Garden of Death (2 page)

“Wow,” Jackson said. “Wow.” He came over to me. “You do look like Cinderella, that is, if Cinderella ever wore black.”

“You don't look too shabby yourself,” I replied. “In fact, you look incredibly handsome. Just like James Bond.” He wore a classic black shawl-collar tuxedo jacket, shirt, and pants, along with suspenders and cuff links, topped off by a spiffy black bow tie that I bought at the same vintage store where I bought my dress.

I'd even managed to find black pointy toe wink­lepicker oxfords in his size to complete the look. The contrast between his rugged good looks and the formal ensemble made quite an impression.

He pulled me close and I felt his warmth. The smell of his coconut aftershave was sexy. “I want to take you to bed right now,” he said, his voice husky as his hand ran up my leg. “I mean, right now.”

“But we'll be late,” I said, laughing. “And you know that Cinderella can't be late for the ball.”

chapter two

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

ASHWAGANDHA

Botanical name:
Withania somnifera

Medicinal uses: Ashwagandha, a woody shrub from the nightshade family, builds chi, or good energy, making the body more stress resistant. In Sanskrit, the name ashwagandha means “smell of a horse,” but it has the strength of one, too. That's why it's good to use if you are recovering from an illness. This herb boosts immunity, nourishes and calms the mind, promotes sleep, and improves brain function in the elderly. Use for anxiety, exhaustion, memory loss, mental fatigue, neuroses, overwork, and stress.

Okay, we were a little late. When we arrived at the Maritime Museum, the parking lot was full and the place packed. The Land and Sea Ball was
the
place to be on the East End tonight for friends of the museum and their guests.

The museum was a nineteenth-century brick building nestled at the end of the Railroad Dock, right next to the slips for the Shelter Island ferry. While the inside was impressive, filled with maritime memorabilia and photos, it wasn't all that spacious. So to handle the overflow, the organizers had added an outdoor area for the jazz band and dance floor and a second bar. Surrounded by greenery and twinkling white lights, the “deck” looked out on Shelter Island across the bay.

The local paper, the
Suffolk Times,
had written up the menu for the Land and Sea Ball that morning. The “sea” portion of the feast would be seafood dishes from local restaurants and a clam and oyster bar. The “land” would be represented by favorite dishes from local eateries. Local wines would be served from Lieb Cellars and beer from the Greenport Harbor Brewing Company. Nature's Way had contributed three organic desserts: berry parfaits with whipped cashew cream, gluten-free almond cookies, and plum-raspberry-peach crisp with vanilla ice cream and a dash of cinnamon.

“This place looks really beautiful,” I said, taking Jackson's hand. “I'm glad we came.”

“Me, too. Would you like a drink?” Jackson had been sober for ten years, but he didn't mind if I had one
or two.

“A white wine spritzer sounds great.”

He kissed me on the cheek. “Be right back.”

When he headed to the bar, I took a look around the outdoor area and spotted Merrily and Nate on the dance floor. Her dress was typical Merrily, crafty and funky, made out of black denim with metal stars embossed all over it. Nate wore a black vest, black tie, and black jeans. They looked good together.

Merrily spotted me and said, “Just taking a break.”

“No problem. Have fun!”

I glanced at the serving area, where Wallace was busily getting ready for the dessert course. With his silver ponytail and small Ben Franklin specs, he almost looked as if he were in historical costume. The green suede Birkenstocks, though, which you could see beneath the white tablecloth, gave him away.

I took Jackson's arm and led him over to Wallace. “How is everything going?” I asked.

Wallace pulled out parfait glasses and lined them up. “We're doing okay. I think everyone is going to love what Merrily prepared.”

“I really appreciate you helping out here,” I said. “Don't forget to note the extra time on your sheet.”

“I will, no worries.”

Mayor Hobson went to the bandstand and took the microphone. “Thanks, everyone, for turning out tonight. This event kicks off our week of festivities that will delight locals and visitors alike. Tomorrow, as you
know, we start the Maritime Festival with the opening day parade and the traditional blessing of the oyster fleet at the Railroad Dock.”

I felt an arm slip around my waist and turned to find Simon Lewis smiling at me. Simon was a TV producer and writer, not to mention my ex-boyfriend. He had followed me from L.A. to Greenport a year ago, failed to win me back, but fell in love with and purchased a second home here.

