I liked to think I was an even-keeled sort of person. I wasn’t prone to making mountains out of molehills or freaking out for no good reason. But the second I realized I was trapped in a small, airless room—which happened to be the site of an unsolved murder—I couldn’t stop the rush of panic if I’d wanted to. I screamed with all my might and pounded on the door with both fists.
“Help! Help! Let me out!”
No one came to let me out. But someone did hear me: little Gus. I could hear his frantic barks through two closed doors. He was stuck too.
I stopped yelling and rubbed the backs of my knuckles. With my heart hammering in my chest, I sucked in a breath and tried to think.
I’d left my phone in my purse, which I’d dropped on the counter in the kitchen. But that shouldn’t matter. Somebody was sure to find me soon. The minute anyone entered Flower House, they’d hear me if I hollered again—and they’d for sure hear Gus’s loud yelps. It was only a matter of time. After all, Deena wouldn’t go home without coming inside to talk to me first, and Calvin lived here.
But who had closed the door on me? And barricaded it? I remembered that the storeroom door didn’t actually have a lock.
Were we being robbed?
A fresh wave of panic surged like a storm tide. Only this time I didn’t scream. I dug my nails into my palms and pressed my ear to the door. I couldn’t hear anything other than Gus’s muffled barks. It occurred to me that maybe it would be best if Calvin and Deena didn’t come running in right away. Because what if an intruder—possibly a murderous, dangerous intruder—was still in here?
Then Gus’s barks fell silent, and I started to fret about him too.
Just when my imagination threatened to run away with me, there was a scraping sound and the door burst open. Calvin stood in the doorway with an expression of astonishment and worry. Gus ran around him to jump on my legs.
“Sierra! What happened? Are you okay?”
“Oh, Calvin, thank goodness!” I tried to bypass Gus, as I stumbled out of the storeroom. At the same time, Calvin reached out to help, and I ended up smashing into his chest. He enveloped me in a tight hug. That turned out to be a good thing, since I was now shaking and felt mighty wobbly on my legs.
“Are you hurt?” said Calvin. He rubbed my arms, then pulled back to search my face. Gus danced excitedly around my feet, barking for attention.
“I’m okay.” I reached down to pet Gus, then grabbed a hold of the back of the chair—which had apparently been wedged under the doorknob. My fear rapidly turned to anger. “Who shut the door on me?”
Calvin wrinkled his forehead. “I was hoping you’d know. I came inside and heard Gus barking like mad. As soon as I let him out, he came running in here and led me to you.”
“Oh, good boy,” I said, holding out my hand to Gus again. Then I looked around. “So, I guess they’re long gone, huh? Is anything missing?”
My purse was right where I’d left it, apparently undisturbed. Calvin went to check the cash register and informed me that it was untouched as well. While he looked in the other rooms, I headed for the back door to step outside. But I stopped when I noticed the cooler door wasn’t closed tightly. I was pretty sure it had been closed earlier.
Cautiously, I pulled the door open. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but I was relieved to see nothing was amiss. Or was it? We always kept a small number of prearranged bouquets in this case (in addition to a few in the display cooler in the front of the shop), as well as several pails of single-stem cut flowers. If I wasn’t mistaken, the containers seemed to have been pushed aside. Squatting down to examine the lowest shelf, I found the same thing. Weird.
I straightened the arrangements, then stood up and gazed around the kitchen again. My eyes fell upon a slightly open cabinet door above the oven. When I opened it wider, I found a cluster of clear glass vases. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But why was the door ajar in the first place? Was someone looking for something?
With Gus following my every move, I proceeded to take a gander inside all the other cabinets. Again, there didn’t appear to be anything missing, and I couldn’t be certain if anything had been moved.
Calvin returned to the kitchen. “By any chance, did you leave the cabinets open in the café?”
“No.” I told him what I’d observed in the kitchen, then walked up front to see the café for myself.
Calvin followed closely behind me. “How long were you locked in the storeroom?”
“It felt like eternity, but it probably wasn’t more than five minutes.”
As I perused the kitchenette, Calvin walked to the front door. “Did you turn the sign over?” he called.
I joined him in the foyer. There was nothing to see in the café. “Yeah. Officer Wills said it would be okay. I also left the door unlocked.”
“So, the person creeping around in here could have come in the front or the back,” mused Calvin. “Though you probably would have heard the bell on the front door.”
I frowned. “I suppose so, unless they opened the door slowly. If they came in the back, Deena should have seen them. She’s out in the garden … isn’t she?”
“She was earlier,” said Calvin. “When I came out of the greenhouse, she wasn’t there.”
We looked at each other for a moment, and I sucked in a breath. Deena! Without a word, I bolted to the back door and ran outside.
“Deena!” I called. My eyes roamed the backyard and garden, as my overactive imagination conjured dire scenarios. What if whoever locked me in the storeroom got to Deena first? Could she be lying somewhere, hurt? Could she have been kidnapped?
