Buried in a Book Read online

  The Secret Garden was on Sweetbay Road, just past the railway station. Walking along the cobblestoned High Street, I turned right at the fountain, making my way toward Walden Woods Circle. I loved walking past these charming cottages, left over from the town’s Illumination days, when they served as spacious rental units for a contemplative retreat site. As part of Inspiration Valley’s refurbishment, these cabins were renovated and sold as private homes. Painted in an assortment of pastel colors, their tiny gardens were enclosed with white picket fences, and although there was an element of sameness about the neighborhood, each home had its unique character.

  My heart went aflutter when I saw a For Sale sign in front of a creamy yellow house with blue shutters. Its garden was filled with abundant hydrangea bushes ready to bloom, and the path leading toward the house was made up of stepping-stones in the shapes of leaves. I wondered if I could afford this endearing cottage and jotted down the phone number of Ruthie Watson, whose name was listed on the Sherlock Homes Realty sign in bold blue letters.

  When the picket fences ended, I turned onto Sweetbay and found myself walking next to an old stone wall covered with trumpet vines. It led to the entrance of the Secret Garden, an arched double gate with pink and white roses climbing up trellises on either side. The wooden doors stood open, revealing pathways leading to various sections—trees, shrubs, garden plants, supplies. For a moment, I felt like Frances Hodgson Burnett’s heroine, Mary Lennox. Gazing around the blooming paradise, I whispered, “‘She liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place.’”

  A man in denim overalls was watering plants but paused to wave as I passed by. Knowing that Addison worked in the gift shop, I headed straight there, even though I was intrigued by the many colors and species of flora outside.

  A little bell jangled as I opened the door, and I was instantly surrounded by a plethora of floral scents.

  A young woman stood behind the counter arranging irises in a vase as she chatted with a handsome man I immediately recognized as Carson Knight, the literary agency’s charming author. Surprised to see him back from New York already, I hesitated, not wanting to interrupt the obvious camaraderie between Carson and the pretty garden center employee. She was petite and dainty and wore an apron printed with wildflowers, which she smoothed coquettishly before giving Carson a playful poke on the arm. He laughed, reached over the counter, gave the long, tawny braid that hung over her shoulder a brief, playful tug, and then exited through a side door.

  By the time I drew up in front of the counter, the young woman was still grinning, wispy curls escaping around her face. Freckles dotted her nose, and her blue gray eyes sparkled as she looked away from the flowers to smile at me. “Can I help you?”

  Placing my bag on the counter, I rooted around inside for Can’t Take the Heat. “Yes, I have a flower I’d like you to identify. Are you Addison Eckhart?”

  “I am. Do I know you?”

  “No, not yet.” My fingers finally closed around the book’s spine, and as I pulled it free from the rest of my clutter, the bag fell, scattering a hairbrush, a packet of tissues, and query letters all over the floor. Muttering over my clumsiness, I dropped the book on the counter and bent down to retrieve all that had fallen.

  “Let me help you,” Addison said as she came around and proceeded to pick up papers. Rising, she straightened the pile she’d collected and glanced at the letter on top. “Do you work at Novel Idea?” She handed them to me. I felt like a giant standing beside her.

  My cheeks flushed. I put the pages back into my bag. “As a matter of fact, I’m the new intern. I just started today. I’m Lila Wilkins.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” She looked a little disgruntled. “I thought you wanted to ask me about a flower.”

  “I do.” Pulling the single bloom from the pages of the book, I handed it to her. “Do you recognize this?”

  She held the flattened, droopy thing that bore little resemblance to the pretty and delicate blossom it once was. “It’s Asclepias, or as the average person would know it, white milkweed. You can find them in fields and by the roadside. Bees and butterflies love them. Most people associate milkweed with the silky white seedpods that fly all over the place, but the flower is very pretty, isn’t it?” She handed it back to me. “Where did you get this one?”

  “It was in a bouquet.”

