When I returned to the Wildflower Inn in the late afternoon, Azalea was a ball of semi-controlled rage. She gripped the railing of the stairs so hard that I was almost afraid a decorative curl would come off in her hand.
“Where have you been?” Her voice had that even-toned grit that Nana Z’s used to get when she was holding back anger. “It’s been hours since the announcement ended, and I hadn’t seen or heard anything from you. It’s almost five o’clock now, and you left after ten in the morning!”
“I’m sorry.” I tried to explain about lunch, the tour, and remind her about my phone, but she threw her hands up in the air as her anger exploded. She bounded down the stairs and got up into my face. Although my older sister was a couple inches shorter than me, it didn’t feel that way as she berated me.
“Rory is still missing. You were missing for hours. What were you thinking? What if you had truly gone missing, too? How could you do this to me?” Her voice rose to a crescendo. My heart sank. I hadn’t realized how much my willingness to go with the flow of opportunities today had impacted her. I knew this came from a place of love, but I felt lower than low to have scared her so badly. I wrapped my arms around her. She pushed away, but then instead, simply sank into my embrace.
“I can’t have you gone too, Juniper.”
After a long moment, we let go. She said, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you.”
I followed her back through the house and out into the garden. We passed the beds of blue hydrangeas to the Carriage House, where I had spent the night on the floor. I felt bad about her seeing all my stuff littered about the floor, but then again, the place was overflowing with dusty boxes. She walked through the box towers until she found one and pulled it out, placing it on an open spot on the floor.
“What’s in here?” I asked.
“Look.” She opened the box for me to peer inside of. I saw stacks and stacks of what appeared to be leather-bound journals. With great care, I pulled one off the top and opened it up to the first page.
My mouth dropped open when I recognized the signature scrolling across the first page. “Are these Nana Z’s watercolor journals?” Azalea nodded. The hard-bound book was filled with thick, textured white pages with deckle edging. Nana Z had filled the pages with her vibrant paintings of Rose Mallow. I recognized her loose style, where she essentially sketched with her paintbrush. She loved vivid colors. There were pages devoted entirely to painting her beautiful Queen Anne style house and lush gardens, overflowing with native Maryland flowers. She initialed each page and marked it with the date. This book was from over twenty years ago. I was amazed at how similar her work looked to the gardens and view still. It made me both miss Nana Z while feeling proud of how Azalea had maintained her vision.
“Thank you for sharing these with me,” I said as tears formed in my eyes. I closed the journal and held it close to my heart.
“Looking through them makes me feel like she’s still here,” said Azalea.
“Oh, she is, she definitely is. She’s everywhere in this house and gardens. We should get some of these paintings framed.”
Azalea nodded. “I thought that too. We have a few of Nana Z’s watercolors already up, but I’d love the Wildflower Inn to become a tribute to her.”
“You could create a gallery in the library.”
“Keisha suggested we put some images on the website and social media too.”
“That’s a great idea.”
Before we could brainstorm further, Azalea got a text message from Keisha about a need in the house. “Why don’t I let you poke through these more, and we’ll catch up over dinner?”
“That would be great.”
I spent the next hour sifting through the journals and reconnecting with our grandmother’s artwork. I found several devoted to her travels around the world. As much as I wished I had inherited her artistic talent, I at least had received her love for travel. I missed going to different countries, meeting new people, and exploring the culture. I just wished I had done some of that with her.
After looking through the journals, I carefully returned them to their box and stood up to stretch. My whole body felt a bit compacted from sitting so long on the floor. I really needed to get back into yoga. There wasn’t enough space here, but I tried to stretch out as best as I could manage. Of course, being cramped and clumsy, I knocked over another box.
This box was different from the others. First, it wasn’t a cardboard moving box that had been carefully taped shut and labeled with a summary of the contents. It was a simple lidded box, so naturally, the lid flew off as the box fell down, and the contents went flying everywhere.
“Fantastic job, Juniper,” I said to myself.
Inside and across the floor were scattered a series of envelopes, letters, and other papers. I didn’t mean to look through them, but it was difficult not to as I cleaned up. To my surprise, everything was fairly recent and addressed to Azalea. After looking through Nana Z’s old journals, I guess I had expected these to be some of her old papers, too.
