Read Between the Tines

  Spyglass Lane Mysteries presents:

  Garden Gate Mysteries Book Two

  Read Between the Tines

  By

  Susan Sleeman

  Copyright 2012 by Susan Sleeman

  Spyglass Lane Mysteries

  Smashwords Edition

  Discover other Spyglass Lane titles at SpyglassLaneMysteries.com.

  Published in association with MacGregor Literary Inc., Portland, Oregon.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements:

  Special thanks to:

  My family—my ever patient and understanding husband, Mark for everything he does to give me the time to write. My daughter Emma for editing and proofreading, and Erin for the wonderful book cover for this book and the e-book version of Nipped in the Bud.

  To Amanda Luedeke for formatting the manuscript and for all the hard work on the Spyglass Lane Mysteries series.

  To the very generous Ron Norris—retired police officer with the LaVerne Police Department—who gives of his time and knowledge in both police procedures. Thank you for always answering my questions so thoroughly and so promptly. You go above and beyond, and I can’t thank you enough! Any errors in or liberties taken with the technical details Ron so patiently explained to me are all my doing.

  And most importantly, thank you God for my faith and for giving me daily challenges to grow closer to you.

  Chapter One

  "That's about it for today's KALM Farm to Market Report. This is your host, Ollie Grayson, reminding you to keep your radio dials tuned to KALM for our Seeking singles month. After our mid-morning news, Paige Turner, KALM's single gardening gal and host of Through the Garden Gate, offers sage dating advice that you won't want to miss."

  Sage dating advice?

  Did Ollie know me at all? Clearly not. The only sage advice I could offer was how to grow the plant, both as an herb and a decorative perennial. Not that I should expect Ollie to understand me if just a month ago half the town thought I was guilty of murdering City Manager Bud Picklemann.

  Murder. Really!

  I snapped off the radio and watched my best friend Lisa Winkle attack an overgrown garden bed, clawing at dense clay soil with a heavy-duty rake. Beads of sweat from the Oregon summer sun glistened on her forehead, but she didn’t slow down from the heat.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I snapped off the radio. Best friends since elementary school, she was one of the few people in town who'd believed I hadn't killed Bud, and I owed her my undying gratitude for her support. For helping me out on my latest landscape project this morning, I owed her babysitting and a dinner out with her hubby Perry.

  "Time to go," I said and leaned my hoe against the fence. "Roger will kill us if we're late for the show again." My gardening talk show, produced by Lisa, aired at noon in the summer months.

  Lisa stretched her back and sighed. "This work is killing me. It would be so much easier if I went to the gym instead of counting on your projects for exercise."

  "But I'm a lot cheaper than a gym membership." I smiled and crossed the yard near a freshly planted flowerbed to get to my truck.

  As she pulled the door open, the hinge grated like fingernails on a chalkboard. "So what'll you do if we move?"

  Cry, whine, lose sleep. "I guess I'll have to hire someone." I wanted to be supportive of her potential move from Serendipity to Portland, and I tried, honest I did, but my tone came out a bit snappy. Snappy enough to turn Lisa's smile into an adorable pout as she climbed onto the dusty seat and leaned her head back.

  I aimed my landscape-weary vehicle down Main Street, the aptly named central thoroughfare of Serendipity, Oregon for the short drive to the station. Snuggled in the middle of the Willamette Valley, Serendipity had reinvented itself to attract the tourist trade. The town capitalized on being the home of Pacific Pickles by dotting the streets with bright green trashcans in the shape of pickles. But did they stop there? No. Someone's very creative mind birthed Briny, a giant pickle mascot who attended local events and an annual pickle festival also took over the town in May.

  I glanced at Lisa. Usually a chatterbox, she'd been far too quiet. Shoulder propped against the window, her lower lip had grown. Maybe I'd upset her. Despite my desire to lock the whole Winkle family in their home so they couldn't leave me, I found my supportive friend tone. "So how's the job hunt going? Has Perry decided on one of the offers yet?"