  “A bouquet! Not many people would put…Wait a minute.” She pointed at the ruined milkweed. “Marlette gave this to you, didn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “That man! He was such a nuisance.” She went back to her side of the counter and started vigorously snipping iris stems.

  I leaned my forearms on the counter. “What do you mean?”

  “Every day he’d show up at the office, and he’d always bring some kind of flowers, usually weeds, as an excuse to give us his query letter.”

  “Did you ever read his letter?”

  “Are you kidding?” She scrunched her nose. “He was a loony. And he stank. I couldn’t stand having him anywhere near me! I’d chase him out as soon as he showed up.”

  How could this beautiful creature not have an ounce of compassion for Marlette? “So you have no idea what his letter said? Or what his novel was about?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Poor man.” I couldn’t help my remonstrative tone. “He died at the office today.”

  Her dainty hands flitted to her throat. “How? What happened?”

  “We don’t really know. Jude Hudson thinks someone murdered Marlette, and—”

  “Jude?” Her voice had an edge of panic. “Jude was involved?”

  I touched her arm reassuringly. “We don’t know who was involved. Jude saw something that made him believe it was murder. The police are investigating.”

  “I bet Jude accused Zach.” She rearranged the irises in the vase, her expression grim and knowing. “Didn’t he?”

  Taken aback, I asked, “Why would Zach murder Marlette?”

  “Well,” she began, leaning in close, “about two months ago, just before I left, Zach almost signed Taylor Boone, you know that reality show teenager who became an actress? She was writing a tell-all about the life of a Hollywood glamour girl with lots of stories about parties, drugs, and sex. Zach was going to make a fortune on her deal.”

  I was puzzled. “So what did Marlette have to do with that?”

  “When she came in to sign her contract with Zach, Marlette was in the lobby.” Addison twirled the end of her braid. “I was having a particularly hard time getting rid of him that day. Taylor walked up the stairs, and there was Marlette, waiting at the top, like some dirty scarecrow. She screamed when she saw him, and Marlette tried to comfort her by putting his hand on her shoulder. Then she really freaked out. Zach came running and confronted Marlette, but Taylor took off and never came back.”

  “Oh my,” I said and opened my eyes wide in encouragement.

  Addison flipped her braid to her back. “Yeah, it was bad. Anyway, Zach never forgave Marlette. Every time he saw the bum after that, he’d mutter threats under his breath. Stuff like, ‘I wish you were dead.’ Not that Zach would hurt anyone. He just talks a big game.” She shook her head emphatically. “At least I don’t think he would.”

  The bell jangled behind us. A stooped man with a cane approached the counter. He removed his hat, revealing a full head of silver hair, and said in a distinguished voice, “Good evening. Is that my iris arrangement?”

  “Yes, it is, Mr. Blake. I just need to put a ribbon around the vase.” Addison pulled two lengths of blue and lavender ribbon from the spools behind her.

  Mr. Blake turned to me. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to bring this to my girlfriend in time for dinner. It’s her seventy-fifth birthday, and irises are her favorite flower.” He smiled. “She’s expecting me at seven and doesn’t take too kindly to me bein
g late.”

  “Seven?” I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to catch the train! Addison, can we get together for coffee sometime? I’d like to hear more about your time at the agency.”

  She shrugged. “I guess so. You know where to find me.”

  “Thanks.” I ran out through the Secret Garden gates just as the whistle of the Inspiration Valley Express blew in the distance. As exhausted as I was, I sprinted all the way to the station.

  Chapter 5

  IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT. ALL ACROSS THE TOWN OF Dunston, people were preparing to celebrate the commencement of the weekend by going out to dinner, catching a movie, or attending a local baseball game.

  Not me. I got in my pajamas and ate a comforting bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of the television while watching the Food Network. By ten I could barely keep my eyes open, and even six-foot cakes fashioned into the Seven Wonders of the World couldn’t compete with my exhaustion. When I’d decided to walk to the Dunston train station that morning, I was in high spirits and had no way of knowing that I would disembark from the Inspiration Express feeling so exhausted that just having to carry my purse was almost too much to bear. I climbed the stairs and fell into bed, but not before experiencing another pang of annoyance that Trey had borrowed my car without permission.