Stuffing these scary thoughts, I ran up the driveway toward Oak Street. Deena’s car was still parked next to the curb. Peering frantically up and down the sidewalk, I called her name again.
There was no traffic, nor any pedestrians in sight. The antique store across the street was dark. To the left, I noticed two cars parked in front of the historical society. I guessed that a volunteer had met someone there by appointment, probably a genealogist doing research. To the right, I saw one car parked next to Bread n’ Butter and two bicycles leaning against a pole. Usually the bakery would be closed by now, but I could understand staying open as long as customers wanted to linger.
I was about to dash over to the bakery to ask if anyone had seen Deena, when I heard voices behind me. Looking over at the historical society again, I saw that two women had emerged from the building and were chatting on the porch. One of them I recognized as a girl we’d gone to high school with. The other one was Deena.
Oh, thank God! I slumped with relief. She must have been next door the whole time.
I debated whether to run over and join her or go inform Calvin first. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I gave a start and whirled around, emitting an involuntary squeak at the unexpected visitor: Isaiah Adams.
He flashed his dimples and blinked at me innocently. “Sorry if I scared you.”
“I didn’t hear you come up.” I pressed my hand to my chest and tried to smile back. I was still jumpy from the worry over Deena—not to mention my experience in the storeroom.
“I wondered if I could see the orchids now,” he said.
“The orchids? Sure.” I nodded toward the bicycles. “Those must be Richard’s bikes, huh?”
“Yeah. Vince is still in the bakery. He’s not really interested in flowers. At least, not this kind.”
There was a glint in his eye that made me feel I was missing out on a joke. What other kind of flowers were there?
Calvin came out of the front door with Gus. He seemed almost as surprised to see Isaiah as I was and gave me a questioning look. I pointed toward the historical society to show him where Deena was.
Good, he mouthed, relief showing in his face. Gus tugged at his leash to greet the newcomer.
Isaiah indulgently reached down to let Gus sniff his hand. To Calvin, he said, “Hello, professor.”
“How’s it going?” said Calvin. “Where are your cohorts?”
“Vince is having coffee next door, and April didn’t want to stop.”
So, April was around here someplace too. I met Calvin’s eyes, then inclined my head toward the bicycles. “They rode here from Richard’s B&B,” I said. “Isaiah wants to see the orchids. Do you mind giving him a tour of the greenhouse?”
“Be happy to,” said Calvin, handing me Gus’s leash.
“Thanks, man,” said Isaiah.
I walked with them around the side of the house, keeping a look out as we went. These college kids seemed nice enough, but I still didn’t trust them. Especially since they had started seeming so nice only after their professor’s untimely demise. In fact, other than the few people in my inner circle, I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone right now.
“I always thought you got a raw deal,” Isaiah was saying.
My ears perked up.
“Thanks,” Calvin said.
“Yeah, that was wack. Professor Lowry really screwed you over.”
I pulled up to Isaiah’s side. “You knew about that?”
“About the article?” he said. “Yeah, I knew that wasn’t Lowry’s work. He stopped doing his own stuff a long time ago.”
We reached the door to the greenhouse. Calvin, looking more like a teacher than ever, gave Isaiah a grim smile. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done. And I’m still sorry Professor Lowry is gone.”
Isaiah cocked his head curiously. “Really?”
“Of course,” said Calvin. “No matter how big of a jerk he was, Lowry didn’t deserve to die that way.”
The younger guy twitched his shoulder in a slight shrug. “If you say so.”
My inner alarm bells were ringing. It seemed callous to speak of the recently deceased in this way. I turned to Isaiah. “Was he a jerk to you too?”
Isaiah looked at me blankly. The twitch in his cheek was so faint, I almost missed it. “He could be cranky,” he finally said. “He was not known as a warm and fuzzy teacher. Right, Prof?”
Calvin nodded. “Right.” He opened the greenhouse. “Want to join us, Sierra?”
“Uh, no, thanks. I’ll just take Gus for a quick walk.” I’d learned so much recently I couldn’t keep everything straight anymore. The best thing now was to clear my head.
Deena was still gabbing with her old friend, so I headed down the sidewalk in the other direction. As I passed Bread n’ Butter, I peered in the window and saw Vince sitting at one of the tables. I picked up the pace and crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn’t chance to look outside and spot me. I felt slightly guilty about this. Part of me felt like I ought to go in there and strike up a conversation. Maybe I could get him to tell me more about Lowry and the other students. But I wasn’t up to it right now. In truth, I was still a little spooked about being trapped in the storeroom.
When we reached Melody Gardens, I let Gus take the lead. We meandered along the narrow paths, him exploring with his nose and me admiring the midsummer lushness of the trees and flowers.
Soon we came to a wrought-iron bench beneath an old oak tree. I decided to rest a moment. As I sat down, I twisted to read the plaque on the back of the bench: In loving memory of Georgina Maniford. Of course, I’d seen it before. But it struck me anew how she and Felix must have planted many of the perennials in the little park. I was almost certain they’d started the gorgeous bed of celosias in the patch of sun across the path.
