Deader Homes and Gardens Part 16

Jordan could be anywhere. I looked in the backyard, then at the bridge, the road, and the wooded mountains. If she was escaping, she had a healthy head start. I had no intention of beating the bushes, figuratively or literally. The delivery trucks had not yet driven away to distribute botanical bliss across the state. Jordan might have found an opportunity to hop in the back of one. She had experience, if not expertise, in that form of transportation. Without the Mohawk and the bling, she had a chance of blending into a large town or a city. She had street skills. It was a discouraging thought.

I tucked in my blouse, pulled a twig out of my hair, and walked back to the nursery. I wasn't sure how to approach Ethan, if Charles was still lurking nearby. When I saw the two of them, I waved. They waited in silence, as unflinching as the columns at the Karnak Temple near Luxor.

"I came to offer my condolences," I said. "Moses was ... quite a character."

Ethan nodded. "Thank you. I'll miss the old coot."

"Do not speak ill of the dead," Charles said sternly. "Moses was the great-great-grandson of Moses Ambrose Hollow, the patriarch of our family. We have suffered a painful loss on this day."

Not so painful as to interfere with business as usual, I amended mentally. "I see that the trucks are being loaded. This is a busy season, isn't it?"

"Yes," Ethan said, his forehead wrinkling. "Is there something I can do for you, Claire? I want to get the trucks on the road as soon as possible. The drivers are waiting for me to do a final inspection to see that we have everything on the order list."

"How fascinating. Do you mind if I tag along?"

Charles harrumphed. "This is not a playground. You have no legitimate reason to be here. As the CEO of Hollow Valley Nursery, I demand that you leave the premises immediately."

"Or what? Are you going to have me arrested for trespa.s.sing? I look forward to answering reporters' questions at the gate. Whatever I say will be both entertaining and enlightening, and might hint at illegal activity. Is that what you want, Charles?" The final word was laden with derision.

Ethan intervened. "There's no harm in letting you see how efficiently we operate." He took my arm and led me toward the nearest truck. He held up the clipboard and read the names and quant.i.ties of the trees, shrubs, and flowers. A workman inside the truck responded to each with a curt confirmation. I listened intently for a telltale gasp from an unauthorized pa.s.senger. As we started for the next truck, he slowed down and said, "Pandora told me what happened the other night. I'm sorry you had to see her at her worst. She'd always thought of herself as an earth mother, raising children in an open setting and embracing nature. After a couple of years, she began to unravel."

He may have been thinking of her as a pile of mohair yarn, but I saw a bale of barbed wire. "So you don't mind her nocturnal activities?" I asked.

"I can't put her in a cage. It's awful to say this, but I tolerate her unacceptable behavior for the sake of the children. We love them dearly." He wiped away a tear. "She's agreed to therapy. If it doesn't help, well ... I'll have to do something."

We arrived at the second truck. Ethan told one of the workmen to climb into the back. He and the workman ran through the routine, although it appeared that three more hemlocks were required. There were no gasps. While we waited, our backs to Charles, he added, "Please don't tell anyone else about ... what happened. They're already worried about her. If they found out the truth, they'd go ballistic. You'd be able to hear Charles in the next county."

"Okay," I said, "as long as you tell me the truth about something. Are there any plans to turn the valley into a housing development?"

"That's ridiculous. Hollow Valley has been in the family for a hundred and fifty years. It's our enclave, our business, our heritage. No one would consider selling a square foot of land to some developer."

"Terry Kennedy wasn't a member of the family," I pointed out. "He was free to sell his acreage to anyone he wanted. Before he was murdered, that is."

"The land was never rightfully his," Ethan said with a trace of anger. "He was a poker player, wasn't he? He took a gamble when he intimidated Winston into signing that worthless paper. Our lawyer has a.s.sured us that there will be no problem convincing a judge to find that Winston was under mental duress, and therefore incapable of entering into a legal contract."

"It's a shame that Terry won't be in court to present his side of the story. He might have presented a compelling version of the events prior to the signing of the deed. The executor of his estate won't be able to call any witnesses."

"Yeah, it's a d.a.m.n shame. I need to get the guys on the road." He slammed the back doors of the truck and went to the cab to talk to the driver.

