Front Yard (23 page)

There was the rustle of feet coming down the hallway behind them.

“What's all the racket?” said Mary, with Cullen and Ellis crowding in behind her.

“Oh, nothing, kids. Some wacko went running through the yard, and the police hauled her away. And I guess we've got some fairies partying out there in the fairy house. I'm trying to steel your father to go out there and check them out.”

“Fairies?” said Mary. “Sweet!”

“There's no such thing as fairies,” said Cullen. “Crisis over. I'm going back to bed.”

“Me too,” said Ellis. “Hey, Dad, don't go hitting anything with that bat, okay? That thing's gotta be worth a thousand bucks now.” Cullen and Ellis slogged back to their bedrooms.

“I'll go with you, Daddy,” said Mary. “Let's go introduce ourselves to the fairies. If you can talk to flowers, I bet you can speak fairy language, too.” Mary bolted noisily out the door, with George tagging sheepishly behind her.

“Pssst, fairies,” Mary whispered as she tiptoed toward the center of the yard. “Hello there, fairies. Can you hear me, fairies?”

“Tell them we mean them no harm,” whispered George, also tiptoeing, and trailing a few feet behind her. Mary turned to look at him.

“Daddy!” she said. “Daddy! Better lose the bat. They might think you want to knock their little fairy house out of the park.”

“What? Okay, sure.” George knelt down slowly and gingerly laid the bat on the ground as Mary arrived at the ash tree and leaned slowly over the fairy house. Then, she started giggling.

“What?” said George.

“It's just a candle, Daddy. Somebody put a blue candle jar inside the fairy house. That's what's causing the blue glow, not fairy stuff. Darn it, I wanted to meet some fairies. Nice job, Dad. You really got me goin' there. Fess up.”

“Huh?” said George, who was now standing next to Mary and staring down groggily at the blue candle, which had been placed expertly inside the miniature house. “Whaddya mean, ‘nice touch'?”

“The candle. You and Mom put it there, didn't you?”

“I certainly did not. And neither did your mother, as far as I know . . . Yikes!”

“Yikes what?”

“If we didn't put it there, and you didn't put it there, and I'm reasonably sure Cullen and Ellis wouldn't have put it there, then who did?”

“Well, I sure didn't put that candle there,” blurted Nan in her normal voice. George and Mary jumped.

“Nan-bee!” said George.

“Mom!” said Mary, pressing her hands over her breastbone and panting for breath. “You just about scared me out of my britches!”

“Good thing I didn't have old Smokestack in my hand,” said George. “Otherwise, I would have popped you good. Whack first, ask questions later.”

“So,” said Mary, “who put the candle there, then? Sheeesh! If it wasn't any of us, maybe it's fairies who put it here. Big honkin' fairies.”

“It's probably the same person who left us the warning note on the patio,” Nan said.

“What warning note?” asked Mary.

“A note telling us our flowers are in danger.”

George, his attention having been drawn to a rectangular pale object that he could barely see on the ground, leaned over to pick it up.

“Maybe this is a calling card from our fairy friends,” he said. “Hey, it's a business card.” George moved onto the patio so he could read what was written on it. “It says, ‘Small-pet séances. Bring your beloved pet back to life. First consultation free.' Then, there's a phone number. It's signed ‘Sarah Twiddle.' Sarah Twiddle?”

“Also known as Sarah the Witch,” Nan said. “Remember, George? From last year?”

“Oh, yes, our nefarious gardening witch. Also known in liquor-and-appliance-store circles as Edith Merton. The same Edith Merton who dressed up in her dead mother's clothes and who you almost cut to shreds in the hosta bed.”

“With the butcher knife.”

“Yeah. Too bad you didn't use it when you had the chance.”

All three gazed skyward as if they might catch a glimpse of Sarah the Witch doing loop-de-loops on her broomstick.

“Gardening witch!” Mary cried. “Sweet! Can I meet her? That'd be almost as good as meeting up with a bunch of fairies.”

