Charity Begins at Home - Ch. 16-17

Excerpt from Charity Begins at Home by Pat Otterness

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

? Just then a knock sounded at the front door. “Charity, are you there?” boomed a man’s voice.

Shit!?“Excuse me,” I murmured to my companions. I made my way to the front door, which nobody ever used except for Harrison Kace.

“There you are!” said my ex-husband jovially. “Hermione and I thought we’d drop by and see how you’re holding up.” The false smile did not add to his appearance. He was the kind of man who missed being incredibly handsome by a hair. Something about his eyes – not exactly shifty, not cold, but they left you feeling a lack of depth somehow.

“I thought we agreed that once the children were grown, you wouldn’t come here again,” I said coldly. “Do I need to get a restraining order?” An empty threat, of course, only meant to make him uncomfortable.

“Hermione thought it would help you to talk about it,” said Harrison. “You can tell us anything. We’re?here?for you.” Just then his child bride appeared beside him in the doorway.

“Hello Tammy,” I said meanly. When I first met her, she had been plain old Tammy Tucker, the teenager who babysat our kids.

“My name is?Hermione,” she said huffily. “Legally! I had it changed, and you know it.”

“Not the only thing you had changed,” I said, with a meaningful look at her perky breasts. “Why are you here?’ I asked. “Why the burning desire to talk about a corpse?”

“Why, indeed?” said a voice behind me. Investigator Hunt stood at my shoulder, looking over the new arrivals. “Who are your friends, Chat?”

“You know perfectly well who they are,” I said gruffly. “I’m not totally unaware of your friendship with Harrison and his wife. He’s quite the little name-dropper, you know.”

“Perhaps I should have asked?why?they are here,” said Hunt. “Harrison, Hermione, please come in.”

“Oh, Chat, you have company!” said Hermione hastily. “We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No, of course not,” said Harrison, backing away from the door. “We’ll visit another time.”

Over my dead body, I thought.

“We didn’t know you and Jordan were … involved,” said Hermione.

Involved? Jordan? What??I caught a glimpse of Hunt’s lips twitching, the first sign I’d seen that a real person might be lurking inside his stern exterior.

“No, please,” Hunt said smoothly. “You’re eager to know more about the body that was found. Maybe?I?can answer your questions.” He held the door open and ushered them in. Have a seat. Maybe Chat can fix you some of her excellent root beer,” he said.

Damn!?I thought. I’m beginning to like this guy.?“I’m afraid the root beer is all gone,” I said. “I’m?truly?sorry. Could I fetch anyone a can of Coke?”

No takers. “Excuse me a moment,” I said. I went to check on Hiram, who was patiently waiting in the kitchen. He had discovered a pile of iris catalogs amongst Chance’s mail, and was happily studying the pictures. I smiled, shrugged, and returned to the living room.

“Exactly what is your interest in the body that was found,” said Hunt. “Do you have information you need to give us?” He was in full investigator mode now. No more mister nice-guy.

Harrison and Hermione exchanged glances. “I’m just worried, is all,” said Hermione at last. “I was expecting a visit from my brother, and he never showed up.”

“There’s no reason he’d have been out here on Dancing Creek,” said Harrison. “But we still thought we ought to be sure.” He looked again towards Hermione. “Right, honey?”

His honey looked tearful. “Just?please?tell me it’s not my brother,” she said. She turned to me. “If I know it’s not Buddy, I’ll leave you alone. I promise!”

????????????Omigosh!?My expression must have given it away.

“No-o-o!” she shrieked. “Oh, God, no!” Tears streamed down her face, forming little gray rivers as they soaked through the mascara and coursed down her face.

“I’ll need you to look at some photos,” said Hunt. “See if you can identify him.” He pulled several shots of the man who had called himself Buddy, and showed them to Harrison and Hermione.

Harrison’s grim expression and Hermione’s moans clinched the ID for me. This was beyond weird.

While Hunt made arrangements for Harrison and Hermione to do a formal identification of the body, I slipped into the kitchen and told Hiram the news. We sat in silence, waiting to see if Hunt required anything of us. After a bit, we heard him ushering the bereaved pair out of the living room door.

“I’m going to have to leave,” said Hunt when he returned from walking them to their car. “Go ahead and keep the plant orders,” he said to Hiram.. “I’ll get the checks from you later, and see that arrangements are made to pay these bills.” He indicated the envelopes he had gathered from the table.”