  She shook her head, sending the lip back to a normal position. "No and I don't get it. He says he's bored by his practice here then keeps dragging his feet about choosing the law firm he wants to work for. I wish he'd make up his mind so we can get going."

  Yes, keep dragging. "Sounds like you're in a big rush to get out of here."

  "Me? You know I don't really want to move, but if we're going, I want to get it over with." She exhaled with enough force to send dust flying on the dashboard. "There's just so much to do. It takes planning and organization to move a household."

  I patted her knee. "You need to relax a bit. Once Perry makes a decision you'll have plenty of time for your usual obsessing."

  "I have to obsess if I'm going to get everything done. You only have yourself to worry about. I've got twins and a husband to organize." Her tone sounded mean-spirited, but I knew she wasn't demeaning my single status, just trying to emphasize how overburdened she felt. Usually easy to get along with, my perky little Shasta daisy had been a bit cranky for the last month.

  I had this habit of classifying everyone as a plant using the plant's traits. Most of the time Lisa was carefree and relatively trouble free like the Shasta daisy, but this potential move had catapulted her out of her comfort zone.

  Take now for instance. Her pout had morphed into a huge scowl. If one of my daisies behaved that way, I'd pamper the poor baby with more water, maybe give it a good dousing of compost tea. Not something I could do with Lisa. Drenching her with any liquid, especially one made from fermented garden clippings, would surely end our friendship, so I opted to keep quiet for the remainder of the short drive.

  At the station, we strolled up the sidewalk leading to the poorly landscaped building that I'd often begged our miserly station manager to improve.

  Lisa looked up at the station's call signal posted in large neon letters above the glass door. "Any idea who'll replace me?"

  Was she never going to stop with the moving thing? All I wanted after having a recent run in Bud's killer was for my life to take on a normal kind of boring routine. I couldn't possibly achieve peace of mind if my anchor moved away. Still, I had to keep my feelings to myself and let my little daisy pull up roots if she needed to.

  I shrugged as if Lisa filling the producer spot was of no consequence to me and followed her down the narrow hall. We entered our respective booths and settled into the miniscule spaces in a routine we followed six days a week. I'd just put on my headset when Lisa rapped on a large window between our booths then started her countdown to the show with ten raised fingers.

  As her last stubby digit dropped, I took a deep breath. "Good Monday morning. This is your host, Paige Turner, welcoming you to the next hour of Through the Garden Gate. Our lines are open for your gardening questions, but I want to remind you of this month's Seeking Singles theme. We'll take your dating questions in the last five minutes of the show all week long. So come on singles, ca
ll in and we'll offer advice on finding your perfect someone. Don't be shy. Prepare your questions, while we talk gardening." I paused and looked up at Lisa. And who's our first caller, Lisa?"

  "Weed Whacker on line one," she said and grinned.

  I wanted to sigh, but we were on the air so I stifled it. A regular caller, Weed Whacker frequently misunderstood my advice and found herself in unbelievable messes.

  I forced a smile into my voice. "Go ahead, Weed Whacker, you're on Through the Garden Gate, and this is your host, Paige Turner."

  "Oh, Paige." Weed Whacker's voice gushed over the airwaves. "I'm so glad I got a hold of you. I don't know what to do. I found a. . . a. . .a. . .dead body."

  I quickly glanced at Lisa. Phone to her ear, head down, she was either clueless or didn't care if Weed Whacker was up to her bleached hair in another mess. Nor did Lisa seem to be troubled with sending me out on a limb with a chainsaw poised to rip through the branch and send me plummeting.

  I turned back and directed my voice at the boom mic. "Is this a joke, Weed Whacker?"

  "Why would I kid about a dead body?" Weed Whacker, a.k.a. Daisy Plante's tone gave me a clear visual of her often-vacant eyes, wide open in bewilderment. She couldn't help the vacant part. Think the brain of Jethro on The Beverly Hillbillies zapped into the body of Ellie May, and you had a perfect understanding of Daisy. "I need you to come over here, now!"

