The Garden Tour Affair: A Gardening Mystery (6 page)

Swim, unpack, take a nap—it didn’t matter—everyone was anxious to get settled and do something. Delay was not a popular word among American tourists seeking a getaway weekend in the country. Louise herself was so impatient to get this vacation started that she was thinking of biting off a bothersome hangnail, something she normally did only during horror movies. And she had serious doubts about this group: Everyone was polite, but there was a tension here she couldn’t define and didn’t like. It was a diverse bunch, with not a lot in common. The only impetus that appeared to drive them all to Litchfield County, Connecticut, was the Litchfield Falls Inn.

She stifled a sigh. So much for expecting the weekend to be bucolic and laid-back. She found the hangnail and removed it in one bite.

Then their hostess appeared, as suddenly and dramatically as a Broadway star. Barbara Seymour stood at the top of the tall, winding stairs. The woman had a royal air, and even from this distance Louise identified her aristocratic bearing with old New England tradition and wealth.

She called out to them in a strong, low-pitched voice: “Good afternoon. My regrets for the delay. But all is ready now. I am pleased and honored that you all have come.” At that, she descended the first stair, which obligingly declared the antiquity of the house by creaking loudly. The stairs were carpeted in patterned wool that Louise guessed was an authentic reproduction of an earlier time, for pictures, draperies, moldings, and wallpaper were either the original fixtures or careful copies of the eighteenth-century accoutrements of the mansion. Even Barbara was like an authentic reproduction, as Louise beheld her through the flattering golden light of the chandelier that hung in the atrium lobby.
She was an aged beauty, with fine, distinctive English features, whitish-yellow hair bound up gracefully in a bun, wearing a maroon dress with a period look in its gathered skirt and billowing sleeves.

Barbara’s feet had descended the second stair and the third, when Louise saw something bulging out slightly on the fourth. At the same moment, the older woman’s slim body flipped out into the air, as if she were attempting an outrageous aerial trick that even the most experienced circus performer would not have dared, and she began to fall.

“H
ELP!” SCREAMED
L
OUISE, AND
lurched toward the stairs.

But Chris and Janie were already standing there, staring up in panic at the body sailing toward them. Instinctively, they both grabbed for the skimming heap of maroon fabric. It was over in an instant, and Janie and Chris were sprawled onto the stairs themselves, part of a clumsy mélange of arms, legs, bodies, and seemingly endless yards of cloth.

“Ohhh,” groaned Barbara, a deep, painful sound, as she and her full, flowing
gown were gently disentangled. Jim Cooley rushed to her side and took charge.

There was a hubbub of concerned talk as everyone gathered around to look in awe at the still body. Janie and Chris got shakily to their feet. “Man, talk about flying objects,” said Chris, laughing nervously. “That lady was really flying.” He put an arm around a trembling Janie. Without speaking, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest.

After a few seconds, the woman’s eyes opened, and there was a grateful murmur from the onlookers. “Oh, my,” she moaned, “where am I?”

“You took a tumble, Aunt Barbara,” said Jim Cooley, “but these young people were able to cushion your fall. I’m going to call the ambulance to take you to the hospital.” His wife Grace was now kneeling, head bowed, at the old woman’s feet, as if revering a religious statue, while Stephanie Landry sat on the stairs at her side and cried quietly, her big hairdo trembling with the sobs.

The young man from the kitchen had somehow wangled his way through the little crowd to Barbara’s other side, and was holding one of the fallen woman’s hands. Barbara, her age-bleached hair now loose like a young girl’s, looked at him as if he were an anchor in a storm. “Teddy,” she whispered. The tone of her voice startled Louise. This plain young man was more than just kitchen help at Litchfield Falls Inn.

Then the old woman turned to the others and said more forcefully, “I do believe I am all right, my dears. No need to call an ambulance.” The group continued to watch quietly. For a few minutes she simply reclined on the bottom stairs, then slowly sat up, gingerly checking herself for damage. “I am still here. And what’s more, magically, I’m in one piece.”

Stephanie’s voice hitched as she said, “You’re not hurt. I am so
grateful
.” Her hazel eyes were wide with relief.

Barbara Seymour stroked Stephanie’s hand. “Thank you, my dear. I’m fine, and you say it’s because of these two young
people.” Her eyes went to each of them, first, Janie, then Chris. “How can I thank you both?”

The two teenagers demurred, and with assurances that, except for minor bruises, she was uninjured by her fall, Barbara allowed her nephew to help her to her feet. Accompanied by Grace and Stephanie, she disappeared down a dark, meandering hallway into the private recesses of the huge mansion.

Spooked by the near-tragedy, the guests went through a short period of catharsis. Only natural after a crowd has seen an accident, thought Louise, although this one ended with the victim unharmed. There was a buzz of relieved voices, commending Janie and Chris for acting so fast, speculating on what could have happened had they not been standing in that exact spot at the foot of the stairs.

“You are two very quick-thinking young people,” commented Jim Copley.