I was relieved to know that Jordan was not a stowaway on either truck. I looked over the workmen, wondering which one was Danny Delmond's accomplice. The one who was responsible for his unseemly behavior grinned at me, but I shot him down with a withering stare that singed his nose hairs. Several of them looked as if they would fit the role of a hit man, and I couldn't rule out the woman truck driver with the bulky biceps. I failed to acknowledge Charles as I went back to the Old Tavern. Jordan was not perched in a tree or snoozing in the backyard. I continued down the road and turned at the driveway to Winston's house, or Terry's house, or Terry's heirs' house. Not my house, alas.

Caron and Inez were sitting in the porch swing.

"What are you two doing here?" I asked as I came up the steps.

"Mother, do you know there's a woman pa.s.sed out in the master bedroom?" Caron demanded.

"Oh, good."

"What does that mean?"

"Trust me," I said with a sigh. "It's very, very good."

14.

"Isn't she that tight-lipped woman who lives around here?" Inez asked.

"Yes, and it's better if she stays where she is," I said. "We have a problem. Jordan's disappeared, and I'm concerned." I gave them a puzzled look. "So what are you doing here?"

Caron shrugged. "You told us that we had to be home at four o'clock so we can babysit this juvenile delinquent. We waited Forever. I tried to call you, but you didn't answer. You're supposed to keep your cell phone handy, you know. We finally decided to come out here and see what's going on. It's really crazy at the turnoff."

"So crazy," Inez added, "that we drove down to some little dirt road and parked and then came across the pasture. Caron wanted to see where that lady's body was buried, but there was yellow tape."

I gave them an account of my conversation with Margaret Louise and Nattie, and Moses's death. "Jordan was furious the last time I saw her. She may be disturbed about Moses. I never heard her say much of anything about him."

Inez clung to the spotlight, despite Caron's growing displeasure. "She liked him because he didn't give her a hard time. They used to sneak down here so he could get into the wine. He even let her have a gla.s.s, but she said it tasted nasty. He was like really old, wasn't he? When my great-grandmother died, my parents forgot to tell me for a week. It was sad, but not tragic like when Bambi's mother died."

"Bambi!" Caron said with a sniff. "You can be so immature, Inez."

I moved them to the ends of the swing and sat in the middle. The chains creaked in an ominous fas.h.i.+on but held our collective weight. "Let's figure out where Jordan may have gone. Did she have any favorite spots, Inez?"

"Just the pot garden."

An image came back to me-Terry, Jordan, and Inez, laughing ever so merrily as they sat by the pool. "Inez," I said carefully, "I don't want to hear another word about that. Not one word."

Caron leaned forward to look at her. "You got stoned? That is way cool."

"It is in no way cool," I said. Now I wasn't so enthusiastic about finding Jordan, who could introduce the girls to things that I didn't want to think about. "I promise you that this will be discussed later-and at length."

We swung for a few minutes. I tried to keep myself from composing the lecture I would deliver in the near future, but I had a difficult time trying to focus on Jordan's whereabouts. She could be anywhere in the valley, sitting under a tree while she devised how best to seek revenge. She could be hitchhiking to Philadelphia in a rusty pickup truck driven by a fugitive from a chain gang. Or a street gang. She'd mellowed over the previous week, but she could have relapsed.

A voice from inside the house disrupted my meanderings. "I hear my drunk," I said as I stood up. "It's too soon to try to sober her up, but I'm afraid of what might happen to her if she staggers home in her current condition." They expressed no interest in a.s.sisting me. I went to the master bedroom and found Felicia struggling to stand up.

"Got to go," she mumbled. "Got to make dinner."

I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. "You don't have to go anywhere. Charles can make himself a sandwich."

She chewed on that for a moment. "No, this is Monday, I think. We have meat loaf on Monday, fried chicken on Tuesday..." Her hands fluttered in the air. "On Wednesday, we have a salad because we have to go to church and sit on a d.a.m.n pew and listen to the choir mangle some hymn, and on Thursday we have spaghetti, and on Friday I'm gonna bake a great big humble pie and make the old fart eat it with his fingers!"

"Good job on menu planning," I said. "Why don't you lie down and dream about picking humble berries in the meadow?"