I knew from Granny Mae that young celosia leaves were mild, tasty, and chockful of vitamins and minerals, similar to spinach. Once they bloomed, however, the leaves became bitter and stringy. The problem was I could never bring myself to harvest them before flowering. The showy, feathery, jewel-toned flowers were the best part of growing celosias. Gazing at them now, I was tempted to go over and touch the fuzzy, otherworldly blooms.
Gus didn’t want to stay in one place, so we walked on. The next flowers that caught my eye were a stand of delicate orange poppies along the border of the path. The petals were beginning to drop, but they were still pretty, bobbing in the breeze. I wasn’t sure what variety of poppies these were, but I knew they weren’t opium poppies—aka breadseed poppies, whose pods would be filled with delicious crunchy seeds at the end of the growing season.
Come to think of it, the red poppies Calvin had found on my porch steps might have been opium poppies—mostly likely grown innocently in someone’s backyard. I’d have to ask my neighbors if one of their grandchildren had left me the little bouquet. I had to admit a thunderstorm was a strange time to do so, but maybe they’d left it for me beforehand and Calvin and I had missed it on our way inside. As I recalled, some poppies, such as wild California poppies, were edible and medicinal, while many others were dangerous for people and pets alike.
Gus led us off the path and into an area of grass and groundcover. There was no one around to tell us not to, and it was okay with me as long as we didn’t step on any flowers. My mind continued to wander in the same directionless way. I recalled my idea to create an info card listing common edible flowers. We’d have to focus on the ones that were one hundred percent safe, such as roses and marigolds. I knew there were others, such as honeysuckle, that had edible flowers but highly toxic berries.
Another lesson I’d learned from Granny was that how you prepared some foraged plants made all the difference. For example, pokeweed could be cooked to make a delectable dish called poke sallet—not “salad,” as the song said. If eaten raw, pokeweed leaves could be fatal.
Then again, some plants were extremely toxic from root to petal and seed to berry, such as the lovely scented but highly poisonous lily of the valley. Nature could sure be tricky and confusing.
Lost in these thoughts, I was startled when Gus gave an excited yap. He pulled me in the direction of a person quietly pulling weeds in a shady corner of the garden. It was a woman, leaning over an overgrown clump of white hydrangeas. At the sound of our approach, she turned around—and I saw that it was Wanda Milford.
“Hello, there,” she said with a smile.
I was so stunned to see her, I almost forgot my manners. I looked around, halfway expecting to see Granny here too.
“Hi, Wanda,” I said, finding my voice. “What a surprise. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just doing some yard work,” she said, waving vaguely behind her.
I was so perplexed. I’d never known Wanda to do grounds work in the park. Yet, here she was, wearing gardening gloves and clutching a small trowel.
“Did you come down the mountain by yourself?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm.” She leaned down to pat Gus, who was idly sniffing her shoes.
Tightening my hold on the leash, I took a step closer. “Why don’t you come back to Flower House with me? Have a glass of tea or water.”
She glanced distractedly at the sky. “That’s nice of you, but I should probably get going. It’s gettin’ to be about suppertime, isn’t it?”
Moving away from the hydrangeas, she reached for a willow shopping basket on the ground. This provided an opening for Gus, who made a beeline for a spot at the base of the bush—pulling me right along with him. Then I saw why. He was sniffing a sizable round hole in the dirt.
Had Wanda dug the hole? Was she trying to bury something?
She saw my curious look and laughed. “Maybe the doggie can help me,” she volunteered. “I’ve been looking for something and having the darndest time. I’m probably looking in the wrong place.” She pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her basket.
“What is it?” I asked.
As if she hadn’t heard me, she draped the basket on her wrist and headed for the garden path. Shaking my head in bewilderment, I nudged Gus and followed her.
Suddenly, she turned to me with a sparkle in her eye. “Want to see something?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Sure.” I was still trying to figure out if Wanda was in her right mind or if she was acting confused as Granny had said. So far, she seemed perfectly lucid, in spite of the odd circumstances and slightly strange way she was acting.
She walked over to the large oak tree next to the bench and circled it to the backside. “Here,” she said, reaching up with her left hand to touch the bark.
I stood at her side and looked to the point she indicated. The first thing I noticed was that she had a red thread tied around her ring finger. Then I saw the carved initials: R.M. x W.S.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Are you W.S.?” I asked.
She nodded. “Smith is my maiden name. R.M. is Roy Milford, my husband. This was our special place back when we were sweethearts, before we got married.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, touched that the memento was still here after all these years. “What is it that you’re looking for in the ground? Is it something you or Roy hid?”
Her face clouded. “Not hid, so much as lost. Roy gave me a promise ring here in this park, many moons ago. Sometime later, in a fit of anger, I threw it on the ground”—she waved her hand in the direction of the hydrangeas—“somewhere around here.”
I furrowed my brow. “Oh. Well, how do you know somebody didn’t already find it?”
“I know,” she said with conviction, “because Roy told me so. That is, his ghost told me. And he won’t rest until I find it.”