Authors: Elaine Orr
SUNDAY MORNING, I felt a lot better, so Sharon left about eight-thirty. She said, as long as I was recovering well, she might as well get home in time to fertilize her tomatoes and make Ambrose order feed for their horses.
I wasn't one-hundred percent, so I scanned the information sheet the hospital had given me. My symptoms were mild compared to some listed. After roughly thirty-six hours, my headache was largely gone, and I was tired. I didn't feel nauseous or dizzy.
It seemed the two most important things were not to do anything too physical and to be aware of how I felt. I didn't expect additional symptoms, certainly not serious ones, but recognized I probably shouldn't do heavy yard work for a few days, maybe even a week.
What a pain.
It would be smart to call Syl. To thank him, of course. I also hoped he would trust me enough to pay me to do some physically easy things, like walk the property to figure out where to trim bushes, to plant flowers, or even to create diagrams for how to lay out a couple flower beds.
After a quick shower, I called.
"Gardeners Unlimited," he answered.
"Excuse me?"
He laughed. "I saw your name on caller ID. How's the head?"
"Much better. Listen, thank you, and I want to apologize again. I shouldn't have been out there without your permission."
"Probably not safe for you to be anywhere alone at night at the moment. Apology accepted."
I took a breath of relief. "It may be a week or so before I can do strenuous work, but there are things I can do to keep things moving."
He listened as I outlined my ideas for prioritizing the work and planning flowerbeds.
"Sure. If you can get on your knees at all, pick up some colorful stuff from your farm place and plant a few things near the house. It'll look a lot better."
"Do you have any preferences for colors?"
"No, you can… Say, why don't you find someone else to do a couple of days' worth of digging weeds or whatever?"
It made sense, of course. Syl would want the work done sooner rather than later, no matter what shape my head was in. "I'm sure I can find someone. I'll ask around." We discussed an hourly rate for the person Syl referred to as 'your helper.'
When I hung up, I stared out the window for a while. Part of my brain was thinking of what I'd plant in the spots near Syl's house, another part was wondering if I would be able to weed at least the vegetable parts of my own garden. The final brain segment meandered through a list of people who might work with me at Syl's.
I thought about asking Andy from Farm and More, but he would gossip to everyone. Stooper kept coming to mind, too. He was usually sober in the afternoon. Plus, I should probably thank him for leaving a message on the
South County News
answering machine.
I had no phone number for Stooper, so I called the tavern. The bartender said the best time to talk to Stooper was when he came in 'to get started' about six in the evening.
My head wasn't up to deep thinking and even reading made my eyes tired. What I could do was get some bedding plants for Syl's place. Andy would be at Farm and More to needle me about being grouchy, so I went to the afternoon farmers' market to look for flowers. I wandered through the aisles, taking in the rhubarb and strawberries, wishing Missouri peaches were ripe.
I knew about half of the vendors. The mall at the edge of town, if you count six stores in a strip shopping center a true mall, lets local farmers use most of its parking area one evening each week and Sunday afternoon.
Most towns don't have Sunday markets, so the River's Edge market has a good draw. Since the occasional person who wanders into a shop at those times represents much of the business the mall gets from April to early November, the store merchants don't complain about fewer parking spaces.
In May, half of the farmers sell mostly bedding plants, plus a few early fruits. There's no room in my apartment for a bunch of pots, so I start ninety-nine percent of my vegetables in the yard. However, buying a couple tomato and squash plants means I get produce a few weeks earlier than from seeds.
"Melanie." John used a sing-song cadence. "Do I need to tell Ambrose you're doing too much?" I hadn't noticed him and his wife, Polly, checking out a bed of strawberry plants.
"No, Sharon won't back you up. She was here 'til yesterday." I smiled at Polly. "Is he this much trouble at home?"
She laughed, showing perfectly spaced teeth that accented her dark pink lipstick. "He can be useful." She raised a canvas tote that was on her arm. "When I get one more bag, he'll do the carrying."
"Yeah, yeah." John looked behind me. "Polly and I need to get to those tomato plants."
I wondered why he was in a hurry, and why Polly didn't protest, until a woman's voice warbled from behind me. "Melanie Perkins. Your parents would be shocked."
I closed my eyes for a second before turning to look at Eliza Wright. She thinks that commenting on others' behavior is some sort of public service. I disagree.
"Morning Eliza. Buying rhubarb?" The tart fruit would be appropriate for her.
She narrowed her eyes, which made her four-foot ten frame seem somehow smaller. "Of course not. No one grows rhubarb to match mine."
Of course not
.
"What were you doing at a single man's home in the middle of the night?"
I heard John spew coffee and hoped it didn't reached Polly.
Nobody needs to wait for the Monday paper to get news
.
"I'm doing gardening and lawn work for him. My new profession."
She lifted her chin and frowned. "At two something in the morning?"
"Night shade vegetables."
Nearby vendors coughed or laughed, but Eliza had no idea the term referred to specific vegetables, like eggplant or tomatoes, rather than any that needed special care after dark.
"My lands. He should take care of those himself. What is he like?"
At least I can laugh at her. Fred hates her because she repeated some of Hal's lies about why he fired Fred. "Mr. Seaton is very nice, very professional. You'll probably meet him at some point."
"What church does he go to?"
"No idea." With anyone else, I'd have suggested they call and invite him to theirs.
"Did you see a Bible in his home?"