"I thought they grew on trees," she said, sn.i.g.g.e.ring as she fell back. "Doughnuts grow on bushes. All you have to do is plant Cheerios in the spring. Bet you didn't know that, did you?" She was giggling so wildly that her feet flopped on the end of the bed. "When Esther was a little girl, she and I planted a chocolate chip. A few weeks later I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies and told her that I'd picked them off the bush. She loved it, my sweet little girl. Is she here yet?"

We were back to the teary thing. I sat down and held her hand while she rambled about Esther's innocence and talents and so forth. She tossed in a few remarks about Charles that were not complimentary, and surprisingly creative. I heard Caron and Inez come inside, and shortly thereafter the sound of the refrigerator door being opened. It reminded me of Angela, who'd stocked the refrigerator for her lover. I still had no clue to his ident.i.ty-a.s.suming the lover was male. I toyed with that for a while, still holding Felicia's hand and murmuring soothing noises. I replayed what I could remember of Angela's monologues and concluded that she was as straight as a sorority reception line.

Felicia finally dozed off. I extricated my hand and went into the kitchen. Caron and Inez had found canned sodas, crackers, and a jar of peanut b.u.t.ter. They watched me as I went to the French doors and looked out at the pool and the meadow. Jordan did not come hopping through the clover like a little punk bunny. She was safe from Danny, who would not risk coming to Hollow Valley. His accomplice might be within the confines, however. After some thought, I decided that Jordan wasn't at risk. She had no control over her father's property, since he had deeded it to the family. She was in Philadelphia at the time of Winston's death. She and Inez had been present when Terry drank the vodka, but they hadn't seen anything that aroused their suspicion.

Moses had been there as well. He was no longer available for questioning, however futile it might have been. The medical examiner would consult with Moses's doctor and declare the death a result of natural causes. Unlike Winston, he would merit a funeral, and presumably a spot in the family plot. The phrase disturbed me, although I wasn't sure why. I nibbled on my lip, which was getting sore, as I turned around and sat down on a stool by the island.

"Did Jordan mention a family plot?" I asked Inez.

She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "You mean where they bury people? Yes, it's on the other side of the river, near the bridge and the back road. She said that the headstones are mossy and there are weeds all over the place. She found out that she had a great-great-aunt named Ethiopia. Isn't that wild?"

"It's dumb," Caron said. "Was her husband's name Cameroon?"

"Lloyd, I think."

"I want the two of you to go find the family plot and see if Jordan's there," I said. "I can't leave Felicia alone."

Caron winced. "You want us to swim across a river and hike through the woods just because Jordan might be hugging a headstone? I forgot to bring my bathing suit, boots, compa.s.s, and camouflage T-s.h.i.+rt. What if we get shot by deer hunters?"

"Bullets can travel more than two miles," Inez contributed helpfully.

"It's not deer season," I said, hoping it wasn't. "You can get across the stream on a fallen tree trunk, or go farther downstream to a shallow place. Worry about poison ivy, not lions and tigers. Call me on my cell when you get there."

"What's the point of that?" Caron asked, one eyebrow raised. It was a skill I'd yet to master, making it all the more annoying. "Do you even know how to answer it?"

"If I don't hear from you in thirty minutes, I'll call the police and report you as runaways. That's a status offense. I'd hate for you to spend your senior year in a juvenile detention facility."

"You are So Not Funny," Caron said as she and Inez got up. They went out the French doors, leaving a redolence of indignation behind them. I reminded myself how endearing she'd been as a toddler.

I found my cell in the bottom of my purse. Terry's lawyer, Ms. Cranberry, had left a message asking me to contact her. Her office had closed two hours ago, so there was no reason to call back. I made a pot of coffee, looked in on Felicia, and returned to the kitchen for a peanut b.u.t.ter cracker. Sleuthing plays havoc with normal meals. A drop of Scotch sounded divine, but I wasn't about to drink anything in the liquor cabinet that had not been put through a rigorous round of tests. Jorgeson had told me that the poison was not among the usual suspects. In mystery novels, the antagonist has access to African tree frog sweat or bamboo curare, purchased in a quaint corner chemist's shoppe next to a tearoom. The rest of us are obliged to buy weed killer at a discount store. I'd never tasted the stuff, but it had a pungent odor that vodka and lemonade would not mask.