Last September I helped him out of a jam when he was suspected of murdering another TV producer. This had earned me his undying gratitude and cemented my place in his life, whether I liked it or not.

I pulled his hand away. “What are you doing here?”

He gave me a boyish grin. Simon wasn't conventionally handsome, but he had an undeniable, irresistible charm. He also had a steady named Carly, a producer whom I'd met last September when she was here filming on location at the Bixby estate in Southold, just a few minutes east of Greenport. Now she was in the UK, busy working on a new movie.

“I can't just sit at home, and wait until
Vision
starts up,” he explained. Simon's previous show,
Fast Forward,
had been canceled, but now he had a new one about a psychic who solves cases, inspired by the star of Carly's show, who investigated the haunted mansion on the estate. In the meantime, he was trying to write a novel, without much success. He came in to the café each morning with his laptop and mostly stared at the screen. “Besides, you know I'm into maritime history, especially pirates, so I had to come. And, Willow, I need to ask you for a favor.”

Someone shushed us. “Later,” I said, wondering what favor Simon needed this time.

Simon, ever impatient, proceeded to text me. My phone pinged. I glared at him, plucked it out of my purse, and without looking at the message, turned
it off.

“Okay,” Simon said, sounding defeated. “I'll wait.”

The same someone shushed us again.

“Now, as for the prizes,” the mayor went on, “we've got some great gifts that have been donated by our local merchants for a raffle. All of the money that we raise each year goes to the museum's children's program along with maintaining the Maritime Museum and Bug Light lighthouse in Peconic Bay. But this year, we're doing something new, providing a twenty-five-hundred-dollar scholarship for a Greenport High School student who plans to study marine biology.”

The mayor checked his notes and continued speaking, “This scholarship is thanks to the generosity of the late Frank Fox, who also donated a tract of land in the heart of Greenport to the village when he died. The competition for the space was keen, but the Village Board and I chose to give this piece of land to Willow McQuade, the owner of Nature's Way Market & Café.”

There was more applause but I also heard a few dissenting voices. The decision to award me the parcel of land was not without controversy. Most of the competing applicants were here tonight, I realized as I scanned the room. But there were also quite a few friends of mine and Aunt Claire's who waved to me, smiled, or gave me a thumbs-up. It felt good to have
their support.

However, Kylie Ramsey, the head of the local farmer's market, who had also applied for the lot gave me a cool look. Harold Spitz, who organized flea markets and who also wanted the space, did not return my gaze. Maggie Stone, head of Advocates for Animals, who had wanted the land for a dog park, gave me a dismissive glance and whispered something to the man to her right.

Over at the bar, I spotted Charles White, M.D., an orthopedic surgeon, who along with his investors had wanted to build a high-end boutique hotel on the lot to cater to rich out-of-towners. White was talking to his friend Joe Larson, a local builder and village trustee who had championed White's plan and openly disliked me and what he called Aunt Claire's “wacky New Age ideas.”

White's wife, Arlene, a sixty-something woman who looked ten years younger, thanks to an obvious face-lift, stood next to them, looking bored. Dressed in a fancy taffeta gown, she sipped what looked like a Bloody Mary. Arlene was not one of my favorite people. She had come into Nature's Way several times to try and convince me to give the land to her husband. Basically, her point seemed to be that they were entitled to it because they had more money than I did.

All of them seemed oblivious to the fact that they were standing next to Jackson, my boyfriend, who was clearly listening to what they were saying. Just seeing them brought back the stress of those weeks when we were all petitioning the Village Board with our ideas. I might never have created the garden if I'd known how many enemies I was going to make. Jackson must have
seen the tension in my face from across the room. He gave me the peace sign, and I smiled.

Martin Bennett and his wife Sandra, who ran an organic dairy in Aquebogue, thirty minutes west of Greenport, came up to me. Sandra, a petite, energetic woman in her forties, had also applied for the lot so she could put in a creamery to make and sell artisanal cheeses, using the milk from her cows and goats.

I braced myself for more conflict. “Martin, Sandra, how are you?”

Sandra smiled. “We're doing fine. We just wanted to come over and show our support.”

“We noticed that the other applicants were not exactly being friendly,” Martin added. He was a trim, fit man, an amateur bike racer.

