Rocky met me at the curb with Gus. Mom and Dad were early risers, so we both thought it best that we not risk waking them up. When I stepped out of the car, Gus was so excited to see me, he practically jumped into my arms.
Laughing, I caught my balance and leaned down to ruffle his ears. “I’m happy to see you too, buddy.”
“He had a good day, I swear,” said Rocky. “He was treated like a celebrity everywhere we went.”
“That’s my little prince.”
Rocky opened the back door of my car and stowed Gus’s travel bag on the back seat. “How’s Deena,” he said casually.
I tried not to smile too wide. “She’s great. Why do you ask?”
“Why? No reason.”
“Come on, Rock. Do you like her? Want me to put in a good word for you?”
“You don’t have to do that.” Grinning, he flexed his biceps. “My attributes speak for themselves.”
I yawned loudly, partly to annoy him and partly because I was really tired.
He dropped his arms. “Seriously, though, I do like Dee. She’s smart and interesting. Pretty too. But I don’t want to make things awkward or anything, since she’s your friend.”
“We’re all adults,” I said sensibly. “There shouldn’t be any awkwardness.”
“In that case, how about a double date? My buddy, Craig, has been asking about you.”
“Craig? The P.E. teacher, Coach Craig?” I only knew of him because Rocky had mentioned him before. I could barely picture the man.
“That’s the one. He’s a good guy. I wouldn’t set you up with a jerk.”
“That’s a relief.” Stifling another yawn, I opened my car and urged Gus inside. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Okay. Drive safe, sis.”
“I will. Good night, Rocky.”
The drive home was quiet—all the better for reflecting on recent events. I had a lot to sort out. While I seemed to have found a lot of answers, there were still so many gaps in what I knew.
In particular, there was one new question on top of all the others: What would Calvin think if I went on a date with Rocky’s friend, Craig?
I parked on the street and made my way carefully up the path to my house. The dollhouse was cloaked in darkness. With my purse over my shoulder, Gus’s leash in one hand, and his bag in the other, it was a bit of a juggling act. At the front door, I had to set down the bag and use the light from my phone to fit my key in the lock. I was so focused on my task, I was only vaguely aware that Gus was sniffing something on the stoop.
“What is that, Gus?” Once I got the door open, I flipped on the porch light. “Come inside, buddy.” As I coaxed him into the house, I glanced down—and was surprised to see a small bouquet of red poppies. Frowning, I picked them up and took them inside.
They were similar to the other bunch of flowers left outside my door, except that these hadn’t been rained on. Tied loosely with a red string, they were floppy and a little sad-looking. There was no note.
“Who left these?”
Gus had lost interest. He wandered into the kitchen to examine his food bowl, on the off chance he’d find a bedtime snack. Following behind him, I set the flowers on the counter and refreshed his water dish.
“That’s all you’re getting for now. I’m sure you were well fed today.” Spoiled with dog treats was more like it.
Rummaging through a cabinet, I found an old glass soda bottle. I rinsed it off, filled it partway with tap water, and propped the poppies in the bottle.
For a moment, I stared at the droopy red blossoms. I was mystified. Previously, I’d thought one of my neighbors’ grandchildren had gifted me a handful of flowers, like a belated May basket surprise. I didn’t think so anymore. Considering what I’d learned about Professor Lowry and his favored students, the choice of flowers was too much of a coincidence.
Could they be a message of some sort? I tried to recall what poppies symbolized. Red poppies were associated with Memorial Day, of course, as a token of remembrance for soldiers who’d lost their lives in World War I. (This started after a poem brought attention to a former battlefield, muddy and barren until a field of beautiful poppies sprang forth from the ground.)
Besides that, the poppy was also associated with Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams and sleep. I assumed that was because of its narcotic properties. Perhaps that was also why L. Frank Baum had chosen poppies as the cause of Dorothy’s poisoned slumber in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. In the movie version, this scene had frightened me as a child. The Wicked Witch almost succeeded in diverting the girl from her quest … until Glinda the Good Witch made it snow.
My eyelids grew heavy. All these sleepy thoughts were making me drowsy—and no closer to figuring out who had left the flowers or why.
I headed to bed, fully expecting to sleep as soundly as Toto in a field of poppies. However, it turned out to be a restless night. I kept waking up, feeling disoriented and panicky, without knowing why. My dreams were murky. In one, I was lost, trapped in a university science building, which looked more like a nineteenth-century psychiatric hospital. Naturally, someone was chasing me.