Anyone who knew the location of the house could have planted the bottle. I doubted that preference for vodka and tonic was a secret. He'd upset Felicia when he offered her one at Terry's party. Had Charles not been there, she might have s.n.a.t.c.hed the gla.s.s from his hand and drained it. She was a gifted actress. She'd fooled me, and all the family members, too. I nearly choked on the cracker in my mouth. Unless her husband preferred to tolerate her weakness, as Ethan did with Pandora b.u.t.terfly. His church was inflexible and willing to blame the innocent along with the guilty. Charles would no longer be the Grand Pooh-Bah of the congregation. The only way to test my theory was to send her home, but I wasn't that confident.

I wasn't that confident about anything, I thought morosely. Although anyone could have planted the bottle, he or she couldn't have known that Terry had come back to Hollow Valley. If the tainted vodka bottle had been in the cabinet for three months, Moses would have drained it and died in the kitchen instead of his own bed. The medical examiner wouldn't have been quite so eager to declare the death due to natural causes. Nattie and Felicia had looked appropriately sad when Moses's body had been wheeled out on a gurney. When Terry's body had been dealt with the same way, the family members had looked stunned. If I recalled accurately (and I always do), I'd been accused of not telling them that Terry had returned. They'd been downright testy about it, as if I had an obligation to knock on their respective doors and enlighten them.

The coffeepot stopped gurgling. I went into the master bedroom to find out if Felicia had recovered enough to drink lots of black coffee. She'd had a couple of hours of sleep. The alcohol was still in her bloodstream, but if she could be induced to move around and take her caffeine like an adult, I might be able to mask the worst of her symptoms. It was time to confront the shower.

I took off her clothes, wrestled her into the shower stall, and turned on four showerheads to blast her with cold water. She did not enjoy the experience. I helped her dress, clutched her arm, and maneuvered her into the kitchen. Under my stern supervision, she drank three cups of coffee.

Felicia waggled her finger at me in reproach. "You didn't have to do that. I wasn't inebriated; I was tipsy. There was something about Esther, wasn't there?"

I repeated what I said and promised to contact Esther the next day. "You're going to have to deal with Charles," I continued. "You're miserable being married to him. You can't pretend that you're staying together for the sake of your child. She's long gone, and happier for it."

"Divorce Charles?" she asked, shocked. "I could never do that. He wouldn't survive without his position at the nursery. That and the church are the only two things he really cares about. The church does not condone divorce. It's considered blasphemy because marriage vows are sacred. Wives are not permitted to complain about their husbands, even if the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are having affairs on the side."

"Like Charles?" I held my breath.

"Hardly," she said with a sn.i.g.g.e.r. "No one would put up with him. If I'd believed in premarital s.e.x, I would have dropped him like a molten rock and married the next man I met at the grocery store. He has his secrets, though." She slid off the stool and grabbed the edge of the island until she regained her balance. "I need to go home. Will you please let me know what Esther says? Whatever she wants. We can meet at a cafe or a park. Five minutes is better than never."

I stood on the terrace and watched her until she wobbled into the orchard. I'd made an unsuccessful stab at playing marriage counselor. She would return to her abuser again and again, like so many battered women, before she accepted the simple fact that he would never change. I wished her well, then went inside to check the time. Caron and Inez had been gone more than thirty minutes. I carried my cell while I searched the house for nooks and crannies large enough to conceal a teenager. I forced myself to go down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. The wine racks had numerous empty slots, courtesy of Moses. Beyond that was a large, unfinished room. I mentally equipped it with a wet bar, comfortable seating, and a billiard table beneath a rectangular stained-gla.s.s light fixture. Now all I needed was a conservatory, a lounge, and a ballroom.

My cell phone chirped. I opened it and said, "I was getting worried about you. Did you find Jordan?"

"Who's Jordan?" said Deputy Chief Peter Rosen.

"h.e.l.lo, my love. How are you?"

"Who's Jordan?"

I needed to get him off the line, which required a certain amount of evasion. "One of Caron's friends. You haven't met her. When are you coming home?"