“Any time we can help.” The tall Chris grinned, his blond hair falling boyishly in his eyes.

Then, to Louise’s relief, Cooley broke up the chatter. He divided the guests into groups, signaled Teddy to come and help them, and sent them up on the elegant 1930’s elevator to their rooms.

On the second floor, the elevator opened into a small uncluttered area, from which two long halls extended in opposite directions. The same charming woodwork and wallpaper was in evidence here, but without as much variety in the appointments, Louise noted. A solemn parade of paintings of the illustrious Seymour clan lined the walls. Handsome people, but way too grim-looking for her taste. Of course, she reasoned, everyone put the dull furnishings in the hallway, because nobody spends any time there.

The rooms had been updated, and each bedroom now had a modern bath with Jacuzzi. The replicated woodwork within
the bedrooms was not quite as complex as it was in other places, but each room was done in a special decorating theme, and had its own name. Louise and Janie’s was called the Bronze Room. It was done in muted orange and brown, with heavy mahogany furniture, including a high-standing, comfy-looking bed. On a marble-top side table was a bouquet of orange gazanias, yellow marguerite daisy, and white Queen Anne’s lace, casually tucked into a brown-and-white antique pitcher.

First, Louise unpacked her travel pillow, the one creature comfort she couldn’t do without, and tossed it onto the bed. The family had nicknamed it “Puny” because of its skimpy down filling. Since Janie had traveled light, Louise claimed the top of the dresser to lay out what Bill asserted made her suitcase weigh a ton: a few novels, two books of poetry, a half-dozen garden books, and the scripts for her
Gardening with Nature
shoot, which she would know by heart by tomorrow. She couldn’t forget that for her, this weekend was work, as well as fun.

“Not a bad place,” said Janie.

“It takes you back in time, doesn’t it?”

Janie didn’t answer. She had unzipped her bag and put it on the antique luggage rack, which apparently was to be the extent of the girls unpacking. With lightning speed, she changed into shorts and T-shirt. She looked at her mother distractedly. “I’m unpacked. Chris and I are going to explore.”

“You two were great down there,” said Louise, sitting in a chair slipcovered in light yellow chintz. She was ready for a chat. “You probably saved that woman’s life. Think of what would have happened if her head had hit the stairs.”

“Yeah, it worked out,” Janie said quickly, shifting from foot to foot like a runner anxious to start a race. “I’m glad—and Chris is glad. But we’re tired of people talking about it so much. Like I said, I’m leaving now. Are you going to be
okay?
”

“Of course I’ll be okay.”

“All right,” she said breezily. “Then g’bye.” And she trotted out.

Louise rubbed her hands idly against the smooth chintz covering the chair arms. The girl, of course, did not have to hang around the room and make small talk with her mother—there was no need for that.

Louise began unpacking her suitcase, trying to deny the hurt she was feeling. Janie was growing further away from her every day. In desperation, she turned her thoughts away from her younger daughter, and remembered Melissa McCormick, whereupon a little curl of hope began to grow in her heart. Melissa, thirteen, daughter of an old friend, had lived through a trauma no teenager should have to face: She was virtually an orphan. She was coming to visit soon. And unlike Janie, she
needed
Louise.

Finished hanging up her clothes, Louise wandered into the hall and leaned over the railing. She spied Bill talking to someone below. Hearing something closer at hand, she automatically checked the view down each of the two upstairs hallways. There was a bank of windows along the right-hand hall with a long, carved bench beneath it. Beyond that point, darkness, as the hall bent to lead into another wing. In the other direction, a length of hall ended in a magnificent Georgian window with rounded top.

Two men emerged from the darkness to the right: Jim Cooley, holding a metal box under his arm, and a shorter man with a handsome head of hair and a youthful face. Louise guessed it was the missing Neil Landry. Cooley was speaking quietly, gesticulating in an angry way. Then he saw Louise, and hurried up to her, leaving his companion to turn and go back the way they’d come.

“Uh, better be careful going down those stairs.”

She chuckled nervously. “That thought had already crossed my mind.”

“I need to fix the carpeting—it’s gotten loose. That’s why my aunt fell.” He spoke in a deep, gentle voice. With his large, calm presence, she could see he was a natural leader, a conveyor of reason in unreasonable situations. Opening a small toolbox, he descended the stairs ahead of her, kneeling to examine the rod that held the carpet in place. “Ah, just as I thought,” he said. “The rod isn’t secured properly.”

Louise’s proverbial antennae were up. Something was not right. Why, with a full house of guests expected, was the carpeting so dangerously loose in a house where every detail was managed so carefully?

She took a long, deep breath, trying to ward off the heart palpitations that she knew would come if she didn’t calm down. Jim Cooley’s mood also was grim, though he said little. With the expertise of a trained carpenter, he took a couple of nails and with a few accurate bangs, secured the offending rod back in its proper place. “There you are—all safe and sound.”

She started to say something about her suspicions and then thought better of it. “I guess I’ll go join my husband.”