Three

Judge Grant Barlow sat in the middle of the remarkable greenhouse at a wrought-iron table, his cane leaning against his chair. He was portly with well-trimmed white hair and an ivory mustache that overwhelmed his upper lip. Faded blue eyes watched me so carefully that I felt I was being judged. A crease under his lower lip bent downward on both sides, imparting a dour expression, as though he was disappointed with everyone. I reminded myself that he had lost his wife recently. In spite of his age, he exuded an intimidating fierceness that had probably been honed in the courtroom. The judge was no pushover.

I offered my open hand to him. “Holly Miller.”

“Liesel Miller’s granddaughter,” he muttered. “Liesel is a very fine and intelligent woman. I have the utmost respect for her. One can only hope that her granddaughter shares her intellect. Regrettably, I know from experience that is not always the case. Most of my own progeny and their offspring fail to tie their shoes successfully. After three decades of listening to idiotic excuses from daft criminals who didn’t have the good sense to get their stories straight, I’m afraid I have exceedingly low expectations for the human race in general.”

I could understand why he might expect the worst from people after a lifetime of hearing lies, but I had a feeling his cranky nature might come to him naturally.

Rose smiled at me cheerily, as though he had said something pleasantly upbeat. She gestured toward a wrought-iron chair outfitted with green and pink cushions. “Don’t mind him. He’s not half as grumpy as he seems.”

I sat down. “This is an amazing room.”

“The judge takes his meals here, weather permitting. In the winter we used to eat by the fire.”

I hoped she didn’t notice my little intake of breath. We? They were a couple?

She continued speaking without hesitation. “I hope we’ll be able to do that again. There’s something so cozy about a fire. Come here, little Trixie. I have a treat for you!”

Trixie waggled her hind end and received a dog biscuit.

“Is this about Fritz?” I asked.

“Oh! We are heartsick.” She looked at the judge. “How could Dovie have let that happen? I suspect she accidentally left a door or gate open and Fritz simply strolled out.”

Judge Barlow appeared pained. He glanced at the floor by his chair as though he hoped his beloved dog would suddenly appear and it would turn out it had all been a nightmare.

Rose hastily added, “Dovie has called in a pet detective.”

I was about to say that I had met Seth when the judge said sternly, “Such nonsense! Ordinarily, I would have undertaken a thorough search for Fritz myself, but I’m no longer as agile and able as I once was. I can walk the streets of Wagtail, but I’m afraid my days wandering through the woods and hiking mountains have passed me by.”

“He came highly recommended,” said Rose. “He was here earlier. I thought he seemed quite competent. There have been sightings of Fritz. We think he’s still somewhere on Wagtail Mountain.”

“I hope he can find Fritz.” I tried to smile encouragingly.

Rose sighed, and her shoulders actually dropped a bit as if she was carrying the burdens of the world. “If you’re wondering why we’re speaking in here, it’s because there are bugs everywhere.”

I glanced around the room. She had to mean the wiretap sort. But that seemed unlikely. Just to be certain, I asked, “Do you mean insects or listening devices?” The creepy-crawly kind wouldn’t be terribly surprising given the number of plants.

“Insects never hurt anyone, dear. Well, not much anyway,” said Rose, handing Trixie another cookie.

“She means listening devices,” growled the judge. “Rose and I made sure this room was quite safe, but the house is large. We are still in the process of ensuring the privacy of the other rooms. We began by testing the rooms we use the most.”

I wondered if they were suffering from delusions. Could they have talked each other into thinking someone was spying on them? I tried to sound like I believed them. “How did you test the rooms?”

“It all began in the kitchen,” said Rose. She handed me a sheet of paper that contained notes in her precise handwriting. “We kept track. You see here where it says ‘kitchen—rain’? Well, the weather report wasn’t calling for rain at all. But it had been so cloudy, and the wind was blowing from the southwest like it does when rain is imminent. We talked about how we thought the weather forecast was wrong and that it would probably rain and we should make sure all the windows were closed. The next morning when I got up, someone had opened the kitchen window.”

“You’re certain it was closed?” I asked.

“Absolutely. I did it myself,” the judge grumbled.

Rose smiled at me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said the judge, “because Rose and I thought the same thing. Dovie Dickerson is my housekeeper. She must have opened the window. What a funny coincidence. But Dovie claims she did no such thing. Then Rose and I grew suspicious. And we set up an innocent test.”

“The judge always eats eggs for breakfast. Two sunny-side-up eggs fried in olive oil with a little sea salt, a piece of buttered toast, and a bowl of fruit on the side,” said Rose. “So, one morning in his bedroom, I asked him if he would like something different, like oatmeal. And he said, ‘Yes, please. I would enjoy a steaming bowl of oatmeal.’” The two of them laughed.

“He was being sarcastic,” she said. “Grant loathes oatmeal. But later that day, I found a box of oatmeal on the kitchen counter. Brand-new and never opened. Now I know I didn’t buy it and forget about it. Dovie is well aware of Grant’s aversion to oatmeal, so she never buys it. Yet there it was.”

“We recognized that these two events had to be attributed to Dovie,” the judge explained. “My granddaughter Addi is in town, but other than that, no one is here except for Dovie.”

“But then something else happened. This time we were conversing in the living room.” Rose wasn’t smiling anymore. “It was about flowers for Theona’s grave. She has been gone for over six months now.” Rose gestured around the room. “As you can see, she was a great lover of color, especially pink.”

“I ordered a spray of pink roses for her grave.” The judge was grim. “But when I visited her grave yesterday—”

“They were white.” Rose placed her hand over his. “But they were very beautiful.”

“Someone had swapped my pink roses for white ones.” The judge’s nostrils flared in anger.

“Who placed them on the grave?” I asked. “Maybe the florist misunderstood or got mixed up.”

“They were very confused,” said Rose, seemingly trying to comfort the judge. “They told Grant that they had personally placed pink roses on her grave.”

“Last night, during dinner out here, I made a big fuss about not being able to find my favorite walking stick,” said the judge.

“He did an excellent job. Grant, you really could have been an actor,” said Rose, eliciting a smile from him. “I hid the walking stick in the foyer where anyone would have seen it upon entering the house.”

“When you tried your trick in here, nothing happened?” I asked.

“Exactly. Grant also asked me if I had bought a lottery ticket. We were sitting right here, just like we are now. I love playing a lively game of bingo at the church now and then, but in my opinion, you might as well throw your dollar in the trash bin as play the lottery.”

“And no lottery ticket turned up?”

“That’s right. We came to realize that whatever is being used to bug the house doesn’t work out here.”

I felt terrible for them. I didn’t want to belittle their worries, but I was having trouble believing them. As sweetly as I could, I asked, “Rose, who would want to listen?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Why on earth would anyone be interested in what goes on in this house?” asked the judge.

“Have you told Officer Dave?” Our local police officer, Dave Quinlan, had been promoted to sergeant but was still affectionately called “Officer Dave.”

“Yes, of course,” Rose responded.

The judge scowled. “He thought it very odd and had a good look around but couldn’t find a thing. He wasn’t helpful at all.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why have you called me?”

Rose leaned toward me. “I don’t dare say this to anyone else,” she whispered. “I think someone did these things on purpose to frighten Grant.”