  My bed had never felt so good. I curled up on my side and went right to sleep, but sometime after midnight I woke up, feeling thirsty. I drank from the water cup sitting precariously on a stack of paperbacks on the bedside table and drifted off again.

  Fragmented images permeated my dreams. Marlette appeared, carrying a bouquet of white flowers. As he presented them to me, the blooms transformed into small birds. The creatures flew right at me, and I lifted my hands to shield my face, but they darted above my head, seeking escape through the windows in the reception area. Their bodies slammed against the glass, obscuring the light and covering Marlette’s stricken face in shadow.

  Someone was calling my name from the bottom of the stairs, but I was too busy trying to open the nearest window to reply. I was able to unlock the window with ease, but no matter how hard I pushed, it would not budge.

  The birds became more and more agitated, striking at the glass with their beaks. The shouting from the first floor became louder and shriller, dominating the rest of the dream elements.

  My brain struggled to comprehend that the sound was coming from my bedroom. The noise was not a part of my dream. My phone was ringing.

  I wasn’t wearing my contacts, so the numbers of the digital clock were a red blur, but I was conscious enough to know that it was too late at night or too early in the morning for a phone call.

  As my fingers grasped the receiver, I could only think of two people. My mother. Trey.

  “Hello?” My voice was raspy, fearful.

  “Ms. Wilkins? This is Officer Griffiths. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but we have your son here at the station and, well, he’s asked that you come down and pick him up.”

  It took a moment for his words to break through the fog, but by the time I turned on the table lamp, I was fully awake, my heart pounding against my rib cage. Panic made it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone speak. “What’s happened?”

  “Your son has been in an accident,” Griffiths informed me gravely, and I drew in such a sharp breath that I almost missed the next thing he said. “He’s not hurt. A few cuts and bruises, but that’s all. There were three passengers in the vehicle with your son. They are also, luckily, uninjured.” He paused. “However, the vehicle, which I understand is registered in your name, is totaled.”

  “Good Lord!” I exclaimed, my throat constricting again. “What did Trey do?”

  Griffiths seemed reluctant to be the bearer of bad news but kept his voice steady as he described how my son had destroyed my only means of transportation. “It would appear that Trey and his friends got together at East Dunston High, drank some beer, and then decided to create an obstacle course on the football field. They broke into the shed containing the outdoor athletic equipment and helped themselves to the football team’s blocking sleds, agility dummies, throwing nets, and a handful of orange cones. They then took turns driving the course at reckless speeds. During your son’s turn, he lost control of the car and slammed into one of the metal supports beneath the bleachers. That section collapsed, effectively crushing the car. Fortunately, your son had already exited the vehicle when this occurred.”

  Closing my eyes, I said a silent prayer of thanks. My hands were shaking so badly that I had to hold the receiver in a white-knuckled grip, otherwise it would fall to the ground.

  Trey! I cried his name to myself and exhaled loudly, but my relief was quickly replaced by fresh anxiety. I could easily picture the destruction created by Trey and his friends. I could see the pristine turf of the football field marred by muddy tire tracks and ruined equipment. And my car. My reliable little red Honda Civic. Flattened beneath pounds of steel bleachers. In the ten years I’d owned it, that trusty vehicle had never broken down, never failed to start, and never left me stranded. It pained me that such a dependable friend had met such a violent end.

  All at once, the financial ramifications of Trey’s tomfoolery hit me. “Oh, God. The school’s going to sue me for damages. And my car! My insurance premium!” I wanted to howl in anger, but I knew Griffiths was only doing his job and didn’t deserve to be the recipient of my wrath.

  “Don’t think about that now,” Griffiths counseled. “What’s important is that none of the kids were hurt. However, you’ll need to come down to the station and sign some forms.”

