It had started as a little garden around her house, but then, over the years, it had become something quite beautiful. Beautiful enough, it drew tourists who could appreciate the cool, dappled space, the hint of fragrance and green, and the quiet paths, even though it was only a few blocks away from the main street.
This wasn’t one of the things Bertie had to advertise. People were automatically drawn here to delight in the ever-changing watercolor quilt of bloom and leaf and earth and sky.
I strode down the narrow path through trees and bushes and flowering plants delicate as lace.
September meant many of the blooms had already put on their best show and bowed off the stage. But it was still lush and beautiful.
I found Myra first, her arms crossed. She faced me, shaking her head. “I told him not to tell you.”
“That there was a murder?”
“I told him not to tell youthat way,” Myra said. “He decided to be dramatic.”
“I did no such thing,” Than said, his voice just a pinch high. Offended. He was offended. “I amneverdramatic.”
“What about when I told you I found that Belleek for five bucks?”
“Thief and rascal,” he accused. “You did not pay five dollars for that teacup.”
“No,” Myra said. “I paid four ninety-nine for that tea cupandsaucer.”
Crow snorted.
She grinned like a cat who had gotten a second bowl of cream and was drinking it out of an antique four ninety-nine tea cup.
Than turned to me, dismissing Myra’s existence. “There has been a murder,” he intoned.
“Show me,” I said.
He glided down the path that wended between trees and bushes and stopped at a clearing.
No, not a clearing. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be a clearing.
“Murder.” Than pointed one long, boney finger downward.
“The plants?”
“They have been killed, harvested,” he said.
He wasn’t wrong. Whatever bushes and plants had been here—and just offhand, it looked like a few ferns, azalea, maybe some borage and daisy—had not only been hacked down in several spots, it looked like they had been ripped out by the roots.
“Messy,” Crow noted.
“So.” I glanced at Myra. “Someone cut the flowers, and this—this is the murder?”
“They have been destroyed,” Than said. “Eaten.”
“The plants,” I said one more time just to make sure we were on the same page.
“Are they not living beings?” he asked.
“I mean, yeah. Living. But murder doesn’t really apply here. You know: ‘unlawful killing of a person’ is the sort of murder that we respond to. Not harvesting flowers.”
“It was done with intent to harm,” he said.
“You can tell that?” And oh, the look he gave me. “All right, you can tell that. How did you find this?”
“Jimmy called it in,” Myra said.
