On Friday evening, with Richard once again tied up in rehearsals, I had dinner at Aunt Lydia’s house.
“Here we are again, just the two of us,” I said when my aunt informed me that Hugh was off on another work assignment, this time in South America. “What I don’t understand is why you don’t travel with Hugh more. It seems to me it’d be fun to visit all those places.”
“I don’t want to interfere with his work.” Aunt Lydia set a casserole dish on the kitchen table. “This is a cold rice pilaf thing, by the way. I didn’t think we’d want anything hot, as warm as it’s been outside.”
“Looks delicious, as usual,” I said, examining the dish, which featured rice studded with veggies, dried fruit, and almonds. “And you’re exactly right about the heat. I’ve actually felt a little nauseous just smelling some cooked food lately. Especially anything greasy. Not that I need that anyway,” I added, patting my stomach.
“It isn’t anything I want in the summer,” Aunt Lydia said, ignoring my jibe at my weight struggles as she sat down across the table from me. “Grilled meats are okay, but I’m not interested in anything fried when the weather turns hot.”
When I plopped a spoonful of the rice mixture on my plate, my stomach rolled. No, this is ridiculous, I told myself. There’s nothing in this dish that should upset your digestion or give you acid reflux or anything else. You’ve just worked yourself into a nervous frenzy over this latest murder. Time to take a deep breath and calm down. I took a bite of the pilaf, reassured when my stomach didn’t protest.
“So tell me more about this conversation you had with Ethan’s sister,” Aunt Lydia said. “Did it give you any useful information to share with Brad and his team?”
My mouth full, I simply nodded. “It certainly keeps Nate Broyhill and the rest of his family on the list of suspects,” I said after swallowing.
“Speaking of which”—Aunt Lydia tapped her fork against the edge of her plate—“in a strange coincidence, I’ll be visiting Blue Haven Farm tomorrow. Glenda Lance has invited the garden club to a party. I didn’t mention it before now because …”
“You didn’t want me to beg to tag along?” I asked, pointing my fork at her.
“That may have had something to do with it.” Aunt Lydia’s lips twitched. “Mainly due to the fact that I thought it was going to be a more intimate affair, and you’d stand out like a sore thumb. But Zelda’s informed me that it’s actually a fundraiser for the regional society, so several different garden clubs are invited.”
“Which means I could blend in more easily.” I grinned. “So can I come? I know I’m not a member of any club, but since it’s a larger group, I could probably mingle without much notice.”
Aunt Lydia scooped up a forkful of rice. “You can accompany Zelda and me, I suppose. We can introduce you as a future garden club prospect, if anyone asks.”
“That would be fantastic. I know Richard will be busy with the production, since they’re starting tech week, so it’s not like I have anything else planned.”
“Not that I want to encourage you to pester the Lances, but this might be the safest way for you to observe them again, on their own turf. So to speak,” my aunt said with a smile.
“I see what you did there,” I said. “Horses and turf. Very punny.”
“I have my moments,” Aunt Lydia said before taking another bite of her meal.
After we finished our dinner and cleaned up the dishes, we carried our glasses of iced tea out to the sunroom. Aunt Lydia sat in her favorite wooden rocker while I chose the fan-backed wicker chair.
“I have to agree with Richard about this view,” I said as I settled into the chintz cushions. “It makes me want to enclose our back porch so that it can be used year-round.”
“Wasn’t the plan to make that space your dining room?”
“Since Richard took over the original dining space for his studio, we kind of need to do that, sooner or later.” I sipped on my tea as I contemplated the birds converging on one of Aunt Lydia’s feeders. “But with just the two of us, we don’t need a dining room all the time. I think what I’d really like is something that could be used as a sitting area most of the time but could also be converted into a dining room when we have guests.”
“You could buy a table with several leaves, like the one I have,” Aunt Lydia said. “That way, the table could remain fairly compact unless you needed to expand it.”
“Good idea.” I swirled the ice cubes in my glass. “We’ve actually been saving some money for renovating the porch. Almost have enough unless something comes up.” I reached over and rapped my knuckles against the surface of the small wooden table next to my chair. “I probably shouldn’t say anything like that aloud. The house and cars are probably listening.”
Aunt Lydia cast me an amused glance. “You think they schedule their need for repairs based around your desire to save money for something else?”
“Don’t you?” I asked with a lift of my eyebrows.
“It does seem that way sometimes,” Aunt Lydia said, her expression growing thoughtful. “I’m afraid I’m going to need a new furnace before this winter, and can’t help but shudder at the likely cost.”
“We can help, if you need it,” I said, pushing the thought of our porch renovation out of my mind. My aunt had done so much for me—allowing me to live with her for several years when I’d first moved to Taylorsford was the least of it—that I felt I should consider her needs before my wants.
“That won’t be necessary. Like you, I’ve been saving a bit for just this sort of thing. And Hugh will probably insist on contributing something as well.” Aunt Lydia smoothed a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. “I’d say no to that if he didn’t live here sometimes. But since I do feed him when he’s here …”
“And quite well too,” I said.
Aunt Lydia smiled. “He doesn’t complain, that’s for sure. So, given that, I don’t mind him helping out with some of the house expenses.” She took a sip of tea before adding, “I may be proud, but I’m not foolish.”
“Just let us know if you ever need additional funds,” I said, setting my empty glass on the side table. “It’s our family home, after all. I mean, your family’s and mine.”
“Which Richard is a part of now,” my aunt said firmly.
I studied her profile for a moment, happy to hear her confirm this. “True. He always says he feels closer to you and Mom and Dad than his own parents.”
“Having met Fiona and Jim Muir, that doesn’t surprise me,” Aunt Lydia said with a roll of her eyes.
“That’s for sure. Although Fiona has mellowed a teensy bit.”