  “But I don’t have another means of transportation,” I told him. “My mother has a pickup truck, but I can’t call her at this time of night. Besides, she lives in Inspiration Valley.” I allowed a bit of ire to rise to the surface. “Maybe Trey should spend some time in a cell until I can find a ride. It would give him a chance to think about what he’s done.”

  Griffiths spoke softly. “If it makes you feel better, ma’am, your son is not being charged with driving under the influence. His Breathalyzer test showed him as not having alcohol in his system.”

  “Well, I guess I should be grateful for small miracles,” I said with a sigh.

  “Trey could face charges of trespassing and the destruction of public property.” Griffiths sounded as though he regretted having to give me more bad news. “Ms. Wilkins, I’m not officially on duty right now, but when I can’t sleep I often tune to the police scanner. When I heard what had happened at the high school, I called the station and learned that Trey was your son. Considering how we met earlier today, I know you’ve already had one hell of a day, so…I wanted to see if I could help in any way. For starters, I could pick you up and bring you to the station.”

  I felt a rush of gratitude toward Griffiths. I’d only met him this morning, and yet he was being so kind, so gentle with me. In my hour of need, this veritable stranger was stepping forward as my friend. If he’d been in the room with me at that moment, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Instead, I thanked Griffiths and asked him to call me Lila henceforth. After I put the phone down, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the framed photograph of seven-year-old Trey on my dresser. He was dressed as a cowboy and wore a faux leather vest and red boots with silver plastic spurs.

  Even then, his eyes glimmered with mischief.

  A line from The Tale of Peter Rabbit flitted into my head. I picked up the photograph and murmured, “‘But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor’s garden, and squeezed under the gate!’”

  I touched my fingertip to the glass protecting the photo as though I was caressing my son’s cute little face. “Oh, Trey. I’m afraid you’ve lost more than a blue jacket with brass buttons this time.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, a dark blue Ford Explorer pulled into my driveway. Officer Griffiths got out and opened the passenger door for me. Looking at his tired face and concerned
eyes, I resisted the urge to sag against his broad chest in the hopes he’d wrap his arms around me. Instead, we drove to the Dunston Police Department in silence.

  Inside the station, our footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. Vacillating between anger and anxiety, I searched for Trey. In the main area, two policemen at steel desks were typing on computers. Behind a counter sat a stern woman in uniform who looked up as we approached, holding out papers. Officer Griffiths handed me a pen and showed me where to sign, then pointed to one of four empty chairs set in a row against a wall.

  “Wait here,” he directed, giving my arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll get Trey, and then I’ll drive you both back home.”

  “Thank you,” I said, disconcerted at how weak my voice sounded. Lowering myself into the plastic seat, I thought about what to say to Trey. His obstacle course would cost me a fortune. I’d never be able to afford that charming cottage on Walden Woods Circle now. In fact, I’d be lucky to have a dime left to my name once I’d covered the school’s damages and paid Trey’s court costs.

  A bark of laughter disrupted my brooding, and I glanced up. The two officers were chuckling at something on a computer screen. Movement in the hall made me turn to see Officer Griffiths and Trey walking toward me. Trey shuffled with his head bent, a mop of shaggy hair obstructing his face. His UNC Tar Heels shirt was covered with dirt and grass stains. I rose from my seat, resisting the urge to hoist up his baggy jeans.

  “Trey, what were you thinking?” Despite my resolve to stay calm, my voice blared loudly in the room.

  He shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Officer Griffiths put his hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Let’s get you two home,” he said, looking at me. “I’m sure you’d rather hash this out in private.”

  The drive was uncomfortably quiet. I wanted to blast Trey and had to bite my lip to stop my anger from pouring out. Instead, I aimed piercing looks in his direction. Officer Griffiths tactfully kept his eyes on the road and said nothing. Trey sat in the back, with his mouth pinched in what I hoped was remorse. The tension was palpable, and I think we were all greatly relieved when Griffiths pulled into our driveway.