27

A
familiar-looking car pulled into the driveway. Following close behind was a red sports car with the top down. Just as they expected, it was Miss Price who got out of the first car. A dapper-looking chap dawdled behind the steering wheel of the red sports car, then got out after Miss Price leaned over to have a few words with him. There was something weird about that car; Nan couldn't quite put her finger on it.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Now
that's
a Rolls-Royce, right, George?”

George shook his head in amused disbelief.

“That, Nan-bee, is a vintage Triumph. British sports car. You can tell it's British because the driver's side is where the passenger side is in our American cars. See? That's how the Brits do it.”

“Ohhhh. I knew there was something odd about it.”

“I'm guessing that's probably Miss Price's lawyer.”

Miss Price led the way up the steps, clomping purposefully toward the Fremonts at a pace her companion could barely keep up with. Once on the top step, she waggled a hand in their direction. The Fremonts figured it to be her weird form of greeting, one meant solely as an announcement and to convey no warmth at all.

“Miss Price,” said Nan. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to this neck of the woods?'

“Pleasant surprise?” Miss Price snapped. “I wouldn't have guessed a visit of mine would be a pleasant surprise in any way after what we've been through.”

“You clearly don't recognize sarcasm when you hear it, Miss Price,” Nan retorted.

“What
we've
been through, Miss Price?” said George. “How exactly is it you've been inconvenienced? Oh, and while we're at it, our attorney has cautioned us not to say anything to you that might have the slightest connection to our case. We're suing you. Or haven't you heard?”

“So, mum's the word,” added Nan with a short, brittle cackle.

“Yes, I got served the other day,” said Miss Price. “Incomprehensible. I have no idea what it says. Just for the record, what exactly is it you're suing me for?”

“We're seeking an injunction to keep you off our property once and for all,” George said. “And damages for our little explosion.”

“Hmmm,” said Miss Price. “And what have I done to deserve this?”

“Well, the explosion part is pretty self-evident, isn't it?”

“You can see that we've patched up the fence,” Miss Price said. “I've already made arrangements to repair the neighbor house. That takes time, though. It's a big job. Our insurance companies are handling the damages to your house.”

“Aha,” said Dr. Lick. “I was wondering . . . Gee whiz, the whole side of the house is gone.”

“This is a matter between the Fremonts and myself,” Miss Price snapped. “It need be of no concern to you and doesn't affect our current mutual interest.”

Dr. Lick smiled meekly, and raised his arms in a sign of resigned agreement.

“There's also your constant poking around in our property,” Nan said. “That includes sending that pair of idiots to cut down our tree. They were looking for something.”

“Ah. Wonder what that was.”

“You know darned well what it was,” said George.

“Well, I'm certain we can settle all these issues to everyone's satisfaction. But that's not what I'm here to talk about, I've brought an acquaintance by I want you to meet. This is Dr. Lick. Dr. Ferdinand Lick. The noted archaeologist from the university.”

Dr. Lick, who followed the exchange between Miss Price and the Fremonts with some trepidation, quickly shifted to charm-offensive mode. All smiles and dignified yet exuberant body language, he thrust out his hand. Both Nan and George shook it limply. Dr. Lick chuckled at the implied slight.

“Dr. Lick, you have the floor,” Miss Price said.

“Just so you know, Dr. Lick, because of your evident involvement with Miss Price here, we might not be able to talk to you,” George said.

“I understand,” Dr. Lick said. “Let's just give it a try and see what happens. Then, you can cut me off if I'm straying into your legal territory.”

“Okay, Doc,” said George, who made a big show of looking at his watch. “But keep it short. You're disrupting our cocktail hour.”

Dr. Lick cleared his throat and smiled. He has a nice smile, thought Nan. Good-lookin' fella, that's for sure. Maybe we could talk to him after all. Who listens to lawyers anyway? Jeez, they'd tell you never to get out of bed in the morning 'cause you might die deadheading an iris. Screw the stupid lawyer and his efforts to muzzle us.