“No, they aren't,” I said. “They still seem to resent the garden.”

“Well, we all wanted the land,” Sandra admitted. “So you've got to expect that everyone else would be disappointed. But honestly, I think the garden is a great idea. I knew Claire, and she would be ecstatic about what you're doing. We can't wait to visit.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I really appreciate that.”

“Actually, we're going to be vendors in a spot on Front Street across from your store all weekend long,” Martin said. “We could do it then, hon, you know, take turns taking the tour.”

“That's a good idea, love,” Sandra said, taking his hand.

Jackson walked back over with an iced tea and my wine spritzer. He handed it to me, and said hello to Martin and Sandra.

When they stepped away, Simon said, “That guy has had some work done.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see it all the time in L.A. Didn't you notice how tight the skin was on his face? And his nose looks like George Clooney's.”

“Maybe he wanted to improve his looks.” I hadn't known Martin before so I didn't have anything to compare it to.

“They went too far,” Simon said, finishing his cosmopolitan. “I'm empty. Time to go to the bar.”

As he walked off, I turned to Jackson. “What did Dr. White and Joe Larson say about me?”

Jackson took my arm and pulled me to a neutral spot, away from prying ears and eyes. “Don't let those two get to you, Willow. You're doing a good thing for Greenport. Claire would have been proud.”

But I needed to know. “What did they say, Jackson?”

He didn't answer at first.

“Jackson?”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Promise me that you won't get upset.”

I took a breath. “I'll try to be calm. What is it?”

“White was complaining that you had gotten the lot illegally, that you had cheated, did something to tilt the vote in your direction. Larson was telling him not to worry, that they would get the land for themselves eventually.”

“Cheated? That's crazy!”

“I know that. You know that. They're idiots.”

“He's right, Willow,” Simon said, reappearing at
my side, holding a pink cosmo. “You're doing an awesome job on the garden, and I can't wait to have a cup of tea on that patio that you”—he turned to Jackson—“and that guy, what's-his-name, are building.”

“Nate, his name is Nate,” Jackson said. “But that's nice of you to say, Simon.” Jackson tolerated my friendship with Simon because he knew I loved him, and also because he kind of liked my ex, too. After the case last fall, Jackson had softened toward Simon. They were almost friends now.

The mayor, who had left the stage briefly to confer with an aide, now took the microphone again. “As I was saying, Ms. McQuade, uh, Dr. McQuade, that is, is in the final stages of completing the teaching garden and an open-air teahouse for everyone to enjoy. We're sure that her Aunt Claire would be pleased, God rest her soul.”

I had a strong suspicion that it was Aunt Claire's influence that was the tipping point in the decision to award me the land. She had been incredibly well liked and did a lot for the community, especially when it came to helping homeless animals. I had used some of the proceeds from her bestselling Fresh Face Cream to set up the garden. To give back, I pledged 10 percent of all the profits from the garden and teahouse to the local animal shelter and to Jackson's refuge. But just because Claire had helped me didn't mean that I had cheated. I had gotten the lot, fair and square.

“Tomorrow, the Claire Hagen Memorial Physic Garden will be open to the public,” the mayor announced. “If you can, please join us for the opening ceremony at noon.”

There was more applause, but now, some loud
grumbling, too.

White pushed away from the bar and headed toward the stage, with Joe Larson trailing behind him. “Everyone needs to know that Willow McQuade got that lot from Frank Fox illegally,” White announced loudly.

“He's right,” Joe Larson said. “We've got people looking into it. But I think that's all we should say for now.”

“What is going on?” I felt my stomach knot. “What is he talking about?”

Jackson took my hand and squeezed it. “Ignore him. We won't let him take away the garden. Don't worry.”

“I'll get my lawyers on it,” Simon said. “The big guns.”

The knot in my stomach twisted. “I don't want to get into a nasty battle over this.”

“You have to protect your interests, Willow,” Simon said.

Mayor Hobson cleared his throat, and said, “Joe, Dr. White, please keep your opinions to yourself. Now I know that there are others who also aren't happy with our decision about this land, but I hope everyone in the community will support Willow in her new venture.”

“That vote was fixed and we're going to prove it!” Dr. White insisted.

“That guy needs to shut up,” Jackson said.

White pushed his way through the crowd and over to us. “You talking to me? You're saying that I need to shut up?”