“O-oh, do you?have?to leave?” I joked, batting my eyes in mock-flirtation.

Hunt almost smiled, caught himself, and wagged a finger at me. Wordlessly, he turned and let himself out the kitchen door.

“That was fun,” I said. Since Hiram had missed Hermione’s blunder, his astonishment at my behavior towards Hunt was comical.

“Did I miss something,” he asked, shaking his head.

I just laughed. Until Hermione’s misperception, I had failed to register that Hunt was in plain clothes, not in uniform. Now, watching him drive away, I saw that he had been driving an unmarked car instead of a cruiser.?Jordan Hunt, undercover cop … my secret lover??I stifled a grin.

“What are?you?looking all starry-eyed over?” Hiram demanded. “You aren’t falling for that …?” He bit off his words, scowled. “Not my business,” he grumbled to himself, looking away.

“Leave it,” I said. “I have an idea. Before it gets dark, let’s go back to Chance’s and get a good look around with those binoculars. Maybe we can figure out what became of Gladys. You need to feed Baby anyway, right?”

A sullen nod from Hiram.

“Don’t sulk,” I said. “I’ll tell you. When Hermione saw Hunt here in street clothes, she thought he and I were …?involved.” Hiram’s eyes met mine for a few long moments. Then we both burst out laughing. “It gets better,” I said. “Hunt suggested I offer Harrison and Hermione some of my?excellent root beer.”

Hiram’s eyes danced with delight. “I told you he wasn’t such a bad guy,” he said.

“So let’s get a move on,” I said. “The daylight will be gone soon.”

Hiram gathered up order envelopes and piled them in with the catalogs in the cardboard box. We took my car and drove the short distance to Chance’s house. While Hiram went to feed Baby, I ran up the stairs to begin scanning the fields spread out below. Somewhere out there, Gladys might be lying hurt or in serious need of assistance.

?CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

? “See anything?” asked Hiram as he entered the upstairs room.

I was gazing disconsolately over vast acres of fields spread out below. “Not yet,” I said. “It’s getting too dark to see much. I think we’ve left it too late.”

“Maybe not,” Hiram said. “Chance has night vision glasses, too. When it gets a little darker, we’ll be able to try those.” He picked up the other pair of binoculars that were sitting on the windowsill and helped me search for any sign that Glad might be out there.

“What I think,” said Hiram, after a few minutes, “is that we ought to be out there walking along the rows. From up here, we can’t see what might be lying on the ground. Glad could be lying out there, and nobody would see her. The sheriff didn’t ever send anybody up here to search Chance’s garden. Or yours,” he added.

“I guess he didn’t think she made it this far up the road,” I said. “I think you’re right, Harm. We should take a look.” I continued to scan the fields below, but darkness obscured much of the landscape. “Find us some flashlights,” I said, putting my binoculars aside. “It will be dark soon.”

As we went out, I caught a glimpse of Baby, a nearly toothless trembling old thing with patchy fur, that positively wiggled with joy as Hiram approached. He took a moment to stroke Baby’s upturned face and murmur sweet nothings in his ear. Baby’s whine followed us out the door, the whine of a faithful dog no longer able to follow where his master led.

“He really likes you,” I said, realizing in that instant that I really liked Hiram, too.

“He’s known me since he was a pup,” said Hiram. “He was Chance’s dog, but Baby thought he belonged to me. It used to make Chance so mad the way Baby followed me around.” Hiram led the way to the end of the first long row of daylilies. “You take one row, and I’ll take the next,” he said. That way, we’re still close to each other, but we cover more ground.”

“Good idea.” I used the flashlight Hiram had given me to scan the ground ahead as we walked along. There were big clumps of daylily leaves nearly three feet tall, but since it was too early in the year for daylily blooms, we were mostly looking at the ground as we walked along. “What are we looking for, exactly?” I asked. “Besides Glad, I mean.”

“Anything. Footprints, drag marks, something Glad might have dropped. Not blood, I hope.” Hiram slowly paced out the row beside me to the end, where we reversed and set off down the next pair of rows. “Chance wanted to turn Baby into a guard dog,” said Hiram. “Tried to make him mean. Baby would just look at him with these sad eyes, and lick his hand.” Hiram shook his head. “Chance never did know a good thing when he saw it.”

