Nipped in the Bud Read online

  “Knock yourself out,” he said and punched the phone line that had pealed a few times. He greeted the caller then sporadically offered various inflections of a grunt.

  Thinking he might be talking to an ape on the other end, I filled two glasses with water and returned to the plant. The arid soil sucked the moisture like a parched man at an oasis. I sat down and poured slowly, letting the water soak in, not run through the hard soil to the tray on the bottom.

  “Paige, come on back.” Mitch’s voice booming from above pulled me back to reality.

  “I won’t talk to you until my attorney arrives,” I said without looking up at him and continuing to pour. “You need someone to look after these plants. The ficus in the conference room is in sad shape, too.”

  “Excuse me for focusing on protecting people instead of watering plants,” he grumbled.

  While Mitch fidgeted, I finished tending to the neglected darling. Let him see how it felt to be kept waiting.

  “Hey, Chief,” Officer Riley bellowed. “That was the ME on the phone. Says he’ll finish the autopsy on Picklemann tonight and have the report on your desk first thing in the morning.”

  The autopsy? Did this change anything? Could Mitch use the autopsy report against me somehow? I looked up to gauge his reaction.

  “Well, Paige,” he said with a snide grin. “We don’t need to have our little conversation after all. Looks like this could be your last night of freedom. I suggest you get out of here and spend it wisely.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “And now, enjoy the best of Through the Garden Gate with your beloved host, Paige Turner.”

  “Hi, Paige, this is All Dug Out in Tigard. I’m having a problem with my container gardening.”

  “Thank you for calling, All Dug Out. I’m so happy that you’ve chosen to use containers in your garden. There’s nothing like an assortment of containers to add color all around the area.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s what you said, but I bought about twenty different containers. I got different colors and textures, even sizes, and planted them all over the yard. That was about six weeks ago, and not a one of them silly pots has bloomed.”

  Tears clouding my vision, I left the police station and ran smack dab into Charlie as I had earlier. This time as I tried to right myself, I kicked a large terracotta container filled with pansies and sent it into an earthquake tremble. Unlike our last encounter, though, I no longer felt a need to be diplomatic.

  I grabbed the arm of his pharmacy jacket and stopped him from passing by. “Mitch pretty much told me he was going to arrest me in the morning. So, Charlie, please, stop being so pigheaded, and tell me Bud’s secret.”

  “Can’t. I promised not to.” He shook his arm free and stomped off.

  I stood as if someone had encased my feet in the concrete of the sidewalk and watched him and my future walk away. My mouth fell open when he yanked hard on the door to the police station. In a stiff march that reminded me of a funeral procession, he entered the building.

  Huh? The police station? What was he up to? Did he have more information for Mitch that he withheld from me? Was this a glimmer of hope I could hold on to? Was he helping to clear my name? If he were here to help me, why had he been so closemouthed again? Simple, Paige. He wasn’t here to help. He was probably delivering a prescription.

  I shook off my questions and walked aimlessly down the street. At the park, I strolled straight to the play area for the first time since the day of Bud’s death. There was no evidence that I had ever worked or found Bud here. Instead, there were dozens of volunteers hard at work constructing booths for the Pickle Fest. They were joined by children running around and men bantering with one another. The anticipation of the annual fun that would begin tomorrow flowed like an electric current through the air.

  If things were different, I would be excited about the craziness of Pickle Fest, too. Pickle bobbing, pickle eating contests, and everything pickle filled the weekend and brought the town together with all the residents in their best moods.

  Not me. Not this year. I would be crabby with a capitol C. If I was even free to attend it.

  I sat on the square tower in the center of the play structure and tucked my legs under my arms. This was as good a place as any to sink into my own deserved fest, a pity fest. Wrongly accused of a crime, I was going to jail tomorrow. I had earned the right to cry. My cell rang. I pulled it from the clip, and without looking at the caller’s identity, silenced the pealing. It was probably Adam looking for me. Why waste my last night of freedom talking? If I were incarcerated tomorrow, talking was the one freedom I would retain.