  Her demanding tone left me speechless. Daisy never demanded anything. Though she often confused and frustrated other people, she was one of the sweetest and most patient people I knew.

  Lisa tapped on the window and twirled her finger. Her speeding finger and pointed stare told me to say something and get rid of the dead air.

  "So where is this supposed body?" I asked, trying to keep my skepticism out of my tone.

  "He's right here."

  "Where's here?"

  "In the woods by the ball field."

  "Why are you in the woods, Weed Wacker?"

  "Today is the women's slow-pitch tourney. They wanted Briny to be here." For the past two months, Daisy had played the giant pickle with great skill. She took the gig when the usual Briny—the one who never called my show to ask silly questions—broke his leg.

  "Okay, so you're at the tourney. But the woods, Weed Whacker, why are you in the woods?"

  "Well, I wanted to—wait, are we still on the air?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I'd rather not say." Her sullen tone came over the phone loud and clear.

  At the risk of sounding cold and heartless to my listeners who had no idea I wanted to help Daisy, but wasn't eager to see a second dead body in little more than a month's time, I said, "Why don't you call the police?"

  "I can't. I saw how the police chief treated you when you found that city manager all dead on your project. The chief thought you were a suspect just because you found the guy. What if he does the same thing to me?"

  "Well, to be fair to Chief Lawson," something I couldn't believe I was attempting to do, "there were a few other things pointing suspicion my way."

  Lisa, eyes frenzied, rapped on the window again, this time rolling her hand like cranking an old movie camera, our signal to go to commercial.

  I was very happy to oblige. "I'm sorry, Weed Whacker, but we need to take a short commercial break. If you'll hold on, we'll make sure this problem is resolved. For the rest of our audience, stay turned for more of Through the Garden Gate when we'll return to answer your gardening questions."

  "What's going on?" Lisa's perturbed voice boomed through the open doorway. "I talk with the next caller for a few minutes and come back to find you up to your neck in murder."

  "You're the one who let Daisy through. Didn't you ask why she was calling?"

  "Well, no. She usually asks something kind of dumb, but it's always been gardening related in the past."

  "Hmm, gardening related. That's an idea. Maybe I should tell her to get the new shovel I recommended last month, dig a deep hole, and—"

  Lisa groaned. "Paige, seriously, you need to get rid of her. We're back in a minute thirty."

  "Fine." I would dispatch her during the commercial then get on with my program. I picked up the phone. "Daisy, why on earth did you call here?"

  "I tried your cell, but you didn't answer. I had to talk to you right away. I knew it was time for the show, but Lisa was so sweet and put me right through. So are you coming?"

  I glanced at my soon to be ex-best friend who still held the phone to her ear and remained clueless about her part in this radio travesty. She appeared as angelic as her twin three-year-olds in sleep mode. I turned back to the phone. "You need to call the police, Daisy. Even if I wanted to come, I have to finish the show."

  "I didn't want to do this, but you owe me, Paige. I saved you last month. If I didn't you'd be. . .well, you'd be. . . dead."

  I was beyond grateful for Daisy's help in keeping me alive and thought about it often. Especially at night when I rehashed how close I'd come to being killed. And Daisy was right. She did save my life. I thought I had paid back my debt when I gave her a job at my shop, The Garden Gate, and kept her on staff despite inept skills. Obviously, she didn't think so. "Low blow, Daisy."

  "I'm sorry. I really am, but I was there for you when you needed me. Now I need you." I recognized her stubborn tone. She wouldn't give up until I agreed to help.

  "Fine, but this makes us even. And if I'm hassled even the least little bit by our illustrious chief, I'm gonna. . .I'm gonna—oh I don't know what I'll do, but I'll do it." I punched the disconnect button and rushed into Lisa's booth. "Put on a 'best of' show. I'm leaving."