A less suspicious person would say yes or no or that it was none of her business. I recognized the question as her attempt to learn if I'd been in his house. If I said yes, the next question would be what room was the Good Book in. "I usually talk to him on the porch."
It was sixty degrees, but Eliza was wearing two sweaters. She pulled the outer one tighter. "There are lots of good local boys in River's Edge."
I looked at my watch. "Gosh. Where does time go? I need to get some bedding plants, so I can get them in today." I turned and walked toward the end of the aisle so I could turn into the next one.
"You tell Ambrose I said hello, now."
I waved over my shoulder and kept going.
As I passed John, he murmured, "He'll love that."
I whispered, "Shut up," and kept walking.
I bought a flat of yellow marigolds and added four daisies, which were in six-inch pots. The farmer I bought them from loaded my flowers in his wheelbarrow and walked me to my truck. He was from the next town, so didn't know Eliza. Thus, he responded to her wave with a cheerful hello, which she took as a reason to talk to him.
I unlocked the back of the pick-up and waited while they visited about expected rain tomorrow and whether it would be a wet summer. By the time she asked how large his farm was, he had wised up and said he had to get back to his booth. He loaded my plants and made a quick getaway.
When I shut the back of the truck, Eliza was still there. She had a single, four-inch pot of zinnias.
I never buy them in pots. They germinate in no time. "Heading home to plant?" I asked.
"See? Lots of nice local men."
I tried not to smirk. "We chatted on the way out. He and his wife just had a little boy."
She leaned forward a couple of inches. "You don't have to be young to have a love life, you know."
I locked the back of the truck. "Who's hitting on you, Eliza?"
Fred would be proud of me
.
Eliza pulled back a bit, doing her best to look affronted. "I have not been with a man since my dear Joshua died fourteen years ago.
Go figure
. "Yes, ma'am."
A smile played at her lips. "I was talking about someone we both know."
I dreaded hearing her gossip. I'd have to decide whether to refute her or warn a friend of the rumor.
"Hal turned into a real ladies' man the year before he died. Did you know that?"
I'll be in debt to Eliza. Who knew
? "He seemed happier."
Lie, lie
. "We weren't sure who it was."
She leaned to within six inches of me. "Someone you know well."
"Ryan?" I asked, not smiling.
"Oh my, no." She looked at me with narrowed eyes. "Oh, you're joking."
Ryan will kill me
. "Yes, ma'am."
"You know her," Eliza said.
It would kill her not to tell me, so no need to ask. "Maybe we should let Hal rest in peace."
She considered this, and in a voice that dripped honey, said, "Maybe you should ask Betty about that."
I knew to take anything Eliza said with a full tub of salt, so I kept a straight face. "Gee, Betty usually doesn't gossip."
Before she could say more, I told her Syl expected me to put the plants in today and almost hopped in my truck. She had no way to know I was fibbing.
BY THE TIME I left the farmers' market, I realized I would have to spend part of the afternoon napping. It was frustrating. I meant to nap for only a few minutes, but when I woke up, it was time to eat a quick supper so I could find Stooper at the tavern.
I was walking out the door when Ambrose called.
"You behaving yourself?"
"You can ask your buddy John. I ran into him at the farmers' market. He was Polly's bag man."
His tone showed irritation. "I thought you were going to take it easy."
"When's the last time you knew me to sit in my apartment all day?"
"But that was a lot of walking."
"Ambrose, didn't Sharon tell you I pledged to be careful and rely on my friends if I needed them?"
"Yes, but..."
"How was the Farm Bureau meeting? Anything juicy I should pass on to Fred or Sandi?"
"You're trying to change the subject," he groused.
"I appreciate all you do, but did Sharon boss you around when you were twenty-seven?"
After about three seconds of silence, he sighed. "Just try not to have the sheriff on your case when your head's banged up."
I WAS SURPRISED at all the people in the tavern at six PM. The tavern, whose formal name is Beer Rental Heaven, is smaller than the
South County News
bullpen. Dark paneling makes it seem dingy, though it really isn't. Owner Gary Bradley has a cleaning crew come in every morning, and he keeps the large wooden bar polished.
Shirley sat on a stool near a tall, round table on the far side of the room. When she saw me squinting around the room, she raised her beer. "Come over here, sugar."
There was no sign of Stooper, so I walked toward Shirley. "So, this is where you go when the coffee runs out?"
And by the way, did you come here with Hal
?
She laughed. "You know full well Sunday is Ladies Night. Only way Gary gets people in here Sundays. Beer's half price for us. First one's on me."
I held up a hand. "Not drinking for a few days. The whack on the head is getting better, but I don't want to push my luck."
Shirley was somber, not a side she often exhibits. "You've had some rough things happen to you the last couple years."
"Yep. Trying not to let Hal's death get to me."
"Good for you."
"So, Shirley, can I ask you a question?"
"You ask me questions all the time."
I grinned. "Besides what the special is."
"Shoot."
"None of us at the paper really knew Hal outside work. Did he have any friends at all?"
She took a swig of beer. "Friends? I don't know. The only thing I know is he was always writing something."
"You mean you think he took work home?"
"Don't know about that. I was in Ottumwa one time, at that bookstore on Second Street. Not there anymore. Remember it?"
I nodded.
"They ordered some book for him, and he looked at it and didn't want it. They were hopping mad. Guy said he'd asked Hal to be sure it was what he wanted, because it was expensive. And heavy to mail back to the supplier."