“I think he finally has the dog of his dreams,” I told him. “The Rottweiler he’s had patrolling out here is not a dog you’d want to mess with. Not even on his best day.”

“A dog like that will get him in trouble,” said Hiram.

We continued pacing daylily rows for what seemed like an eternity before turning our attention to the field where Chance had planted his irises. The fragrance of the iris blooms wafted over us and lent an air of romance to our evening patrol.

“Harm,” I said, “take a look at this. I think someone has been digging.” I squatted down and shone my flashlight over the disturbed area. “That’s odd,” I said. “It looks like someone has removed some of the increase from this plant.”

Hiram joined me, easing between tall iris stalks to get to my side of the row. “Increase?” he said.

“New rhizomes being made by the original rhizome,” I explained. “It’s a form of asexual reproduction. That’s the way growers get new rhizomes identical to the parent variety.” I showed him the increase on another variety further up the row. “The amount of increase varies a lot from one variety to another,” I said.

“Do you see a marker?” he asked as we moved back to where the ground had been disturbed. “I’d like to know what’s been taken.”

I pointed out a Venetian blind marker – not a type I’d trust in my own garden.

Hiram read off the name, “FIERY PHOENIX.” He bent the metal marker back and forth. “What?is?this thing?” he said. “It looks like an old piece of Venetian blind.” This was said scornfully.

“That’s just what it is,” I agreed. “Lots of growers use them as cheap markers. When you visit the other gardens, you’ll see a lot of them. They use a wax pencil or a permanent ink marker to write on the blinds, but I’ve seen what weather can do, especially rain.”

“You?don’t use them,” said Hiram. “The aluminum tags you use are better.”

“I like them better,” I said,” but they’re much more expensive. Just so you know, whoever took FIERY PHOENIX knew what they were doing. “It’s a contender for this year’s Dykes Medal.”

“I don’t know what that is,” said Hiram. “Is it something special?”

“It’s the highest award you can get for an iris,” I told him. “I wonder if anything else has been taken.”

“We’d better keep an eye out,” said Hiram. “I feel like I’m responsible for keeping this garden safe until Chance returns.” He eased back through to the other side and we resumed our slow examination of the path between Chance’s iris rows. I was glad he had only one field of them. Even with Hiram there, it was spooky walking around outside in the dark.

Our vigilant search turned up nothing else of interest, and after a brief discussion, we decided to wait until morning before beginning a search of my garden. Hiram decided to go back to the house and scan fields with the night vision scopes, and I left him to it. I was tired and knew I still had at least an hour’s computer work left to bring my photo files up to date.

I felt safer with the new locks in place. Hiram had done a good job. At least for now, mine was the only key that would open these doors. I locked myself inside and poured a frosty glass of iced tea. A handful of cookies seemed in order, and I munched as I headed for the computer and took up where I had left off earlier.

After I finished adding in the days photo information, I took a few minutes to review the varieties I’d marked as reselects from this year’s crop of seedlings. So far, not including the green iris that Hiram so insistently called CELESTIAL BUTTERFLY, I had eight new varieties that were worth considering for introduction. I copied photos of these to a new file, and named it ‘K Reselects’. Like most breeders, I gave each year’s seedlings a letter designation. I had started with ‘A’ my first year, so ‘K’ represented my 11th?year’s seedlings. The “K” year’s reselect choices already included an interesting variety of colors and color combinations. Even if I eventually decided they were not worthy of introduction, they might still be back-crossed to their parents, or crossed to siblings or half-siblings to strengthen positive traits, intensify colors, or reveal recessive genes.

I closed that file, and opened a file labeled ‘I Reselects’. I needed to re-evaluate this group for a third season, decide which to introduce this year, and start thinking of names for them. Naming could take a lot of time. I decided to print photos of all ten ‘I’ reselects. I would probably introduce only five or six, but having the photos in front of me would help me as I worked through the evaluation and naming processes.

I had just turned off the computer and settled myself in front of the TV with another handful of chocolate chip cookies when the phone rang.?Now who can that be??I wondered. Putting down my cookies, I lifted the receiver and said hello.

“Chat?” said a pleasant male voice, “This is Frank. Frank Ortiz.”

“Hi Frank!” I said, surprised and pleased. He had never called me before. I glanced at the clock.?Late to be calling. “How are you?” I said.