Most of them were from Calverton Bank, the same bank run by Leo’s family. Apparently, they also held several loans on the Wildflower Inn. I should have realized how expensive it was for Azalea to retrofit the house and turn it into her dream hotel, but I hadn’t understood how much everything had cost her until I flipped through the letters.
As I tried to pile back up the papers, I discovered Azalea hadn’t kept up on her loans. The letters grew increasingly more urgent, they came more frequently, and the dates became more and more recent.
I wondered why she hadn’t told me about any of this. Not that I had this kind of money to help, but maybe I could do something. Had she told anyone about these loans? Had Rory known? I didn’t see his name on any of these. As I put the box back, I worried Azalea might lose the inn.
After cleaning up, I went back into the inn, planning to ask Azalea about the papers. It was well after six in the evening now. However, before I could say anything, Deputy Torres and Detective Gupta entered the inn’s foyer. They didn’t have any news about Rory, or about Tess’ murder. At least nothing that they would share with us. Mainly, Deputy Torres poorly tried hiding his puppy dog eyes for Azalea while Detective Gupta pulled me aside to get my side of the story. I ran through what had happened Friday as well as I could, trying not to leave out any detail.
“So, when you got there, there was no sign of the O’Doyle diary?” Detective Gupta asked me. I steered her into the library, and we sat in matching chairs upholstered with a wine-red damask. A small wooden table stood between us.
“I wasn’t really looking for the diary at that point. I couldn’t find Rory anywhere.” As we talked, Azalea appeared with a full tea service. She didn’t bother asking if we wanted anything to drink. I suspected she wanted an excuse to stay in range of our chat. Detective Gupta didn’t seem to mind. She poured a cup of Darjeeling tea for both of us. I added sugar and cream, but she drank hers straight black.
“Do you think the diary could have been there while you were waiting for him?” She sipped her steaming hot tea.
I thought for a moment. “Maybe. Probably. Like I said, I didn’t really know what to expect at that point.”
“Do you have any idea how he got the O’Doyle diary?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Honestly, it doesn’t make sense. He’s never been interested in history before. Last I heard, he worked for a car dealership.”
“He never expressed any interest in the antique shop I used to work for,” said Azalea as she poked her head back into the room.
“Ms. Blume-Walsh,” the detective said with a note of caution.
“Oops. Sorry, don’t mind me,” Azalea said with a way-too-cheery smile and a sheepish wave. She disappeared back out of the library.
“Why did he want to meet you in a cemetery? Why at midnight?” Detective Gupta asked.
“That’s a question I’ve been going over again and again in my head. He didn’t explain on the phone. All I could think was that he wanted a secretive location, one where we wouldn’t be easily seen or overheard. But beyond that? I honestly don’t know.” I blew across my tea. I felt like I had several pieces to this puzzle, but they weren’t fitting together yet in a way that made sense, at least not to me.
There was a lull in the questions while the detective drank her tea. I figured it couldn’t hurt to volley one at her. I expected she would probably bat it away, but it seemed worth exploring. “Detective, do you know why Tess was there?”
She sighed. “It’s still too early in the investigation to have all the details.” So no, she didn’t have a clue yet either why the young barista was dead in the cemetery.
“Do you know anything about Tess’s family’s curse?”
Detective Gupta half spit out her tea. She put her cup down and dabbed at her suit with a cloth napkin from the tea tray. Fortunately, her pantsuit was nearly cobalt black, so it was unlikely anything would show up. Today’s blouse was a deep, bright fuchsia. “I’m sorry. Did you say a family curse?”
“Harmony, Tess’s aunt, brought it up. She claimed that some strange curse had killed her father, Tess’s mom, who was Harmony’s sister, and now Tess herself. She didn’t elaborate on the details.”
“Well, that’s…unexpected.”
“I’m surprised Harmony didn’t mention it,” I said.
“We haven’t been able to talk with her yet,” said the detective.
“Oh?”
“We will soon. As soon as the sedative she took fully wears off.” The detective closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Sedative?” I asked. “Is she in the hospital?”
The detective made a face. “No. Apparently, a friend gave her an Ambien to help her rest, and she’s still passed out from it.”
“So you also don’t know yet if the O’Doyle diary is connected to her family?” I asked.