"Tomorrow night. We're getting nowhere. The state police are still looking for witnesses, but it's an impossible task. The feds insist on endless meetings in which everybody says the same things over and over. The governor's up for reelection, so he calls a press conference three times a day. The big guns from North Carolina left this morning."

"Quite a dither over a hijacking," I said. "I'm in the middle of something, so why don't I call you back later?"

"In the middle of what?"

I was getting tired of his rash a.s.sumptions that I was meddling in official police business. "Stir-fry," I said. "It's very healthy. Oops, the broccoli is smoking. I'll talk to you later." I'd never actually made a stir-fry dish, but I'd glanced at a recipe that had an extensive list of vegetables to be sliced and diced and set aside in separate piles. It was an apt description of my muddle. I had three murders, numerous motives, and an unknown number of suspects. If only I could toss all of it in a wok, stir and fry, and end up with one simple dish. It would not be humble pie.

It had now been forty-five minutes since Caron and Inez headed out on their mission. I resigned myself to wet shoes, chiggers, and whatever lay in wait for me across the river. There was no reason to lock the house. I was halfway out the door when my cell phone chirped. I crossed my fingers and answered it.

"Sorry it took so long," Caron said. "We were being careful not to be seen by the reporters on the road. Anyway, Jordan is not in the graveyard. We found Ethiopia's headstone. She was born in eighteen ninety-three and died when she was a hundred years old. Lloyd died almost forty years before she did."

"Fascinating."

"I'm sick and tired of tromping around in the woods, which happen to cover miles and miles of rocks, stumps, and bugs. I nearly stepped on a snake. I'm spending the night at Inez's house. See you tomorrow."

She switched off her phone before I could respond. I considered calling her back, but I didn't want to hear any more whining. I had no inclination to step on a snake. If Jordan didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be. I had never hiked farther than Luanne's shop on Thurber Street.

I cleaned up the kitchen and straightened the bedspread in the master bedroom. I had no reason to stay in Hollow Valley any longer. My time would be better spent in battle with the boxes in every room of the duplex. I made sure I had my cell phone and then went out the front door. As I peered into the back of my car to make sure I wouldn't have an extra pa.s.senger, Nattie came across the gra.s.s.

"Claire, I'm so glad you're still here. I want to apologize for my behavior at the Old Tavern. Margaret Louise called Sheldon and Joanne last night. When they heard about Terry and Angela, they had a fit. They wanted Jordan on the next flight to Philadelphia. Then they remembered that they were leaving in less than a week for a vacation in Aruba and backed off. Margaret Louise promised to watch Jordan like a sharp-s.h.i.+nned hawk until they get back. She was angry at me for telling you that Jordan could spend the night at your house. I a.s.sured her that you would take very good care of her ward, but I couldn't persuade her to change her mind. Poor Jordan was infuriated. Please forgive me."

"I was miffed, but I accept your apology. I am sorry about Moses. He was entertaining, in his way. I couldn't decide when he was telling the truth and when he was spewing nonsense. The Light Brigade will miss him, too."

Nattie laughed. "All six hundred of them. Moses had dementia, and his medication made it worse. Last year he claimed that the valley had been infiltrated by n.a.z.is. For at least a month he sat in a tree, binoculars around his neck, prepared to sound the call to arms. When he was hungry, he hollered for me to bring him rations. He dangled a cord so I could tie the bag to it, and then he'd hoist it up. At least I knew where to find him."

"Caron did that for a day when she was seven. She was on the lookout for Captain Hook and his pirates, although Farberville's five hundred miles from the Gulf of Mexico."

"If I were you, I wouldn't believe anything Moses said." She glanced around the yard. "Have you seen Jordan?"

I shook my head. "Not since I was in the kitchen at the Old Tavern."

"Margaret Louise will throw a fit if Jordan doesn't show up before dark, especially after talking to her parents last night. There have been times when she frightened me." She gave me an appraising look. "You wouldn't lie about this, would you? I know you feel sorry for her."

I met her gaze. "I have no idea where Jordan is right now. I have not seen her since I was at the Old Tavern several hours ago. If I knew where she was, I'd tell you. I'm worried about her, too."

"Okay," Nattie said. "I'll call you when she drags home."