Reluctant Witness (59 page)

“Chrisanth, Jeff, would either of you like a
cocktail?” P. J. asked, standing at the sliding glass door.

“No, thank you,” I told him.

“I’m good,” the son replied. “Chris wanted to
see her father.”

“Dad, I just wanted to make sure you had my
new phone number. I’m in the next building, top floor, in case you
need me.”

“Good to know, dear. I’m so delighted to see
my daughter again,” he told the others. He punched my cell phone
number into his contacts list as I read the numbers off to him.
“It’s been such a long time. Now, let me give you mine.”

My father and Lara each had one-bedroom units
in another building on the other side of the pool, with balconies
that overlooked the parking lot and the distant mountain.

“
Jeff is staying here with
us,” Liz announced, glancing at me, “in case anyone is interested.
It’s so nice to have our son along on this trip. Usually he’s so
busy in Atlanta, we’re lucky if we get to see him for the
holidays.”

“Now, Mom....”

“It’s true. You know I miss you, darling. I
never really have a chance to spend enough time with my boys
anymore.”

“You should all come with us tomorrow and see
the plantation,” Lara decided. “They not only grow coffee and
cacao, they also grow their own organic spices.”

I thought about Nora Hazen,
Lisbeth Causley’s fictional heroine in
Vanilla Orchid Magic
. She went to the
Big Island to find her paradise with Jean-Claude. Kauai was similar
in many ways, with the same volcanic soil that made the coffee so
delicious. Perhaps I might learn something on this field trip with
my father and Lara.

“The range of spices they produce is
impressive,” my father told us. “Cardamom, cinnamon, cloves,
nutmeg, vanilla beans....”

“Vanilla beans...like from the vanilla
orchid?” I interrupted, excited at the prospect of seeing the real
thing.

“Absolutely. The vines grow on host trees in
the forest. It’s an amazing sight, Chris.”

“And these farmers are also well-known for
their organic Hawaiian honey,” said Lara.

“Hawaiian honey,” I laughed. “It sounds so
exotic.”

“Doesn’t it just?” Liz leaned over and poked
her friend. “It sounds like something you apply to your skin, like
a spa treatment...or a love potion. Perhaps I shall buy you a
bottle. Or two. Or three.”

“Cheeky little twit.” Lara shook her head in
mock disappointment, playing the role of disapproving teacher to
Liz’s rambunctious student.

“I believe the term you’re looking for is
incorrigible,” said the romantic suspense author, a gleam in her
eye. “Do you suppose they sell it by the gallon? That would tide
you over for a while, professor.”

Chapter Fifty
Two

“I’m going to ignore you now,” Lara told Liz,
giving the author a good view of her back as she turned her
attention to the rest of us. “Tomorrow, you’ll see a wide variety
of flowers planted all over the farm, everything from wild flowers
to cultivated ornamentals, which are there to attract birds, bees,
butterflies, and even moths, as pollinators.”

“
Look at her,” Liz sighed
theatrically, rolling her eyes in Lara’s direction. “All she can
think about is plants, plants, plants. Not a romantic bone in her
body.”

I laughed aloud. To a lay person, including
most home gardeners, foliage and blossom discussions were usually
limited to how pretty the begonias were this season. But as a
member of the Neeson family, I had grown up with parents and
grandparents whose dinner conversation included topics such as
pesticides and plant peptides. It was in their blood.

“I guess it depends on whether or not you
speak ‘plant’, Liz. In my father’s case, it’s the perfect
aphrodisiac, catnip for the tabby. Talk to him about soil PH and
plant hormones, and he just melts in ecstasy,” I told her. Everyone
laughed, even as my father nodded enthusiastically. I glanced over
at Lara. Was she blushing?

“They are two peas in a pod, no doubt,” P. J.
joked. We all groaned in unison. Cooper added his own little
woof.

“Vegetable humor, in case any of you missed
it,” the history professor pointed out.

“If only we could have,” Jeff quipped.

“I swear these two are so plant crazy, a mere
whiff of fertile soil might make them swoon and go weak at the
knees,” Liz grinned impishly, “and then how do we revive them?
Throw some Miracle-Gro at them?”