“Not yet, but we’ll talk to her soon,” she replied.
I wanted to ask more while the detective was at least partially answering me, but Azalea came back into the room, carrying a duster. Clover trailed behind her. When he caught sight of me, he dashed over and bounced into my lap. She hummed softly to herself as she went through and carefully dusted every single book in the library. She wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Mrs. Blume-Walsh.”
“Oh, please, call me Azalea.” Her cheery grin was a bit too forced. Meanwhile, Clover jumped down to pounce on Azalea’s shoes. She ignored his playful antics.
“Fine, Azalea. Was there something you wanted to add to the conversation?”
“Oh, me? Just keeping the place clean for everyone. Don’t want anyone coming home to an unclean house. Could you imagine the reviews they’d leave?” She chuckled to herself. My sister was many things, but she was definitely not an actress.
“Did you two talk already?” I asked. Clover darted over to the detective and me. The pup went back and forth between us, apparently sizing up who would be the better playmate. Detective Gupta reached down first to pet him. He rewarded her with a million kisses. Not that she seemed to mind.
“Yes, we had a long conversation about my ‘relationships’ earlier.” Azalea put the word into air quotes while holding the duster. Upon hearing Azalea talk, Clover raced back over to his other favorite person.
“Relationships? Plural?”
Azalea rolled her eyes. Detective Gupta said nothing, but she took another sip of her tea. Given the tiny smile playing at her lips, I think she was enjoying the show we were putting on. I wanted to ask Azalea if she meant Deputy Torres, who I assumed was just beyond my line of sight, but I didn’t want to ask anything too specific in front of the detective.
Instead, I went on asking, “What else did you discuss?”
“Well, primarily Rory’s family history.”
“I didn’t think he had much of a family history?” From what I remembered, Rory had been raised by some distant aunt who had died years ago. As far as I knew, Azalea and Violet were his whole family. It was fairly one-sided at the wedding, although most of their mutual friends sat on his side so that it wasn’t completely empty.
“Yes, he was adopted.”
“Not raised by a distant aunt?” I asked.
“No, he was in and out of foster homes for most of his childhood. So, he never really knew his background. I explained that to the detective.” Azalea nodded towards her. Then she laughed. “As a holiday present, I’d gotten him one of those genealogy website subscriptions, because he wanted to find out more of his story. He even did a DNA test.”
Clover decided it was my turn next. He jumped into my lap and started licking my face. His tongue tickled.
“I did one, too. You’d be shocked to learn that you and I are 99% Ashkenazi Jewish from Eastern Europe.” She laughed, and so did I.
This wasn’t remotely a surprise. Our parents had met in Hebrew school in Baltimore. Both sides had come to Maryland in the 19th century from Germany and modern-day Poland. Ashkenazi Judaism referred to those of us with ancestral roots in Germany and East Europe, unlike Sephardic Jews who came from the Mediterranean area. I couldn’t help but wonder what that final 1% might comprise. With all this talk about Ireland, I really hoped that a surprising part of us had turned out to be Celtic.
“What about Rory? What did his DNA test determine?”
“He turned out to be much more of a mutt. British Isles, Germany, Russia…. All over Europe.”
“Did either of you get any matches? Find any long-lost parents or siblings?” As I asked, Clover jumped back down and over to attack Azalea’s feet as she moved. Detective Gupta listened to everything we said with silent patience. I don’t know if she found our conversation remotely interesting or was humoring us to see if she could glean more useful information.
Azalea shook her head. “Nothing closer than a fifth cousin each at the time. Unless he got a match more recently that he didn’t mention to me. With the separation, it hasn’t exactly been a big topic of conversation for us lately.”
“Well, at least you know for sure you’re not related to each other.” It was a joke, but Azalea frowned at me. I peeked over again at the detective, who listened intently with that Mona Lisa smile. I wondered what she suspected so far. Given her stoicism, I figured that I’d not want to go up against her in a poker game. Well, not that I could recall the last time I had played poker.
“Oh, no. Clover!” Azalea cried out. My young dog had an accident on the library’s antique rug. Detective Gupta and I both jumped up to help Azalea. The detective took him aside while I ran over to the front desk to get Keisha’s help. She found the rug cleaner, gloves, and paper towels. Soon, we had the mess as cleaned up as it was going to get for the time being.