  I turned off the ringer to prevent further interruptions and returned to my pity party. Briny tromped into the mulch with a throng of children trailing behind. I never did hear who they hired to play Briny. Gender was certainly veiled in the beelike abdomen of the pickle that rose up over the head. The long slender legs encased in Robin Hood green tights and almost delicate arms indicated a woman.

  The tiny tots invading the play structure didn’t care if the pickle was male or female. They screamed and latched onto the costume, sending me in search of solitude elsewhere. I strolled down the long line of booths constructed from two-by-fours and heavy canvas. I nodded at booth occupants, who were stocking their space for tomorrow. Few returned my greeting. I was a pariah. A dead woman walking.

  I reached the end of the row where my large stall sat waiting for plants. I entered the space and thought about sitting down to mope. But why? What good would that do? I could choose to wallow in my troubles, or I could prepare for tomorrow and not think about the potential for jail at all. Far healthier. Far easier. I chose work.

  Suddenly energized, I rushed out of the space and nearly collided with Briny. Standing as tall as I did, the mascot held his or her ground. Which was it, him or her? I voted for him. A woman had never played Briny before. I sidestepped the pickle and headed for my shop. Briny kept pace, following me like a puppy dog all the way to the end of the park.

  At my shop, I gathered signage, tables, and display stands and loaded them into the bed of my truck. I made three trips to the park. Each time Briny rushed forward and in silence—as a giant pickle can’t speak—he helped carry items to my booth. On the final trip, I thanked him for his help and told him I could handle things from here. I never imagined a fake pickle could pull an attitude, but he did. With bent head and shuffling feet, he clomped away as if I’d hurt his feelings but remained within eyesight.

  I happily arranged laminated cubes by the entrance to my stall, humming and aligning them just so. A commotion down the way erupted, and I looked up. Lisa, Perry, and Adam, in animated conversation, hurried down the main pathway. Near my booth, Briny suddenly leaped in front of my friends and stopped their forward progress. He danced in zigzag steps, keeping them at bay.

  Seeing the interest of the onlookers grow, I rushed over to my buddies. “Briny, give it a rest, and let my friends through.” I felt like Moses asking Pharaoh to let his people go.

  Briny stepped back, and Lisa darted into the opening. She rushed forward like a teenage girl spotting her favorite male celebrity and grabbed me into a hug that felt like a bone-crushing effort for the little sprite. “Where have you been?”

  Not waiting for an answer, she released me, and Adam took over. He held me so tight I thought I might explode from the pressure.

  “I was worried. When I went to the station and neither you nor Mitch were there, I thought something bad had happened.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered back. “I should have called you.”

  He drew me closer, and as much as I wanted to hug this man, the sight of me sitting behind bars and this wonderful man on the other side flashed into my mind, and I pushed back to look at Lisa and Perry. Both faces were tight with worry.

  I could understand Adam being upset because I wasn’t at the police station, but why were they so concerned? “What’s wrong with you guys?”

  “We�
�ve been looking all over for you,” Perry scolded, in his father-knows-best tone that he usually reserved for his girls.

  I shrugged. “I’ve been right here. Setting up for tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Lisa took on Perry’s mad parent tone.

  “I was busy.”

  “Is that the only reason?” Lisa asked.

  I waved it off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really.”

  “Cut it out, Paige.” Lisa grabbed my arm and gave me the look that said I don’t believe you. “What’s going on?”

  “Okay, fine. Stay, Briny.” I commanded the pickle as I would an unruly dog and walked back to my booth. Briny complied, and my friends tromped into the space. When we had privacy, I continued. “While I was waiting for Adam to arrive for our appointment at the police station, Mitch found out the autopsy report would be available tomorrow. He said we didn’t need to have a meeting and that this was likely my last night as a free woman.”

