Nipped in the Bud (18 page)

“You are the most likely person.
New to town, with a big grudge against
Picklemann
.”

I stomped my foot. “I am not new to town. I grew up here. Remember? And I didn’t have a grudge against Bud.” I stared at Charlie, his closed stance, his hard eyes. “Oh, what’s the use? I can’t change your mind. You’re going to believe whatever you want to believe anyway. Since nobody is willing to entertain the idea that I didn’t kill Bud, you all better hope that no one else gets hurt.”

His eyebrow jerked up as if trying to reach his receding hairline. “Is that a threat? Are you saying you’re going to kill someone else?”

Argh
.
“What I meant was
,
if you would help find the real killer, then none of us would be in danger. If you keep focusing on me, the real killer is going to go free, perhaps to kill again.”

“That’s why we have a police force. Lawson will figure it out. Good day, Paige.” Charlie marched into the back room.

Frustrated beyond measure, I spun around and stormed down the pain reliever aisle. If I took every drug I passed, it still wouldn’t be enough medicine to eliminate the pain I just talked to. I shot out the front door and headed for The Garden Gate. That did not go well.
Not at all.
Charlie knew something of value, I was sure of it, and I had no idea how to get it out of him. I wouldn’t give up. No
siree
. I would keep after him like a tick on a dog, irritating him until I got what I wanted.

Just as I’d hoped the sun would improve Lisa’s mood, I now wished it would help me. I looked into the clear sky, white clouds inching their way across the vast horizon. The rays warmed my face but did nothing for my attitude. I reached the shop, and the glare simply reminded me to clean the glass in the shop’s doors and windows, which were as smudged as my mood. I had to find a real clue.
Something that moved me in the right direction.

I yanked open the door and stormed inside.

“You look upset,” Hazel said from a stool placed next to Mr. T’s cage.

“I am.” Wishing the only problem facing me was which ladder to climb
on,
I stopped to watch Mr. T move around the top of his cage for his daily exercise. As much as Hazel pretended not to like the goofy bird, she doted on him and made sure he was well taken care of.

“Sunday, Monday, Happy Days,” he sang out and hopped from his exercise area to the counter.

I stroked his soft head. “You couldn’t be more wrong, old buddy.”

Hazel stood. “So what’s up?”

I described my swing and miss with Charlie. “There’s got to be a way to get him to talk.”

“That old coot won’t have a decent conversation with anybody. He’s probably a lost cause.” Hazel held her arm out for Mr. T to hop onto. “Any word on whether Bud had any money on him?”

I shook my head. “It’s about time we get some good news, though. I’ll go check on my source. See if he found out anything.” I took a few steps and turned back. “Did you hear from Kurt?”

Hazel shook her head. “Not yet. If he doesn’t get here pretty soon, I’ll give him a call.”

She lifted Mr. T to the cage door. “Okay,
fella
. I’ve got work to do. It’s back to the big house for you.”

Normally I would smile at her jailhouse reference, but being so close to incarceration myself, I could only imagine the rest of my days in a cell.

Blessedly alone in my office and able to sulk over Charlie, I pondered my next move. Who did I know that could talk to Charlie? Had to be someone he respected, had never argued with him, and someone with a reason to pursue the matter. Did such a person exist?

Maybe when I called Perry, he’d recommend someone. I selected his number on my cell, but had to leave a message—a pathetically desperate plea to call me back ASAP.

Great, strike number two, and we hadn’t even reached
noon
. I glanced at my desk and spotted my suspect list. All it would take to follow up on
Nancy
’s alibi was a simple phone call. Since Kurt hadn’t arrived, I punched the number for
Nancy
’s boss into my phone and tapped my foot.

“Hello, you have reached Terrance Paulson. I can’t come to the phone right now so please leave a message at the tone.”

Argh
.
I detailed my question then slammed down the phone. I plopped onto my chair, air gushing out the sides. Well, that was strike three. I was out. Or was I? I looked at my hastily scribbled writing. Mrs. Gherkin might have come up with some way to get Gus to talk.

I looked up her number in the phone book and dialed.
Another voice mail, another message.
Seriously, even Mrs. Gherkin had voice mail? Didn’t anyone in this country answer the phone anymore? As if on cue, the shop’s phone rang. Well, I wouldn’t let my caller have to deal with a recording.

I snatched up the handset on the third ring. “Thank you for calling The Garden Gate,” I answered with extra jubilance, as if to prove answering a phone was the proper and polite thing to do.

“Paige, oh, good.
I’m glad you answered.”

“Weed Whacker?”
I glanced around. Had my worlds somehow collided?
Radio world and Garden Gate world merging?
Was this the end of the universe?

She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to check in and see how things were going. You haven’t had any
nutsos
bother you since I last checked, have you?”

None, other than you.
“Really, Weed Whacker, I think you’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting? We’re talking about murder here.” Her tone shot high. “People do odd things when they think someone is a killer.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern, but you needn’t bother.”
Translated, stop bugging me
.

“No bother at all, Paige. It’s the least I can do for all the advice you’ve given me. I’ll check back later. Just to make sure everything is all right.”

She disconnected and I sizzled. At least I’d discovered an answer to one of my questions. This was precisely why no one answered the phone.

“And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”

“Hi, Paige, this is Hank Wilkins from El Paso, Texas. I’m
visitin
’ my daughter here in
Oreeeegon
and caught your show. Really enjoyed it, but I’m confused about one
thang
.”