  Her head popped up. "You are not going down there. After all you went through last month? Paige, don't. You're just asking for trouble."

  I pulled my keys from my pocket. "Don't you think I know that? But what choice do I have? Daisy played the you-owe-me-for-saving-your-life card."

  "You still don't have to go."

  "Relax. Knowing Daisy, this is all a big mistake, and there won't be a body. I'll let you know what happens."

  I rushed down the long hall, past Roger Freund's office. He called my name, but I kept going. Roger tuned in to all of KALM's programs and never missed Through the Garden Gate, the top rated local show. Not a hard won honor, I grant you, with competing shows like Success Serendipity Style, the Farm to Market Report and Rainy Day Crafts. With such a limited lineup, I could afford to ignore Roger this one time.

  I charged into the sunshine, climbed into my truck, and sped toward Daisy's location. Nearing Cedar and Main, my phone chimed in the tone I'd assigned to Adam Hayes, a criminal defense attorney and my new boyfriend. We met that horrific day I'd discovered Bud Picklemann's body on my construction site and Adam was called in to defend me from an overzealous police chief.

  I pressed my Bluetooth headset and gave the man who was threatening to capture my heart a warm greeting.

  "You are not on your way to the ball field," he said, all bossy and demanding, quickly melting my warmth.

  "Well, hello to you, too."

  "Paige, come on. Tell me you're not in your truck on the way to the field."

  I looked out the window at the buildings zipping past and laughed. "I'm not in my truck on the way to the field."

  He went silent for a few seconds. "You are, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, but you told me to tell you—"

  "Stop right there. What are you thinking?" His voice thundered through my phone like a sonic boom. "It's only been a little over a month since your near brush with incarceration."

  "Ooh, I love it when you talk all lawyerly."

  He groaned. "It doesn't matter what I say, does it? You're still going."

  "I have to. I owe Daisy. But after this, we'll be even."

  "Right. Something tells me you'll need to get it in writing."

  "I might just make her sign in blood." I laughed again, feeling the tension lightening. "Hey, wait. How did you know about this anyway?"

 
; "I was listening to your show. When you didn't come back from commercial I knew where you were headed."

  A flush of warmth spread through me. He tuned me in. A man who hated gardening had only one reason for turning his radio dial to my show. He loved me. Or wait, maybe two. His day was moving along at a slug's pace and he was bored. Probably the second one. "Must be a slow day in the office, huh?"

  "A good day in my opinion. One where I could have caught up on my paperwork. Now I'll need to head over there." His tone had turned a smidge testy.

  "Why? I can handle this."

  He snorted. "You can handle Chief Lawson?"

  "Sure, why not?"

  "The way you handled him the last time."

  I chose to ignore his insinuation that I nearly melted, okay, totally melted under Mitch Lawson's threats to arrest me last month. "I might not even see Mitch. With Daisy's ability to misunderstand things it's possible there's no body."

  "True, but—"

  Before he could argue further, I blurted out, "So don't bother driving all this way. I'll call if there's a problem. Talk to you later." I disconnected and pulled the truck into the ball field parking lot located at the bottom of the hill behind Serendipity High School. I dropped my headset into the cup holder as I only used it while driving to comply with Oregon's hands free cell phone laws. Hopping out, I listened to screaming fans and inhaled the mouthwatering aromas from the concession stand drifting on the slight breeze.

  My desire for a salty bag of popcorn nearly had me veering off course, but I was here to see if Daisy really found a dead body, not go to a movie, so I tamped it down. I skirted the field, keeping to the perpendicular line of trees. If there was indeed a body ahead, I didn't want to draw attention from the crowd before we could decide how to handle the situation.

  Picking my way through trees grouped forest-close, I searched for any sign of the bright green pickle costume. In a small clearing about thirty feet into the woods, I spotted Briny's head on the ground next to a tree stump holding Daisy. Still cocooned in Briny's suit, she'd opened the costume to her waist. The soft folds of the fabric scrunched up around her face.