Death in a desert garden, p.7
Death in a Desert Garden, page 7
“Oh.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh’?”
“Well, you heard about the lawn, right?”
“From your boss. Part of the board retreat was to look at putting the new Events Center on the lawn area. And reduce the lawn. People were in agreement, it was all sweetness and light, everything was coming up roses.”
That was the Marcia she remembered.
“Well, see… the thing is that we use too much water here, and some of us—the staff, and Dr. Ramos, and Alicia—wanted to cut down on our water use by getting rid of the lawn.”
“Yes, Myron let me know that he thought Armando Ramos leaked the garden’s water use figures to The Tucson Post to pressure them into changing. It seems unlikely to me, because those figures are a matter of public record, but I must say Dr. Ramos is not a popular guy. He made quite sure that I knew the principles of xeriscaping, which he went on at some length to explain, is not zeroscaping.”
Bea laughed at this. Marcia was a native Tucsonan. She was not a tourist who didn’t know what xeriscaping was. She knew xeri meant dry.
“Anyway,” Marcia continued, “Dr. Ramos wanted to make sure that I understood that no self-respecting gardener following the principles of xeriscaping could have more than 10% in high-water-use plants. And that it was sometimes hard for him to be on a board with people who can be ‘so clueless about basic issues like this.’ But line it out for me… what does this have to do with tulips?”
“Marcia, it’s not just the lawn that’s high-water use. There’s the rose garden and the tulip bed, too. Plus, the tropical greenhouse. Buffy and Myron won’t budge on changing any of these areas, and Liz was the firmest of all on this stuff. Alan was a fantastic rose gardener, and he loved tulips. There are some rare varieties. Angus and Dr. Ramos, especially, want to cut that area down a lot and put in some other desert plants. Alicia likes the idea of changing it into an ethnobotany garden—you know, one with plants for food and shelter and medicine, that sort of thing.”
“Kind of like a kitchen garden for her restaurants?” Officer Blake contributed this.
“If you mean that in a pleasant, non-literal way.”
Marcia raised her eyebrows again. “Back to roses and tulips.”
“Well, there’s nothing to say, really. Except that it’s not worth killing somebody because a person wants to tear out her dead husband’s rose and tulip garden. I mean, a lot of us care about saving more water, but not that much, Marcia.”
“Well, somebody is obsessed with roses and tulips, I’d say. And they want us to know it.” Marcia curled her lip at that last statement. Meanwhile, Officer Blake put on some gloves and pulled the Liz mosaic out of the supply closet. They must have moved it from Angus’s office. Bea wished she didn’t have to see it again. Her first instinct was to look away.
“Look at this, Bea. Does anything stand out to you now, a couple of days after the first shock is over?”
“It’s Liz because of the cleft in her chin. She looks younger. And it’s kind of cartoonish.”
“Yes, it wasn’t done by anyone who wished her well. If it was done by the tree puller, that’s obvious. But maybe the artist and the murderer are two separate people.”
“In cahoots?”
“Could be,” Marcia said.
“Do you know any mosaic artists in the Garden community?” Officer Blake said this in his usual harsh way.
“No. Well… no.”
They waited. Blake’s hands were poised over the laptop keyboard.
“I know Javier’s wife Maria does some nice mosaics on clay pots and mirrors and things like that. They’re pretty, not satirical.”
“Tell us about Maria,” Blake said.
“She’s in Mexico right now!”
“Tell us about Maria.” This time Marcia asked.
“She was the Shandleys’ housekeeper. She still cleans this building on a contract basis. But she’s at a funeral in Mexico for a week. She’s been gone for days! She wasn’t in town when Liz fell!”
“You think Maria’s a good person and couldn’t be involved,” Blake said. His tone was neutral, but his pursed lips showed disdain.