“I beg your pardon, Lisbeth Causley. I’ll
have you know I am quite respected in my field of study. I have
earned my reputation due to my encyclopedic knowledge of plants. I
will not dumb myself down to get a man. I was born smart and that’s
the way I’ll die, with my favorite pair of Wellies on.”

“Oh, nothing like ugly garden boots to turn a
man on. Talk about sexy footwear. Ooh-la-la!”

“Speak for yourself, madam,” my father piped
in. “I really dig a woman who’s not afraid to get down and
dirty.”

“Dig...botanist humor,” P. J. chuckled.

“Oh, Woody!” Lara threw back her head and
laughed. I thought that was a good sign. Watching them together
made me feel hopeful that my father had met a companion who
genuinely shared his interests. Lara was definitely her own person,
no imitation of the woman my father had loved for so long, but she
seemed a good fit for him. I thought my mother would approve of
this match. She and Lara would probably even have been friends, had
they ever met.

“Another man who likes corny humor,” P. J.
remarked, lifting his glass in a toast. A moment later, he realized
what he’d said. “There I go again, more....”

“...vegetable humor,” Jeff completed his
father’s sentence with mock exasperation. “Holy cow. I don’t think
I can keep up with such scintillating conversation. I’m in over my
head here.”

“Cows are a gardener’s best friend. They
produce nature’s fertilizer, and that’s no bull,” my father
chuckled. There were more groans.

“Want a shovel, son, to dig yourself
out?”

“Actually? I think I do.”

I realized the men were trying to distract
the ladies from the subject of romance but, unfortunately for them,
there was one very determined matchmaker on the job. I took pity on
them as she started again.

“Plants can’t keep you warm at night,” Liz
countered. “You can’t cuddle with a fern.”

“No,” I agreed, “but never underestimate
flower power. Those blossoms have communicated our thoughts and
intentions for centuries. We give them when we want people to know
we care and we surround ourselves with blossoms on the happiest and
the saddest of occasions. A beautiful rose can speak to the most
reticent of hearts and move mountains.”

“Bravo! Spoken like the daughter of a
botanist,” P. J. cheered me on, clapping. “And now that I know
flowers mean nothing to you, dear wife, I shall save myself all
that money on our next anniversary by skipping the dozen red
roses.”

“Do that at your own peril, my danger-loving
husband,” replied Liz, raising an eyebrow. “Fair warning.”

“
Thank you for being such a
dear champion of all things green,” Lara rewarded me with a warm
smile, even as she landed another barb in Liz’s direction. “At
least you understand their importance in the life cycle, which is
more than I can say for the romance writer amongst us.”

“I’ll have you know those romances and
Inspector Samuelson have kept my husband in clean, white athletic
socks for the better part of the last three decades.”

“For which I am eternally grateful,” P. J.
acknowledged wryly. “It’s been magical, my love.”

“It has, hasn’t it? Marriage is a fine
institution. I highly recommend it, not only to my friend here, but
also to my son.”

Lara let out an audible sigh. Jeff rolled his
eyes and shook his head in exasperation.

“Thank heavens my mother writes more deftly
than she speaks,” he countered. “Her conversation is often about as
subtle as the sledge hammer with which her villains sometimes
bludgeon their victims.”

“I believe she owes her success as an author
to heavy editing,” P. J. informed us, even as Liz made a face.
“Unfortunately for all of us, she doesn’t often filter her own
speech.”

“Fine, I give up! You’ve all made your point.
Tell us all about the birds and the bees, Professor ‘Smarty Pants’
Street! We’re on tinder hooks.”

“Fine. I will. The farmers we are visiting
tomorrow are beekeepers and members of the Hawaiian Butterfly
Society,” Lara told us. “They’ve taken a proactive role in
educating their fellow farmers about the benefits of nurturing bees
and butterflies. You’ll probably see several of Hawaii’s seventeen
species, from the gulf fritillary to the banana skipper to the
painted lady. Feel free to bring your cameras.”

Would the visit tomorrow give me a glimpse of
what the fictional Nora’s farm might be like? I found the thought
intriguing. What was the name of that company Nora started? It was
on the tip of my tongue...something to do with butterflies. The
Hawaiian Butterfly Coffee and Spice Company -- that was it.