“Well, thank you for calling, Hank. Gardening in different regions of the country can lead to confusion.”

“Right.
Well, my problem is about those slugs you kept
mentionin
’. You said that you had to bait for slugs on a regular basis up here in
Oreeeegon
. When we go
huntin
’ in
Texas
, we don’t have to bait for our slugs. We just go down to the hardware store and buy us a box of whatever size fits the gun we’re using. If it’s such a big deal to get slugs up here, I could send you a box ever’ now and then.”

Once my fog of frustration cleared, I remembered that I hadn’t asked Hazel about her visit with Mitch. By the time I returned to the front, Mr. T was happily playing with a rope toy strung from the top of his cage, and Hazel had already begun the dirty process of filling a decorative container. Three others sat at her feet, but these were from our regular stock, not the delivery.

I approached, and the earthy smell of the potting mixture riled up my desire to garden. “You call Kurt?”

Hazel continued to scoop rich soil into the bronzed urn. “Now he says he’ll be here by
noon
.”

I smiled at her efficiency. “Then it’s a good thing Teri’s coming in this afternoon. We’ll need every available hand to finish on time.”

Hazel turned the container, punching down the soil as she moved it. “Teri’s a good worker. You planning to switch her to full-time when
your
landscaping business takes off?”

“
If
my business takes off, yes, Teri is my first choice. Of course, we’ll have to bump you up to manager status and hike up your pay.”

Hazel’s head shot up. “Honestly, manager?”

I looked at her and laughed. “Well, sure. You didn’t think I could handle all of this by myself, did you?”

“No. But I figured you might look for someone with that kind of experience.”

“You already have the experience. You’ve basically been running the place this week while I’ve been tracking down Bud’s killer.”

She slowly stood upright, stretching as she moved. “Do you really think we can figure out who killed Bud?”

I wanted to tell her the truth—that I’d about given up on clearing my name then boohoo on her shoulder, but she’d already seen me dejected. I didn’t want to take her down with me. “Don’t worry about that. Of course we will. Maybe if you tell me about your appointment with Mitch, it’ll trigger something that will help.”

She waved a hand. “Not much to tell. He kept badgering me about where you were on Monday morning.
Asked the same question over and over again.
Guess he was trying to trip me up or something.” She shook her head. “Sure glad I live in the country and don’t pay his salary with my taxes.
S’pose
he might be good at what he does, but I don’t like it much when it’s aimed at my friend.”

“Well, thanks for sticking up for me. I need—” The door chimed, and my name was screamed at a pitch so high only a dog should hear it.

“Paige.” Lacy Winkle and her twin, Lori, launched their little bodies in my direction.

I braced my legs and waited.
Three, two, one, impact.
I staggered back at their combined force. They left me tottering for a moment until I regained my footing. Two sets of miniature arms clamped around my waist and squeezed like they never intended to let go.

Mr. T broke into an anxious dance and then climbed to the top of his cage. “Quit your
jibba
,
jabba
,
quit your
jibba
,
jabba
.” The poor bird didn’t much like children since an unfortunate incident involving his tail when he was young. I had no such incident, but my comfort level had been breached.

Lisa meandered behind the girls. Unlike her deliriously excited daughters, her face held the same tight and troubled look from earlier. Normally after this length of time, she would have instructed the girls to let me go, but she leaned against the counter and watched as if having an out-of-body experience.

I needed an out-of-body experience, too.
Out of the clutches of these little bodies.
I squirmed free and stepped behind a tall plant in a defensive move. The girls grabbed hands and circled like wagons in the old west.

“So,” I said to the twins, “to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Lori stopped and looked up at me. Her usual plate-sized eyes were narrowed below her yellow bangs. “Huh?”

“Right.”
I laughed. “Three-year-old
speak
. Why are you guys here?”

“We need new flowers.” She took on a grown-up and very self-important look. “Mommy’s disappeared.”

I tapped my chin. “Hmmm,
disappearing
flowers. That’s quite a mystery.”

“Mommy planted them. Now they’re gone.” Lacy lifted her tiny hands in the air, and her face screwed up.

I looked at Lisa. “Are we talking about the primroses you bought last week?”

Lisa, eyes sheepish, she held out the pinkie nail she’d picked at earlier and removed the last speck of polish.

I crossed over to her and put my face in her path. “Let me guess. You planted the flowers and forgot to take care of the slugs like I told you?”

She jerked back and crossed her arms. “I didn’t think it was
that
important.”

“Didn’t I mention that slugs like primroses as much as these girls like cheesy
macs
?”

“We love cheesy
macs
,” Lacy said, nodding and sending her delicate curls bouncing.

“That’s our
favoritest
food in the whole world,” Lori ended with a serious nod of her own.

I looked at the pair that I thought of as
Stachys
byzantina
, the plant that was nicknamed lamb’s ears for the fuzzy soft leaves that felt a lot like the girls’ soft curls. “Slugs like to eat primrose leaves just as much as you like cheesy
macs
.”

“
Ewwww
,” Lacy said, and Lori chimed in, adding a silly dance to the mix. Within moments, they were whooping and hollering at top volume.

“Now, girls,” Lisa said in a soft tone and without any real effort to still her twins.

Enough.
If Lisa didn’t even expend the energy to try to make the girls behave, something was terribly wrong. Time to get her to willingly spill, or I’d force it out of her.