He's a scoundrel and probably a liar, thought George. Anyone brought here by Miss Price has got to have some kind of con he wants to put over on us. And look at the way he plays to Nan, bless her impressionable little heart.

Clearly, Dr. Lick was poised to make a presentation on a matter of some importance, thought Nan. His hair was thinning, yet impeccably groomed, and his khaki slacks were smartly pressed. His light-pink oxford-cloth shirt made a nice match with a navy-blue JoS. A. Bank sport coat. All in all, pleasantly and professorially casual, tennis-club neat and sharp without forcing it, and without looking too official. Yet, he had obviously gone to the trouble to look good, which so few seemed to do these days. As Nan locked eyes with Dr. Lick and took in his craggy, lightly tanned features, she tried to stop herself from falling in love.

You might think you look nice, thought George, but, guess what? I've got a Jethro Tull 2005 American tour T-shirt with its
Broadsword and the Beast
motif. Beat that, Mr. Professor!

“I understand from Miss Price here that you might have a significant archaeological find beneath your feet. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“No!” said George, squirming in his chair. Nan dismissed him with a fluttering hand.

“Oh, George is a little upset. We
all
are, after some of the things that have happened over the last couple of weeks.” She noticed that Dr. Lick seemed to be admiring her bare legs through the translucent tabletop, and crossed them demurely.

“Please sit down, Dr. Lick,” she purred. “And would you like a glass of merlot?”

“By all means,” said Dr. Lick brightly as he sat down next to Nan and nodded at George, who frowned at him. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and Miss Price, you can sit down, too, if you want to,” Nan said perfunctorily.

“I will have a glass of wine, too,” she said.

“George,” said Nan, motioning toward the bottle. George picked up the bottle of Sagelands, inspected it, and emptied what was left of its contents into his glass.

“Shoot,” he said. “All gone. Tough luck for you guys. Maybe you'd like some water straight out of the tap.”

“Go get another bottle, please, dear,” Nan said. “Make that two bottles, actually.” George got up grumpily and disappeared behind the back door.

“I really must compliment you and Mr. Fremont on your wonderful gardens,” gushed Dr. Lick. “They are truly exquisite.”

“Thank you,” Nan said. “We try.”

“I'll have to tell my soon-to-be-ex-wife about these and bring her over here once we've settled our situation amicably. If that ever happens. We're not really on speaking terms at this point.”

His soon-to-be-ex-wife?
Nan felt her pulse quicken.

“You're welcome to bring her by. That is, once you're on good terms with her. Of course, with situations like these, you never know, do you? Is she a gardener?”

Dr. Lick chuckled.

“Very much so,” he said. “Being gardeners, you may have even heard of her. She's a professor of floriculture at the university. Hilda Brockheimer.
Dr.
Hilda Brockheimer.”

A mouthful of Sagelands spewed out of Nan's mouth as if it were grapeshot fired from a cannon. Luckily, most of it wound up on the tabletop and Miss Price's white ruffled blouse and cinnamon blazer.

“Good grief!” Miss Price shouted as Nan sat there choking violently. “Look what you've done to my blouse and blazer. Damnation!”

Dr. Lick recoiled at the eruption, then, regaining his composure, cast his concerned gaze upon Nan, whose spasm of coughing continued. He reached out a hand, ineffectually, to help.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Fremont?” he said. “Heavens!”

“Of course she's all right!” Miss Price cried. “But I'm all splotched over with red wine. Can't someone get me some wet napkins at least?”

“Sorry,” said George, who had reappeared with a bottle of wine and two paper cups. “No damp napkins available. I do have some wine for you, however, Miss Price, and would be glad to pour you a cup. Sorry, we only have Dixie cups available.”

Nan was flapping her hands around, still coughing.

“Attend to your wife, please, Mr. Fremont,” said Dr. Lick, his hand still stretched out impotently toward Nan.