“I’m fine,” he said, “but how are?you? I heard you were the one who found that body. That must have been rough.”

“I’m a tough old bird, Frank,” I said. “But you’re right, it did shake me up.”

“It must be hard to have an investigation going on up there right in the middle of bloom season,” Frank said.

“It’s a nuisance, but I’m doing okay. I guess you heard that Chance has disappeared, and now Glad Handy is missing, too.”

“I did hear that. I’m really worried about Glad,” said Frank.

“Not worried about Chance?” I asked.

“Not as much. One of my guys, Kenny, has known Chance a long time. He says Chance has disappeared before. But Glad is another matter. I’m afraid someone may have harmed Glad.” I could hear Frank sigh.

“Who would want to hurt Glad Handy?” I asked. “She’s a bit of a gossip, but surely nobody would be upset enough by that to want to hurt her?”

“She doesn’t visit your garden much, does she?” Frank said – more a statement than a question.

“No. I discourage visitors,” I said, wondering where this was leading. “Why?”

“We-e-ell – Glad has made some enemies in the iris community,” he said. “She and a few of her friends have caused some problems out this way.”

“What on earth have they done?” I asked.?How much havoc could be wreaked by a few middle-aged country ladies?

“We-e-ell – the first year I was out here, Glad and her pals did a little gratuitous deadheading. I lost about half of the seedpods I had forming. Not just me, either. It happened in gardens all along Dancing Creek. The ladies thought they were being helpful,” he added.

“Oh dear!” I said.?Every breeder’s nightmare.?“I hope you set them straight,” I said.

“I gave them?‘what-for’,” said Frank. “We all did. They sounded genuinely sorry, so we let it drop.”

“I get the feeling there’s more to this story,” I said.

“We-e-ell, yes,” said Frank. “The next spring, they did it?again. They were sneakier about it the second time – harder to catch at it. I caught one of them red-handed and confronted her. First she said she’d forgotten. Then she argued that the gardens looked nicer without those ugly ‘knobs’.”

“Surely they haven’t done it again,” I said, feeling glad I had been so territorial about my own garden.

“I don’t think so,” said Frank. “Not in?my?garden, anyway. I told Glad I’d have her and her friends thrown out and banned from all the gardens if it ever happened again. She didn’t much like that.”

“I’ll bet she didn’t,” I said. “Has she done anything else to upset the growers?”

“Glad and her buddies have taken to filching rhizomes,” said Frank. “They wander around the gardens admiring the blooms, and when they think no one is looking, they help themselves to the new increase on plants they like.”

“Are you sure it’s them?” I asked. “Just tonight, Hiram and I discovered some increase missing from one of Chance’s rhizomes.”

“All the way up there?” said Frank. “You’d better check your own garden, then. I can’t be sure that Glad and her buddies are responsible, but I’ve heard her say that stolen plants grow better.”

“That figures,” I said. “Pretty much all the local ladies grew up with that idea. They also believe that if you thank someone for giving you a plant, it won’t grow. Old wives’ tales, but they take them seriously enough. I’ve told a few people who said that, that if they didn’t thank?me?for giving them irises, they wouldn’t be given any more.”

Frank laughed. “I guess they think we growers have so many irises that we won’t miss a few,” said Frank. “They have no idea that taking our increase may mean we can’t fill our catalog orders later this summer.”

“I’m sorry to hear about these problems with Glad and her friends,” I said. “I had no idea all this was going on.”

“The real reason I called is more serious,” said Frank. “This year it’s gotten worse. We’ve been having thefts from our seedling gardens. The nicest seedlings, those we might want to introduce, are just disappearing. Tags and all. One day the seedling is there – the next day it’s gone.”

“That’s terrible!” I said. “Do you think Glad is responsible?”

“I don’t know,” Frank admitted. “I know some of the others believe she’s doing it. The breeders are … well … they’re furious.?I’m?furious!”

“Have?you?lost any?” I asked. “Seedlings, I mean.”

“Do you remember the coppery seedling I showed you – my first bloom of the season?” asked Frank.

“The one from BAMBOO SHADOWS and COPPER CLASSIC?” I said.

“That’s the one.?Gone!” I could hear the despair in Frank’s voice. “Whoever is doing this, whether it’s Glad or somebody else,” he said, “I swear …?they are going to?pay!”