In another dream, I was arguing with Deena. It seemed we were decorating a church for a wedding—hers and Rocky’s! Only she wanted to call it off at the last minute. That dream was more distressing than the other one.
Finally, somewhere in the wee hours, I dropped into a deep sleep and stayed there for the rest of the night.
In spite of the rough night, I made myself get up early. It was going to be a busy day. Over breakfast, I slugged coffee and typed up the letter I’d been planning—Re: Illegal Activities of Professor Steve Lowry. In it, I described everything I’d learned, with particular focus on the poppy tea operation. I printed three copies, then looked up the mailing addresses for the police headquarters in both Knoxville and Aerieville, as well as that of the university dean.
Reading over the letter, I was satisfied I’d accurately laid out all the necessary details, without divulging my sources. However, after stuffing the envelopes, I left them unsealed. I realized I ought to show Calvin the letter, before dashing it off on my own. After all, he could have other plans.
Thinking about Calvin made me feel grumbly again. I took my breakfast dishes to the sink and shook off my irritation. It was time to get to work. I had flowers to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding. Everything else would have to wait.
The grass was still dewy when Gus and I arrived at Flower House. After parking in the driveway behind Calvin’s car, I let Gus sniff around the garden for a minute. When we approached the back door, I stopped in my tracks at what I saw on the doorstep.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
It was another bouquet of red poppies, tied with a red string. I picked them up and turned them over in my hands. They appeared to be freshly cut. I knew they weren’t here yesterday when I’d left with Deena. And they looked too fresh to have been here when Calvin returned from making deliveries yesterday evening. Had someone dropped these off in the middle of the night, or right after leaving the ones at my house? Or were they placed here just this morning?
Looking around, I saw the light on in the bakery next door. Maybe Bill or Flo had seen something. I didn’t relish talking to them, but I headed over there anyway. Since Bread n’ Butter wasn’t open yet, I figured I’d tap on the door. However, I was distracted from my purpose by the sight of a familiar car on the street. It was Wanda’s SUV.
Is Wanda at the park again?
Still clutching the poppies, I let Gus lead me down the sidewalk toward Melody Gardens. Could Wanda have been leaving the bouquets? I recalled noticing a red string around her finger the other day, similar to the strings that bound the flowers. Red string was a common element in folk workings. Granny had told me there was power in the color, likely stemming from its associations with the blood of Christ. Or anyone’s blood, for that matter. It was our life force. I didn’t know if Wanda shared all of Granny’s superstitions, but she probably held a few of them. At least, I knew she believed in ghosts and omens.
On that note, another strange thought crossed my mind, and not for the first time. If Professor Lowry strongly resembled Wanda’s husband Roy—and she started seeing an apparition right after Lowry died—could it be Lowry’s ghost appearing to her?
Goose bumps prickled along my arms. I wasn’t sure where I stood on the subject of ghosts. I’d never seen one myself, but I liked to keep an open mind.
Gus seemed to know where he was going. When we reached the park, he guided me directly to the secluded grove where we’d encountered Wanda before. Sure enough, there she was again. She was a little more disheveled this time, with mud on her knees, leaves in her hair, and a scowl on her face. Her expression of disgust seemed to be aimed at a circle of holes in the ground around the hydrangea bush.
I approached cautiously and spoke in a gentle tone, so as not to startle her. “Good morning, Wanda.”
She looked up and sighed. “Hello, dear.”
“Are you still looking for your ring?”
She removed her gardening gloves and tossed them to the ground. “Not anymore. It’s hopeless.”
To my dismay, her lower lip trembled. I rushed to her side. “Come sit with me a minute. Let’s chat.”
She allowed me to usher her to the bench beneath the oak tree. As soon as we were seated, I held up the poppies. “Do these look familiar to you?”
She narrowed her eyebrows, as if she couldn’t understand why I’d ask such a thing. “They’re poppies.”
“Yes, they are. Did you pick them and leave them by my door?”
Now she looked at me like I might have a screw loose. “No,” she said, drawing out the word. “Why should I do such a thing?”
Good question. “Well, somebody did. And since you were in the neighborhood…” I trailed off, realizing now that I’d been mistaken.
Wanda shook her head. “Wasn’t me. I don’t have poppies in my yard. Besides, the season is pretty much over here.” She motioned toward the orange poppies along the path, whose petals were now faded and fallen.
“That’s true,” I admitted. Then, where did these poppies come from?
Wanda smiled. “You must have an admirer, dear. Perhaps it’s that handsome blue-eyed boy who works with you at Flower House.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up to my bangs. That statement was rational enough.
“It wasn’t Calvin.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, suddenly feeling glum. “Positive.”