“Right you are, sir,” said George. He poured some more wine into Nan's empty glass. She grasped it eagerly and, perching her fingertips delicately on her sternum, downed half the glass in one big glug. Miss Price and Dr. Lick instinctively pulled back in anticipation of another eruption.

“Ah,” went Nan, who was able to swallow the wine without feeling so much as a throat tickle. “Just what the doctor ordered. Thank you, dear.”

“Now, who did you say your soon-to-be-ex-wife was, Dr. Lick?”

“Dr. Brockheimer,” Dr. Lick said. “Dr. Hilda Brockheimer.”

Nan frowned and gritted her teeth.

“I have met your soon-to-be-ex-wife. Yes, we know each other. She has a student named Shirelle Eadkins, who works for me as an intern.” Nan's view of Dr. Lick underwent an instant transformation. How could anyone marry that supercilious sack of emotional instability? But at least he was apparently divorcing her. That certainly showed a modicum of good taste.

“Ah,” said Dr. Lick.

“Yes,” said Nan. “She has already seen my gardens.”

Dr. Lick nodded, then sat up, ramrod straight.

“I think she wants to learn cross-cultural communication,” continued Nan.

“Pardon?”

“Talking to plants.”

“Hmmm. Well, we'll have to compare notes. I, as it turns out, would like to see what's
underneath
your gardens.”

“I thought that we had dispensed with this whole notion of a treasure, Miss Price,” said George, who placed half-full Dixie cups in front of her and Dr. Lick. “And this is getting perilously close to talking about things we're not supposed to talk about.”

“This has nothing to do with your pending legal action against Miss Price for whatever reason that has happened,” Dr. Lick said. “And the truth of the matter is I know nothing of your grievances. What I have learned from Miss Price is that there may be artifacts of huge significance under your backyard here, and we would like to see what they are. You will be paid for the use of your property, I can assure you.”

“We don't need your money, Dr. Lick,” George said. “And we don't want anyone rooting around in our gardens. We've already gone over the spot where Miss Price here figured the treasure was buried. With a TreasureTrove XB 255.”

“That's a top-of-the line instrument!” cried Dr. Lick. “For amateurs, at least. There's more sophisticated gear people such as myself can use. Still, sounds like you mean business.”

“You already checked the stump hole?” blurted Miss Price. “Why didn't you tell me that?”

“You didn't ask,” Nan said. “You tried to get what you wanted by subterfuge and skullduggery. Which is what this whole lawsuit business is about. So, just for the record, there's nothing there.
Nada
.”

“Ah,” said Miss Price. “Maybe not what some were looking for, but there were skeletons there.”

“There were
what?
”

“Skeletons,” said Miss Price. “Two of them, tangled in the roots of your instantly dead white oak. We dug them out back at the Historical Society. And you know what they say: Where there's smoke, there's fire. What we're looking for might not have been under that tree, but I'd be willing to wager every penny I own that it's close by.”

“Ah!” cried Nan. “The dead guy you told us about that day back in May at the Historical Society. Does he have anything to do with this?”

Miss Price sighed.

“Alas,” she said, wringing her hands in a show of mock contrition. “That, if I remember correctly, was a lie. A lie meant to confuse you and throw you off the track.”

“Hmmm,” said Nan. “Just as I thought.”

“Could I have some more wine, please?” Miss Price asked.

George, whose indignation had been supplanted by anxiety on hearing this news of skeletons in the backyard, poured her some more wine, and waggled the bottle in front of Dr. Lick, who covered his cup with his hand and waved him off.

“Still, we've got
two
dead people who got buried in our backyard,” said Nan with some alarm.

“But it was very long ago, Mrs. Fremont. I don't believe you have cause for concern.”

Dr. Lick laughed.

“This just gets juicier by the moment,” he said. “Miss Price, you told me nothing about these skeletons. My God! I must see them!”

“Afraid that's impossible,” Miss Price said.

“Impossible? How so?”

“I've already disposed of them.”

“You what! How could you do that?”