  “And you didn’t tell us?” Lisa’s voice hit the top of the scale.

  “It’s not like you can do anything to stop him.” I shivered at my blunt words.

  Adam inched closer and wrapped an arm around me. “You’re cold.”

  I stepped away. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Lisa said. “We need to talk about this.”

  “No, really, we don’t.”

  Lisa tipped her head at Briny, who’d advanced on us when we weren’t paying attention. “We’ll go to your apartment where we can talk without an audience.”

  “Good idea.” Adam once again wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  “I’ll stay here and close up for Paige,” Perry said to Lisa. “Then I’ll pick up the girls and take them home. You go with Paige. Spend the night with her.”

  “Hey, come on,” I cried as they railroaded me. “I don’t want to talk about this, and I certainly don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Hah!” Lisa shouted. “Yes, you do. Just look at you. Don’t know enough to tell your best friend when you need her. You need a babysitter all right. And I’m not leaving your side.”

  As if I had no say in the matter, Adam hurried me into the front seat of his car and cranked up the heater. Lisa, for once quiet, climbed into the back. An uncomfortable silence filled the space as we drove to my apartment, giving rise to the feelings I’d managed to stuff down at the park. With the preparation for tomorrow keeping me busy, I’d successfully put the impending arrest aside. Now it was back, nearly suffocating me.

  Even when I stepped out of the car at the base of the stairs to my apartment, the air was thick and oppressive. Climbing the steps, an overwhelming desire to flee settled over me. That is if Lisa or Adam, either one, would quit imitating a hovering copter and let me go. We all went into the living room. I opened my mouth to offer refreshments, but Lisa took over.

  “Sit, while I make you something warm to drink,” she said and went into the tiny kitchen. “I don’t get you, Paige. This defeatist attitude is so not like you. You’ve just given up and think Mitch is gonna arrest you tomorrow?”

  “Seems practical to me.” I sat on the sofa next to Adam, who seemed more at ease than he had last night. “I’ve run out of time and clues. I failed.”

  Lisa glanced at Adam. They shared a knowing look, then she stared at me. “Yeah, you did. Big-time. That’s what you get for thinking you can do everything yourself.”

  “Well, thanks for your support when I’m down. Want to kick me, too?”

  She filled a teakettle with water. “I’m just telling it like it is.”

  “Okay, but I’d like it a lot better if you would do something to help me instead of berate me.”

  “I wish I could help.” She left the kettle on the stove and came into the room. “That’s all Adam and I have been talking about while we looked for you. Neither one of us can do anything to keep you out of jail. Just like you can’t do anything either.” She perched on the edge of the love seat. “I guess, when you think about it, you’re right. It is time to give up. No one can help you.”

  It was one thing admitting defeat yourself. Having your biggest supporter give in was another. I looked at Adam, hoping he would take over for my now so-called friend, but he didn’t say a word. “I know this seems impossible but—”

  “Don’t look at Adam. He can’t help you either.”

  “All right, all right,” I held up my hands. “You win. No one can help me. I’m sunk. Is that what you want to hear? I can’t control my life. Never could. I’ve just been fooling myself.”

  There went that knowing look again. I wanted to box the two of them upside their heads.

  Adam cleared his throat. “God can keep you out of jail.”

  “Well, yeah, I know, but—”

  He took my hands. His were warm and comforting. “Then why not give Him a chance. Trust Him to take care of you.”

  Warm hands could not make me believe something I didn’t. “That’s oversimplifying things.”

  Lisa pushed off the love seat. “That’s the thing about faith. It is simple. Easy, even. We’re the ones who make it hard.”

  I wish I could report that Lisa’s incredibly obvious ploy worked. That I had one of those “ah-ha” moments when everything became crystal clear, and I gave up relying on myself. My behavior was too ingrained to let it slide so fast, so easily. I could, however, agree to try.