A loud crack followed by a rush of wings as the birds fled the feeder made me leap to my feet. “What the heck was that?”
“I’m not sure. It certainly disturbed the birds,” Aunt Lydia said, standing and following me to the porch door. “Perhaps a large dog leaping through the garden?”
“Or a deer, although they don’t tend to wander out of the woods until later in the evening.” I peered through the glass of the door into the garden, but it was too lush for me to see anything except the first few rows of beds. “Tell you what—let me go out and take a look. I think whatever it was, it was closer to the woods, ’cause I can’t see anything from here.”
“All right, but take the spray bottle,” Aunt Lydia said. “It’s still in the garden bin.”
I nodded and headed outside. At the foot of the concrete steps leading down from the porch stoop, I paused to open the bin where my aunt kept some of her gardening supplies, and grabbed a plastic spray bottle she kept filled with a mixture of water and hot pepper sauce.
Since our gardens were bordered by a ribbon of woods that connected to fields rolling up into the forested foothills, it wasn’t uncommon to encounter wildlife that had wandered down from the mountains. Although I knew that most of the creatures were more afraid of me than I should be of them, and that they were unlikely to attack without provocation, there was always the chance that a racoon or fox could be rabid. In that case, all bets were off, which was why Aunt Lydia kept the spray bottle handy. It could scare off a creature or, at a minimum, force it to keep its distance without actually harming it. When we heard or saw any indication that a larger animal might be wandering out of the woods, we carried the bottle as a precaution.
I crossed the small patch of grass and entered the garden. Walking slowly down the white pea-gravel-covered paths, I swept my gaze over the beds of flowers, herbs, and vegetables, looking for any sign of what had caused the earlier commotion. There was nothing amiss with the front beds, but as I strolled past the decorative bird bath and fountain in the center of the garden, I noticed broken flower stalks and pieces of limbs from flowering shrubs littering the path in front of me.
A few more steps and a scene of devastation came into view. The flowers in the back, which were screened by tall lilacs, weigelia, and mock orange shrubs planted in the beds in front of them, had been sliced off at the base of each plant. The spear-like leaves of irises and fountains of daylily foliage lay in heaps on the ground, and two of Aunt Lydia’s prized shrub roses were chopped to pieces. Gazing up, I noticed indentations in the dirt, and a broken tree limb lying across the path that led into the woods.
It looks like someone fell, grabbing a low-hanging branch as they went down, I thought, assuming that had caused the noise we’d heard from the porch. Standing with my balled fists on my hips, the spray bottle dangling from my hooked thumb, I stared around in disbelief. Not only because of the vandalism but also because someone had been bold enough to wreak havoc on my aunt’s garden before the sun went down.
I stared into the woods but knew it was useless to try to track down the perpetrator. I was sure they’d already fled the area, slipping through the woods to reach one of our neighbors’ backyards and then make their getaway. They’d probably parked a vehicle up the road so they could drive off before we even realized what had happened.
Footsteps crunched the pea gravel. I turned to face Aunt Lydia.
She stopped short in front of me, her gaze taking in the destroyed garden beds. But instead of expressing anger or grief, she held up her cell phone, screen facing out.
“I received a message,” she said in a hollow tone. “You should read it.”
I took the phone from her hand, noticing the slight tremble in her fingers. That was enough to warn me that the message was nothing good.
Tell your niece to stop helping with the investigation, or your plants won’t be the only thing you lose, it said.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “You just got this?”
“A minute ago.” Aunt Lydia’s blue eyes were clouded with anxiety. “I don’t like this, Amy. They know you’re helping the detectives working on this case and that you’re my niece.”
“And where you live, which means they probably know I live next door,” I said grimly.
“What do you want to do?” my aunt asked, exhaling a breath as she surveyed the damage to her garden.
She’s just realized the extent of it, I thought. She was consumed with concerns about me and didn’t really take it in before this. “I think we have to take your phone and let Brad and his team check it out. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I can call Hugh on my landline and let him know what’s going on. I don’t use my cell for much else,” Aunt Lydia said. “And you don’t have to worry—I know you have to work, covering the Saturday shift at the library, so I’ll take the phone down to the Sheriff’s Office tomorrow and make a report about the damage to the garden.”
As I stared at the mangled flowers and shrubs, a cold chill ran down my back. “This is someone who has a temper. Even if they hired someone else to do the actual deed, they wanted us to know that they are willing to tear things apart to make their point.”
“Which concerns me more than anything,” Aunt Lydia said. “You’re going to tell Richard about this, I hope?”
“Of course,” I said. “But please don’t worry—I’ve already spoken to all of the people that were on the extended suspect list. So I can comply with our vandal’s request.”
My aunt frowned. “Not if you accompany me to that garden party.”
“Oh that.” I swept my hand through the air. “Who’s going to question me attending a party with you and Zelda? Especially if we say I want to join the garden club someday. Besides, I probably won’t even ask any questions. I’ll just observe Glenda for any signs of nerves or guilt or whatever.”
“I doubt you’d see any, even if she did whack Meredith,” Aunt Lydia said dryly. “She’s been a wealthy society matron for a long time. No doubt she’s learned to cover her emotions well.”
“Whack?” I asked, with a grin. “Why, Aunt Lydia, if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you of watching some of those mob-inspired TV shows.”
“I may have seen one or two,” she replied airily, “but also plenty of noir films from the forties. There’s sadly no time-frame limitation on crime and violence, you know.”
“I guess not.” As I took a deep breath, the scent of crushed vegetation filled my nostrils. “I should gather up this debris and toss it on the compost heap. Fortunately, even though the vandal made hash of your plants and shrubs, they didn’t pull things up by the roots. So it should all come back.”
“Stronger than ever.” Aunt Lydia laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Just like us.”