“Maria is a quiet, hard-working woman. Marcia, she’s like the mother of lots of kids we went to school with. She doesn’t want to make trouble with the Anglo community, not because she’s undocumented, but because she doesn’t want to stand out. She probably knows people who could get deported, and she doesn’t want to endanger anybody. She minds her own business, makes some yard art on the side, enjoys her grandchildren. But hey… Myron’s an artist. I suppose he might make mosaics, but I have no idea.”
“Now you’re finally not standing up for somebody,” Marcia said, but it was gentle teasing. Not disdain. “Okay, there are just two people left I need to ask you about. First, Buffy Jones.”
“Well, she and her husband came to Tucson about the same time as Liz and her husband. And I hear that both couples got rich from Tucson’s post-World War II growth.”
“The Shandleys were in real estate, correct?” Officer Blake had been taking notes steadily.
“Yes, and the Joneses were in hotels and resorts,” Bea said.
“And Gregory Jones died a couple of years ago, of brain cancer,” Blake said.
“Well, I wouldn’t know about that. But I can tell you that once Buffy did tell me something personal. She saw me with my friend Barb Rice, and she said that she was pleased that she and Liz had rediscovered their girlhood friendship in their widowhood. She said they were both close to Myron, too.”
“Do you have anything else to tell us about her, Bea?” Why did Officer Blake always make her feel guilty?
“Okay. Buffy seems excited about contributing the Jones Event Center to Shandley Gardens. Sometimes she seems to care more about the Gardens than either Liz or Myron.”
“And Alicia Vargas?” This was Marcia. Officer Blake was busy typing something.
“Alicia’s a competent board president. Part of Tucson’s Country Club set, like the other two, but she’s younger. She hasn’t had so many nips and tucks, though, so she looks closer to her age.”
“I believe there was a lawsuit between the Vargases and the Shandleys,” Blake said.
“Well, yeah, I guess Alan nearly put the Vargases out of business when he evicted them from a couple of his properties, supposedly for a higher paying tenant,” Bea said. “An Anglo tenant, I’m pretty sure. He might have been able to get away with that then. It was a long time ago, maybe in the seventies. The Vargases sued, and I think they settled out of court. A volunteer told me all this. I’m sure you can find it out without asking me.”
“Yes, we’re just interested in your take on it,” Officer Blake said.
“Thanks, Bea, you’ve been a great help. I knew you would be,” Marcia said.
“Marcia, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Why did Liz go walking under that tree when there was a break in the retreat? She knew eucalyptus are dangerous in the wind. What a weird thing to do.”
“Good, Bea. You’re thinking the right way. Her cell phone shows the record of a call from a burner phone earlier on Sunday, before anybody was at Shandley. We don’t know who it was, but we think they may have told her to walk down that way for a treat, or a surprise, or something, after the first part of the meeting.”
“And she did it because she knew them.”
“That would make sense. It could have been someone close to her, or maybe not.”
“And she did think she was due special treats. Sorry, that was uncalled-for,” she added as Officer Blake looked up at her from his notes. “Well, I can see how that mosaic would have beckoned her to walk where she did, but seeing it was no treat. Nor was what happened next. And I’m sure it would have distracted her from noticing that there was someone up in the tree. Or did they pull down the branch from the bottom? I still can’t believe any of this is happening.”
“But it is. We think they pulled the branch down from below, on the ground, after it had been partially sawed through.”
“Yuck.”
“Okay, Bea, you can go. Thanks again,” said Marcia.
Bea walked out with the sinking feeling that she had cast doubt upon several people. Angus, Maria, Dr. Ramos. Maybe Ethan? And Alicia. She needed to get ahead of Marcia’s questioning. She needed to figure this out. She couldn’t imagine any of them committing murder, but she was more loyal to some of the “suspects” than others. Angus and Javier were both her friends and her colleagues, and she thought they were above board. Damn it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bea’s new friend Frank had checked in with the rest of the world long enough to realize that Shandley Gardens was in the news. He called right when Bea got home to offer his condolences for Liz’s death—he thought maybe they were close. Clearly, he didn’t know Bea too well yet.