  “Enough of the sermon, okay,” I said. “I get the point. If I trust God, this night will be a lot easier. Even if Mitch comes to arrest me, if I’m trusting God, it will be easier. I’m not ready to give over total control yet. I’ll think about it, try it even, but I’m not going to give in just like that. The two of you might as well quit ganging up on me and go on home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “This is Harly Davison, reminding you that we will be broadcasting live from Pickle Fest today with a special two-hour show. For those Through the Garden Gate fans out there, be sure to tune back in on Monday at nine when your host Paige Turner returns with her sage advice. Get it? Sage, the plant? Sage, advice? Oh, never mind. Come by the Pickle Fest.”

  Lisa, my unrelenting companion, and I filled my truck bed with multicolored containers, shrubs, and larger plants that we would display at the Pickle Fest. She seemed to sense my need for quiet, or she was exhausted. Either way, we worked in silence, and I let my thoughts wander over the long night. Lisa kept trying to drill into my head that if I finally let go and let God take charge, I’d know peace that was beyond explanation. It sounded good, like something to work toward. And I did. I had tried to trust God through the night. I gave Him the good ole college try. In the end, I came into the shop exhausted from lack of sleep and with a feeling of the guillotine ready to fall.

  I had learned one lesson, though. Mitch saw to that. I could not, nor would I ever be able to control all situations that I faced in the future. From now on, I would try to take things as they came and cease striving to be in charge.

  When the bed was filled with fragrant blooms, I loaded Mr. T, perched in his smaller cage, into the cab of the truck. Lisa held on to his cage as we drove to the park, where we found other merchants hard at work. I was sad to see the KALM booth, reminding me that my live show from this location had been cancelled. Still, I’d go with the flow. I had plenty of work to keep me occupied. We made several trips from the truck to the booth, much like Monday when Lisa helped me haul tools, only this time we had the added assistance of Briny.

  I retrieved Mr. T from the truck and set him on a table inside the booth, out of the sun and away from little children’s hands.

  “Briny, Briny, Briny,” he squawked as Briny moved away with a mob of kids dragging his sorry pickle self down the open area. I had no idea what was with this sudden desire of Briny’s to spend time with me, but I was growing irritated. Especially with Mr. T calling out his name. For some odd reason, Mr. T had taken to Briny during the fall festival and loved to say his name whenever he laid eyes on him.
Maybe birds have a natural fondness for pickles.

  I sure didn’t. I wanted to march over to Briny and demand he stay away.

  Relax, Paige. Remember the new you. No need to control things.

  At nine we opened for business, and Lisa worked alongside me, helping customers, restocking plants, and not glaring at the ever-present Briny as I did, until it was time to pick up her preschoolers.

  She gathered her things to leave, stopped, and looked at Briny. “What’s up with Briny, anyway?”

  “Briny,” Mr. T said.

  I groaned.

  Lisa laughed. “He’s been hanging around you like a bad cold. I’m surprised you didn’t go over there this morning to tell him to get lost.”

  “This is the new me,” I announced with a bit too much pride in my voice. “If the silly pickle wants to follow me around all day long, let him. I don’t have to control things.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Can’t wait to see how long this will last.”

  Before I could come up with a witty defense for myself, my cell pealed in the ringtone I’d assigned to Adam last night when I couldn’t sleep.

  “Adam,” I said to Lisa then greeted him with a warm tone. He, unlike Lisa, had complied and left me alone last night.

  “I just got off the phone with Perry,” he said in an unexpectedly cheerful tone. “He has some news from the police station.”

  “Wait. I’m putting you on speaker so Lisa can hear.” I clicked to speaker.

  “Perry’s source confirmed that the autopsy report has come in and that Lawson is not ready to release the details. He also said that Lawson has no plans to arrest you.”

  When Lisa’s eyes grew excited, I controlled the hope that sparked in mine. “What do you think this means?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps the report showed cause of death as something other than the shovel, and he’s looking at someone else.”

  There it was, a spark flaming up. “Do you really think so?”