she inhaled deeply. The summer evening air was perfumed by confederate jasmine and honeysuckle, but there was also a faint signature of fresh herbs.

Though she couldn't say why, Jane felt suddenly compelled to spend a few minutes sitting on the low wall of Mrs. Hubbard's kitchen garden, so she changed course, veering away from the paths frequented by Storyton Hall guests to a side path used primarily by staff members.

After she'd ascended several wide steps and entered the
rectangular space located behind the kitchen, the strong aroma of rosemary met her. There, in the corner of the southeast wall, was a bush so large that Jane knew Mrs. Hubbard must have planted it several seasons ago.

Jane moved toward it and reached out to caress a quill-like branch. Thinking of how the herb symbolized remembrance, she bent down and closed her eyes. In the peaceful twilight, she vowed to remember Kira Grace. And if Tammy agreed to become a Storyton Hall employee in the not-so-distant future, she and Jane could decide what would be a proper memorial for her.

Whatever we come up with, we should put it in Milton's Gardens
, Jane thought.
As close to the flowers as possible.

For the first time in days, a sense of serenity enveloped Jane. It was as though the garden sensed all she'd recently been through and was responding by cocooning her in its sweet fragrance and muted, twilight hues.

As she strolled among the herbs, touching velvety leaves, prickly stalks, and silky petals, she realized that she'd never been so aware of the power of each plant until this moment. Like books, plants had the power to heal or to hurt. To woo or to wound.

Jane spotted a small glove at the base of an oregano plant and leaned over to collect it. She smiled when she saw Hem's name written in permanent marker on the cuff. The boys had been working hard in this garden and she loved that they'd taken pride in their work. How she felt about this garden was how she felt about all of Storyton Hall. Every stone. Every book. Every blade of grass on its vast estate.

Jumping up on the wall, she looked out over those grounds now. She imagined all the transformations she wanted to make in the days and years to come and hoped they would prove possible. She wanted to leave a great legacy to her sons, not a dilapidated hotel with untended land.

“You look like a queen surveying her kingdom.”

Jane turned to find Edwin standing at the entrance to the herb garden, a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand and a slim, gift-wrapped package in the other.

“There's a line from
The Secret Garden
that reads, ‘If you look the right way, you can see the whole world is a garden.'” Jane made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “I'm trying to see things through Frances Hodgson Burnett's eyes.”

“Maybe I can help,” Edwin said. Shifting the flowers to the crook of his arm, he offered Jane a hand.

She barely had both feet on the grass when Edwin pointed at the wall. “Would you sit down? I want to say something to you, Jane. I promise not to take long, but it's important.”

“All right,” Jane said, feeling a flutter of anxiety. Was Edwin about to confess another dark secret?

Edwin laid the flowers in her lap. They were a lovely combination of buttercups, Queen Anne's lace, chicory, pink butterfly weed, and purple loosestrife. “I don't know what each flower means,” he began. “I don't have Tom's knowledge. I just think they're beautiful. And tough. Like you.”

Sitting next to Jane, Edwin held her hand very lightly. However, he looked at her with such intensity that Jane was tempted to squirm.

“Why do I get the sense that you're about to say something that can't be unsaid?” she asked, half in jest and half in dread.

“Because I am.” Edwin gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “I know you're concerned about getting involved with me, Jane. You're a mother. I'm a book thief. You're the Guardian of Storyton Hall. I'm The Templar. My life is full of secrets. I understand your reason for hesitating. But I promise you this: I will never put you or the boys at risk. On the contrary, I will do everything in my power to keep the three of you safe.” He placed the gift-wrapped package on
the wall. “I know you haven't had a chance to finish Lionel Alcott's journal, so I'm going to give away the ending.”