“That’s not the only tragedy, Frank. Okay, you have to promise to keep this to yourself.”
“Sure, Bea, what?”
“There’s a murder investigation going on at the Gardens. Thankfully, Ethan has closed the place for the next couple of days. I really hope the whole thing is wrapped up by then. Except I don’t really. Because the cops think it was one of us—a board or staff member. At least I’m off the hook.”
Frank exhaled quickly. “Bea, how about if I pick up a roasted chicken and a bottle of wine? Andy and Jessie like chicken, right?”
“Yes. Okay. I’ll make a salad and I have some good bread. And ice cream. We need ice cream.”
They had a reasonably comfortable meal together. Bea was nervous about the kids’ reaction to him, but of course, Jessie jumped into Frank’s lap right away. Andy kept his distance, and asked Frank how long he was staying. “’Cause sometimes my daddy’s girlfriends stay all night.”
At this, Frank gave Bea a questioning look. She caught it out of the corner of her eye, because she was looking down. She didn’t want Andy to see how shocked she was. She wasn’t shocked that Pat had a girlfriend, but his daddy’s girlfriends? Plural? Around the kids? What was going on at Pat’s house, anyway? She needed to talk to him. After they got this murder solved, when she could focus on talking with Pat calmly.
She was trying to find the right words to say to Andy, when Frank jumped in and assured him that he’d “leave after your mom and I have a little time to talk after you guys go to bed.” This was a relief. Bea had no desire to navigate the stress of dating on top of the tension at work. And she didn’t need Andy to have a meltdown just now either.
The wine was a nice cold chardonnay, un-oaked. Frank remembered from their dinner at the Mediterranean place that she hated the oaky kind. And he listened well while she talked. It didn’t seem faked. He asked some good questions.
“It sounds like you’re telling me that everybody there disliked Liz. Is that right?”
“No. I think Myron and Buffy really cared for her. Although Liz smothered Myron. I don’t know how he could stand it. But he was always solicitous of his mother, and they hung out together a lot. With Buffy, too.”
“And what about your boss? Did he secretly despise the board president?”
“Oh, I’m never sure what he thinks of anyone. He could hate us all, for all I know, but he’s unfailingly polite to everyone. I do know he loves plants.”
“So that leaves a lot of people who don’t like her. Javier, right? And Maria, but you say she’s in Mexico, and the cops can verify that. She could have made the mosaic before she went to Mexico, though, even if she wasn’t around when Liz was killed. And Angus. And Alicia. I doubt she’s really forgiven her for that lawsuit, don’t you?”
“It seems unlikely that she actually liked Liz on that basis, I agree. But she is a consummate professional. And she does like gardens, so it kind of makes sense that she’s on the board.”
“Then here’s Dr. Ramos. What’s his first name, anyway? You call everybody else by their first name.”
“Armando.”
“And then there’s you.”
“Well, Marcia said I’m off the hook. I hope that stands!”
“Yeah, let’s hope you stay that way. And who knows, maybe the people who act like they loved Liz feel entirely differently.”
“Well, I sure hope more people get off the suspect list soon. This is unbearable.”
“Pretty damned interesting, though!”
She could see the writer’s mind kicking into gear. “Frank, this is not a novel you’re writing! This is my life, and it’s stressful!”
“Sorry, Bea. I get that.”
His hand slid her hair back from her face, gently, and he looked her in the eye. “Goodnight.”
Good, no kiss goodnight. Easier that way.
“I told Andy I wouldn’t stay long.” And then he was gone.
Bea hadn’t meant for him to make that quick an exit. But maybe it was a good thing he had. Andy was standing in his bedroom door, pulling on his ear. “Mama, I can’t sleep.”
And so she put him to bed, and stroked his forehead until he fell asleep.