“I thought most farmers just hired beekeepers
to set up their hives in the fields, to supplement the local bee
population,” Jeff remarked. Lara reached over and patted his knee,
like a kindly old aunt with a favorite nephew.

“Bonus points for you, bright boy. Many do,
but it’s not always enough. Most of the farmers still rely on
herbicides and pesticides to protect their crops, which can also
kill our winged friends.”

“The mite infestations have done grave
damage, too,” my father pointed out. “And so have their other
predators -- hungry birds, reptiles, amphibians....It’s really a
matter of educating farmers on taking a more active role in
protecting the helpful insects while managing the the unhelpful
ones. Studies have shown that in California, where almond farmers
added extra hives, their crop yield was significantly higher.”

“I still say my version of the birds and the
bees is more exciting,” Liz said, pretending to yawn as she
stretched in her chair, “and a lot more fun.”

“Mother!”

“Jefferson, be honest. Wouldn’t you rather be
strolling in the moonlight with this charming young lady than
discussing mites and snakes and critters that crawl on the
ground?”

“Ah....”

“See? He can’t deny it.” Liz turned to P. J.
and the others. “Oh, thank heavens my son inherited some sense from
me. There’s hope for him yet.”

“On that note....” Jeff stood up. “It’s
getting late. Perhaps we can pick this up again in the morning. Are
you game, Lara?”

“I will be happy to continue my lecture
tomorrow, when we get to the coffee plantation. Pay attention,
because there will be a pop quiz when I am done,” she wagged a
finger at us, smiling. “I want you all to remember that without
pollinators, plants bear no fruit.”

“And where would we be without the fruit of
the good earth?” my father asked rhetorically. “You’ll enjoy the
gardens, Chris.”

For a moment, I thought wistfully of my
mother. All of this talk made me too aware of how much I missed
her. Maybe it was because I had not spent much time with my father
since her death. I had no one to share those memories with once I
moved to Rhode Island, so I kept my feelings bottled up from the
world, to protect my new identity. At times it felt like I had
shoved the ghost of my mother into that bottle before recapping
it.

Or maybe it was the delight I experienced in
being here on Kauai, surrounded by such lush tropical foliage that
brought her memory to mind. She would appreciate the work my father
was so determined to do now for Kauai’s farmers. Was some of his
enthusiasm part of her legacy, a way for him to remember and honor
her?

My mother always took great pains to entice
the useful insects into her landscapes. She insisted it was far
kinder than spraying with harsh chemicals. In her butterfly
gardens, she landscaped with shrubs and perennials that lured them
to linger among the blossoms. To her, there was nothing prettier
than the sight of those fluttering wings against a blue sky on a
sunny day, hovering about brightly colored flowers in an aerial
dance. She was right.

“Count me in,” Jeff smiled. “I’m looking
forward to it.”

“What do you think, Chris? Does that sound
good to you?” my dad asked me, his expression hopeful. “It’s not
far from here. We’ll be heading to the west side of the
island.”

“It sounds lovely, Dad. How can I not go?” I
smiled. It wasn’t just the chance to see coffee and spices in their
native environment; with my father as one of my guides on the tour
-- it was also a chance to spend some time with Jeff and his
family, something he clearly wanted us to do as a new couple. “What
time?”

“How does nine o’clock sound?” Lara
suggested.

“Perfect. I’ll collect Chris a few minutes
earlier,” Jeff promised. “Why don’t I walk you back to your condo
now and make sure you and Cooper get in safely?”

“Thank you,” I smiled. “That’s very kind of
you.”

“Not at all. It’s my pleasure.”

“I’ll say goodnight, everyone.” I bid the
group farewell, giving my father an affectionate hug in passing.
“See you in the morning.”

“Sleep tight, Chris.”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I
automatically replied, just as I had in my youth.

“Ah, better you should have butterfly kisses
to send you into dreamland,” he laughed. “Bed bugs are the stuff of
nightmares.”

“So true.”

“It’s such a fine night, Jefferson, there’s
no reason to rush back home,” Liz called to her son. “There’s a sky
full of stars, should you feel inclined....”

“Good heavens, the woman is relentless,”
growled the man at my elbow, urging me forward. “What in God’s name
is she trying to do?”