Free Summer Garden Murder by Ann Ripley Page B

feeling the ground to see if it was dry or not.”
    Morton spread his hands and said, “It’s a simple request. Gives us permission to go out there and dig a while. If we don’t find anything, then you’ll be off the hook, and we’ll be outta your lives.”
    Louise thought of her wild azaleas, how they’d had a bad year, and how they wouldn’t like being dug up. Not only that, she was hurt, and Geraghty knew it. He looked over at her with remorseful eyes. This had not been his idea.
    Bill looked at her. “Louise, what do you think? Maybe we should let them.”
    Her hurt turned to anger. “I don’t want them digging in my garden, Bill. This is pure nonsense.” She got to her feet and made a broad gesture with her hand toward the front door, an unmistakable hint that the policemen should leave. “Gentlemen, come back when you have a court order. Without one, you’re not messing with my azaleas.”

9
    H er family clustered around her, as if, like a tender plant, she might fall without their support. “I’m all right. Really, I am,” she assured her husband and her daughters.
    Martha was standing at the living room windows looking out. “I think we ought to go do a reality check on that garden,” she said. “Those guys are coming back with a warrant, or an excavation permit, whatever it takes.”
    Louise blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re right. Let’s go out and prove them wrong.” She led the way out the patio door and down the timber stairs into the backyard. “I didn’t spend more than a minute or two fussing around with that garden last Sunday night. How could anyone possibly think ...” She hurried over to the azalea bed. Looking down, she pressed a hand to her mouth.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” asked Bill, standing at her side.
    â€œThey don’t look right.”
    Bill cocked his head and stared at the plants as Martha and Janie caught up. “They look fine to me,” he said. “What do you think, girls? Maybe they’re a little wilted, but not bad. Give ’em a shot of water, and they’ll perk right up.”
    Martha got down on her hands and knees. “Someone could have been digging in these azaleas, Ma. Maybe it was Sam doing a little work with the hoe.”
    Louise crouched beside her daughter. The edges of the garden, obscured by the loose, leafy mulch on the forest floor, appeared to have been altered recently, though it was hard to detect until she’d scraped away the mulch. The conscientious Sam, knowing she’d been especially concerned about her azaleas, undoubtedly had gotten out here with his spade.
    â€œThose detectives are making me crazy,” she said, shaking her head, as if to shake away the whole subject. “I’m sure it was Sam. I’ll give him a call to be sure.”
    Bill put an arm around her shoulder, and they sauntered back to the house. Then Martha’s cell phone rang. It was Jim Daley. The girls settled on the patio to have a three-way discussion with him of where and when the union of Martha and Jim would take place.
    â€œI’m feeling frustrated,” she told Bill as they returned to the house.
    â€œI know you are,” he said. “So am I, for that matter.”
    â€œOur daughter announces that she’s getting married. Instead of spending our time enjoying the good news, we have to worry about the police coming by to uproot my plants. And that’s all because some snoop is telling stories. And I bet I know who that snoop is.”
    â€œLouise, please. You’re not sure.”
    â€œOh, yes, I am, Bill. Greg Archer is the one who lied about me riding that cart and digging in the garden. I tell you, it will be a cold day in hell before I ever cooperate with the police again.”
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    It was almost midnight. Bill was gently snoring. Louise didn’t know which side was the most