After that, the detective and I chatted for a little longer, but I don’t think the rest of our conversation was fruitful for either of us. I led her back into the inn’s foyer, where we met back up with Deputy Torres. As I had suspected, he had been waiting just outside the library and undoubtedly listening intently.
“Will you keep us updated?” I asked her.
“I’ll do what I can,” the detective replied.
“Good to see you again, Azalea,” said Deputy Torres.
Azalea nodded with a shy smile. “Yeah.”
The two of them reminded me of her and Rory as teenagers. Part of me thought it was cute, another part wanted to puke, and a third found it very creepy, given Rory being missing.
“Just wish it was under better circumstances,” I said.
Torres turned to give me a look as if I smelled like I hadn’t showered in days. It took everything I had not to make a face back at him. Azalea didn’t seem to notice. She had gone back into the library to take a second try at cleaning up after Clover’s mess. My dog’s mess.
“I better go help her,” I said. The detective nodded and headed to the door. Torres lingered, looking longingly at Azalea, until Gupta tugged on his sleeve and gave him a pointed look. He nodded sheepishly and followed her out.
After they left, I played with Violet for a while. I gently roughhoused with her and Clover in the gardens behind the inn. We played a version of hide and seek around the flowers, except that neither of them really understood how to play. It was beyond adorable. Violet would get stomping mad if she wasn’t the one to tell me where to hide. “Over here!.” She’d point to a bench and have me sit on it. Clover jumped up on my lap and licked my face. Violet covered her eyes and counted to three. Then come find me. When we traded places, she wanted me to tell her where to hide, as Clover skittered around our feet.
Nana Z would have been proud of how much Azalea had done with her gardens. If the place had been left to me, the half-acre of land would have fizzled and turned brown, as I had not inherited her green thumb. I still grew up appreciating the remarkable display the flowers put on. They grew in a well-orchestrated riot of colors, sizes, and textures, interlaced with gravel pathways. There were rounded rows of beds, filled with Black-Eyed Susan, blue and pink larkspur, several types of lilies, and a dazzling mix of hydrangeas. Below a few older oak trees was a small woodland wonderland with hostas and ferns. The towering trees provided shaded respite from the increasingly scorching summer sun, although at least it was starting to drop. At least with being on the Bay, there was a refreshing breeze coming from across the water to us.
I thought about how the garden would look later in the season when the rose mallow would start. The town was covered in the native hibiscus with its red, pink, or white flowers. I gathered up Violet and Clover, and we headed inside for something to eat.
In the kitchen, Azalea was ahead of me, already prepping some apple slices as part of dinner for her little girl. “Thanks for playing with her. It’s exciting for her to have her aunt here.”
“My pleasure. She’s a lot of fun!.” I poured a tall glass of water for myself and joined Violet at the kitchen table. “Do you know if the historical society will be open tomorrow? I want to look up a few things about the town’s history there. Keisha told me earlier, but I forgot the exact times they’re open.”
“Not sure, but it’s an all-volunteer place, so they don’t keep regular hours,” Azalea replied.
“Do you want me to bring Violet with me tomorrow? Give you a longer break? She could be my helper.” I turned to Violet and said, “You want to be a helper, right?”
“Helper! I can be a helper!”
“We’ll see about tomorrow.” Azalea looked at the clock and then spoke to Violet. “It’s almost seven now. Sorry to rain on your parade, sweetie, but it’s past time for your dinner, bath, and then getting ready for bed.”
“Ah,” I said with a whine, not wanting to give up time with my niece. Azalea shot me a glance that told me to cool it. Fair enough. She had a hard enough time getting a spirited nearly four-year-old to go to bed.
As Azalea took Violet away, I headed outside to give Clover a quick walk around the block. I was getting hungry, so I figured I’d give him dinner, and then maybe I’d head downtown to grab a bite to eat at the Purple Oyster. After all the excitement, I realized I needed a bit of a break.
When I got down to where KG was parked on the street, I discovered that some of my tires were flat. It took me a moment, but I realized they weren’t just flat. They had been slashed. To top things off, a message had been sprayed across my windshield, saying, “GO HOME!”