Wanda’s face became serious. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Sure.”
“If you like this young man—or anyone else for that matter—find a way to work out your differences. Talk it out. And, whatever you do, don’t hold onto petty grievances for no good reason. Take it from me, life’s too short for that.”
As she spoke, her eyes veered up to the waving branches of the old oak tree. My heart went out to her. Granny had said that Wanda and Roy were on the outs when he passed away—the day before their wedding anniversary. How sad that she’d never had a chance to patch things up with him, and that she’d been carrying that regret ever since.
“That’s good advice,” I said quietly. “I’ll remember it.”
“I wish Roy knew I forgave him,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “His drinking problem was a sickness. I know that now.”
“Maybe he does know,” I murmured.
“He’d know if I wore his ring. If I could ever find it.”
I glanced toward the cluster of holes she’d dug around the hydrangeas. “You threw it toward the bush?” I asked.
“I thought I did. I was standing near this tree, where he’d carved our initials. I was hopping mad at the time. In a fit, I closed my eyes tight and threw it over my shoulder, somewhere behind me.”
I looked from the tree to the bush, not following her logic. The ring could have landed anywhere.
She saw my confusion and laughed a little. “Okay, you got me. The truth is, Roy told me to look there. He came to me in a dream.”
I opened my mouth, about to ask how she knew it was really him. Then I thought better of it. “He told you to dig beneath the hydrangea bush?”
“Not exactly, but close. He kept saying ‘hydra.’” She looked at me and shrugged. “It’s always windy in the dream. I can’t make out anything else.”
“Hydra?” I repeated. “Like the mythical water monster?”
“I don’t know about that,” she said dismissively. “Hydra, like hydrangea.”
I stood up and walked with Gus to the oak tree. As he sniffed the groundcover, I gazed around this little corner of the park.
Why “hydra”? It was only part of the plant’s name. Granny had once told me that hydrangea meant “water barrel,” since that’s how the flowers were shaped. Hydra meant “water.”
The instant I thought it, my eyes fell upon the bubbling fountain on the other side of a line of boxwood shrubs. Wanda would have had to have made a pretty wild throw to send the ring that far, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
She got up from the bench and joined me near the tree. “You look like you’ve had an inspiration,” she said.
“Tell me something, Wanda. What did Roy do for a living?”
“He was a machinist. Worked for the TVA. Why?”
“I was just thinking, could he have meant hydra as in water? Like hydro?”
Wanda’s eyes lit up. “You might be on to something!”
Together, we made our way quickly to the fountain. The electric pump couldn’t have been more than a few years old, but parts of the rocky feature were much older.
“This used to be a goldfish pond,” said Wanda.
I handed her Gus’s leash and kneeled down to get a better look. The bottom of the fountain was carpeted in pennies, with a smattering of nickels and dimes—for the bigger wishes, I supposed. What were the odds that a ring flung in here eons ago would still be here? Probably not too good.
Undaunted, I grabbed a stick and scraped coins away from the edge. In the process, I swirled dirt and muck, making it even more difficult to see through the water. I sat back and stared at the fountain for a moment. Above the little reservoir, water trickled from a jumble of large rocks like a mini-waterfall. Several crevices between the rocks were certainly large enough to hide a ring.
Wanda must have been thinking the same thing. She produced a penlight and handed it to me.
Inching closer to the rocks, I leaned over and shined the light into every crack and cranny. I didn’t see a thing, not even a spider. I was about to call it quits, when I passed the light across the largest crevice a second time—and caught a glimpse of a tiny round object. It might have been a pebble, or it might have been a coin. Then again, it might’ve been something else.
With mounting excitement, I removed my shoes and socks and rolled up my pant legs. “It’s probably nothing,” I said, not wanting to get Wanda’s hopes up.
I stepped into the pond and walked gingerly across the slimy, cold coins. Gus barked enthusiastically. No doubt he wanted to help, or at least join in the game. Wanda held him back, as I grasped the largest rock for support and reached two fingers into the shadowy crevice. Making contact with the small object, I carefully eased it out of the hole.
It was a ring! The gold was dull and tarnished, but the round diamond still held a hint of sparkle.
“That’s it!” whooped Wanda. “You found it!”
The leash slipped from her hand, as Gus ran up to the edge of the fountain. His stubby tail wagged furiously. It was clear he longed to join me in the water, but he didn’t have the nerve.
“Stay back, Gus,” I cautioned. “I’m coming out.”
Grinning widely, I turned on a dime (literally)—and slipped, landing smack dab on my rear end with a big splash.