As she pulled on her nightshirt, she found herself wondering why she was so nervous about getting involved with Frank. He seemed like a genuinely nice human being. And he came well recommended; one of her closest Santa Cruz friends had gone to med school with him at the University of Virginia. They were both older students, so that bond had made them friends and study partners. When Frank moved to Tucson, his study partner told him to give Bea a call. She’d written Bea a long email about the guy. Frank had been an English major at a small liberal arts school in New England. He’d spent quite a few years after graduating traveling the world and then the U.S., taking seasonal jobs with the Forest Service and the Park Service. Bea’s friend said he was plenty competent for medical school, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was just doing what was expected of him; he came from a long line of prominent Virginia physicians. His heart was in writing, and in hiking and camping in the wilderness, and he’d decided to try making Tucson the center of both endeavors.
“He’s perfect for you,” Barb Rice had said, and Bea had to admit that Frank sounded refreshing. The image she had of her romantic life was a house burned down by a forest fire, surrounded by blackened trees. But she knew there were green woods out there somewhere, beyond the wreckage.
Except it sounded like Frank was a little footloose. He had nothing really tying him to Tucson right now, and who knew what personal connections he had with other places. He could be a freelancer anywhere. And who knew how he felt about kids in his life? Yeah, he’d been good with Andy, but people who’d never been parents were almost always shocked by the 24/7 nature of the task. He liked freedom, that was clear from his life choices. Well, it was early days in the relationship. He might not be worth taking any major risks. She had to be careful, and she would be.
Bea knew her reticence had more to do with her ex-husband than with Frank. She’d figured that having two kids with Pat ensured that they were committed, for life, and yet he’d lost interest in her when she became dependent on his help and his income in a way she’d never been when she’d been devoted to her career. Maybe this was what “catch and release” fish felt like. Probably not, they were probably simply delighted to be thrown back into the currents. She was, too—she really was. She was better off this way. She was sure of one thing: she wasn’t going to let them all be reeled in and thrown out again.
Bea awoke a little earlier than usual the next morning and thought she’d steal a cup of coffee and look at the paper before waking the kids. She knew the police were done at the Gardens and had gone back to the station, and she’d be able to conduct her parking lot meditation in peace. Since Shandley Gardens was closed to the public, she wouldn’t have to oversee volunteer tours and the children’s summer program she was supposed to have taught. Her calm lasted until she glanced at the front page of the paper.
There it was. “Murder at Shandley Gardens.” The only reason the story wasn’t above the fold was that a certain politician, not a favorite of the newspaper’s editorial page, had just been indicted for corruption. Still, a murder on the front page below the fold was bad enough for Shandley. The story featured a picture of Liz at some gala, jewels anywhere they could be affixed, smiling prettily for the camera.
Bea wondered briefly who had tipped the reporter off to the murder investigation. She knew it could have been any one of the friends, relatives or acquaintances of the board and staff, people who’d been sworn to secrecy. She hoped it wasn’t the Rices. Probably not. At any rate, headaches awaited the staff at Shandley. And she was also going to have to tell Andy and Jessie about this. Who knew what the kids at camp would say?
The Post speculated that Liz and Alan had made several enemies as they rose to prominence in Tucson, mentioning the lawsuit with Alicia and Raoul Vargas years ago, when they’d been forced out of their first restaurant building. Raoul had called Alan a “g.d. bigot.” This made it even more surprising that Alicia and Liz had seemed to get along so well on the Shandley board. Things could get horrible fast now that the news of the murder was out. Bea didn’t think it could possibly be good to have Shandley’s dirty laundry plastered all over the internet, no matter what people said about the benefits of “increasing your profile.”
It was time to get her children up.
Before they’d finished their last spoonfuls of granola, Bea finally broached the issue.
“You guys, people have found out that Mrs. Shandley didn’t die by accident. It’s awful, but it seems like somebody made that branch fall down on her on purpose.”
Andy’s eyes widened. “Mom, are you talking about murder?”
“Right now it looks that way.”
Andy started pulling on his ear in earnest. Jessie looked at him and then at her mother with a fearful expression that made Bea furious that she had to expose them to all this.
