Garden of Death by Chrystle Fiedler Page B

sure?”
    Simon nodded. “Very. They were having a pretty intense conversation. This one here was even crying at one point.”
    â€œThat’s good to know,” I said, puzzled. I turned my attention to the couple. “Hi, you two. Come to see the garden?”
    Sandra tucked a strand of dark hair back into her ponytail and smiled. “We thought we’d take the tour since we’re not busy yet. Is it too early? The sign says you don’t open until noon.”
    â€œThat’s the plan,” I said. Even though I was pressed for time, I felt glad that some of the other merchants wanted to see the garden.
    â€œDo you have time to show us around?” Sandrawas wearing jeans and a T-shirt with their logo, a happy-looking cow and the words: Organic Artisanal Cheese Fresh Daily! Maybe it would turn out that we could work together, I thought with a glimmer of hope. Maybe she and Martin would oppose the petition to close the garden.
    â€œSure, I can squeeze in a quick tour.”
    â€œNate and I will make sure everything is good to go,” Jackson said.
    So, while they kept working I gave a tour through the front sections of the garden. Simon trailed along with the tour. Sandra and Martin seemed both interested and impressed with the work we’d done. Sandra was especially interested in the section of plants for pain—like feverfew for migraines, cramp bark for menstrual cramps, and arnica for muscle aches.
    â€œIt’s amazing that this little flower can help stop a headache,” she said, examining the feverfew plant, which had small daisylike heads. “I’ve had bad migraines for ages now. I wonder if it would help me.”
    â€œAre your migraines connected with hormonal changes?” I asked.
    â€œMy gynecologist thinks they are.”
    â€œThen I can suggest some good supplements that might help.”
    â€œGreat. I’d also like to pick up some arnica. I broke my shoulder in a fall a few years ago, and I had to wait almost a month to have the surgery, and then . . . it didn’t go well. So now I’m left with chronic pain. I tried talking to that doctor about natural remedies, but he was very dismissive. Long story, short: he’s no longer my doctor and I’m looking for alternatives tohandle the pain, besides relying on prescription painkillers.”
    â€œI think that’s smart. Can I ask—who was this doctor?”
    â€œI shouldn’t say.” She turned to Martin and said something that I couldn’t hear. “He’s local.”
    â€œAnd a real jerk,” Martin added.
    Sandra squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, honey.”
    Simon shot me a look and I knew we were thinking the same thing. What were the chances that the doctor was Charles White—an orthopedic surgeon—and that Sandra was the one who’d been suing him for the botched surgery?
    As we headed toward the back of the garden to continue the tour, Sandra surprised me by saying, “Where did they find Dr. White? I have to admit, I’m a real true-crime junkie. I read about it and watch it on TV.”
    â€œDoes she ever,” Martin said, rolling his eyes.
    I hoped that the rest of my visitors weren’t interested in the same thing. But I took them over to the cardiac section and pointed out where I had found the body. “Dr. White was right there, next to that foxglove plant.”
    â€œHow creepy,” Sandra said with a shudder. “Why in your garden? I mean, of all places. It seems strange.”
    â€œWe don’t know.”
    â€œDo they know who did it?” Martin asked.
    â€œWe don’t know that either, but some of the local merchants are circulating a petition to shut down the garden. Have you seen it?”
    â€œWe heard about it, but of course we’d never signsomething like that. Right, love?” she said, and took her husband’s hand.
    Martin gave me a sympathetic look.