Charmed Offensive Page 7

  “What was so special about that particular tree?”

  “It was the only one,” Adam explained. “They’re imported. Hard to get. And the clusters of yellow flowers were perfect for my garden. You can see just by looking at it that the acacia belongs here.”

  “You exchanged words first, I take it?”

  “Heated ones, for sure.” Adam smiled to himself. “Poor Mrs. Heinz was in the next row over. We scandalized her.”

  “Anyone else witness the incident?” The file only mentioned the owner of the garden center.

  “A couple of our gardening club buddies were there, too.” He shook his head. “They weren’t exactly surprised to see us in a scuffle. Al and I sometimes disagree.”

  “On what?”

  “Gardening techniques, mostly,” he said. “The club takes gardening very seriously. We’ve got the upcoming competition and I know that’s why he wanted the tree.” He scoffed. “The gods know that’s why I wanted it. The piece de resistance.” He kissed his fingers in an impersonation of a Frenchman.

  “Who threw the first punch?” I asked.

  “He did,” Adam said. “I’m not prone to violence. Al, on the other hand, wouldn’t think twice about whacking you with a spade.”

  “And where’s the tree now?” I hadn’t noticed a tree of that description in either yard.

  Adam pouted. “One of the other guys in the club bought it after the sheriff was called and we were thrown out of the garden center.”

  “And which member is that?”

  “Jerry Templeton,” Adam replied. “Lucky little guy.”

  “Leprechaun?”

  “No, gnome. We do have a leprechaun in the group, though. Marty McTavish. He was with Jerry at the garden center, in fact.”

  “I guess Marty didn’t need a yellow acacia tree or there would’ve been another fight,” I said.

  “Marty prefers a little more tat in his garden,” Adam sniffed. “We don’t all share the same taste in the garden club.”

  “What qualifies as tat?” Personally, I would’ve thought the collection of stone ornaments would fall into that category, but what did I know about gardening? I couldn’t keep a cactus alive.

  “Anything in Marty’s garden, to be honest.” He chuckled to himself. “You’ll understand if you see it.”

  “Have you had any interactions with Albert Geary since the fight?” I asked.

  “No,” Adam said. “We had a club meeting the other day, but he didn’t show up. I figured he was too mortified after his arrest. Everybody knew about it.”

  So it was possible that Mr. Geary was turned to stone sometime before the meeting. I’d have to try and put a timeline together—see if I could identify the last one to see the elf without a layer of rock over him.

  “Adam, Albert didn’t show up because he’s not exactly himself at the moment.”

  The dwarf tapped his thumb against the side of the glass. “What do you mean? Is he in prison? I thought his trial was no big deal, like he might pay a fine or something.”

  “He’s not himself because he’s been turned to stone.” I watched carefully to gauge Adam’s reaction. He seemed genuinely shocked.

  “Stone? You mean Albert Geary is in rock form?”

  “That’s right. I found him in his garden.”

  Adam’s brow furrowed. “Stars and stones. How would something like that happen? Too much gardening? Like that guy who fell in love with his reflection in the lake and turned into a flower?”

  “Narcissus?”

  He snapped his chubby fingers. “That’s the guy.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t think the gods turned Mr. Geary into stone because he loved gardening too much.”

  “What then? A spell?”

  I shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. He’s my client, but I can’t defend a statue in court.”

  “At least you wouldn’t have to listen to him run his mouth. The elf can be a real jerk.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said. “Would you mind telling me the names of the other club members and where you meet? I’d like to speak to them.”

  Adam suddenly fell silent.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “We don’t make a habit of talking about gardening club publicly,” he said.

  “Does the club have an official name?”

  “None that I’m at liberty to say.” He shook his glass. “Too much of this and my lips are looser than Marty’s morals.”

  The gardening club was starting to sound more like Fight Club.

  “If it’s such a secret, how do you enter competitions?”

  “We enter individually,” Adam said. “We meet in private at undisclosed locations.”

  “Presumably a garden,” I said.

  Adam heaved a sigh. “Fine, you twisted my arm. We rotate locations. There are five of us and we each take a turn hosting.”

  “And who hosted last night?” I asked.

  “Jerry,” Adam said. “I suppose you’d like his address.”

  “I would, if you don’t mind. I mean, I can get the information from the sheriff, but I’d rather keep this quiet…out of respect for your club.”

  Adam nodded somberly. “We appreciate that. He lives over on Starlight Street. Number thirty-seven.” He tapped the bottle. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in one little nip? I’m sure the baby can handle it. Kids are resilient.”

  I frowned. “Uh, no thank you. Bourbon isn’t really my thing anyway.”

  “Suit yourself.” He gulped the remainder of the alcohol. “Be careful of the sunflowers on the way out. Sometimes they lean too far over the walkway.”

  “Do they bite?” I joked.

  His expression was deadly serious. “Only if they’re hungry.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Good to know.” I left the dwarf at his bar and hurried back to Sigmund, careful to avoid the potentially dangerous sunflowers. I was beginning to get the sense that the gardening club was hiding a lot more than their official name.

  Chapter Eight

  Despite my fatigue and swollen feet, I decided to go straight to Jerry Templeton’s house. I still had time before Daniel followed through on his promise to find me if I wasn’t home within the hour.

  With its odd angles, stone facade, and wide wooden door, Jerry’s house on Starlight Street reminded me of the 1970’s ranch-style house featured on The Brady Bunch. His garden was anything but a time warp, though. It featured a similar design to Adam Clayton’s garden, but the color scheme was more mixed and vibrant. There were bright blues among the oranges and yellows. The lawn ornaments were minimal with only a raccoon and a hedgehog in the shadow of red crepe myrtle. Stones lined the garden, complementing the facade of the house. I smiled when I noticed the newly planted acacia tree on the side of the lawn. The branches were already teeming with yellow globular clusters of flowers. I could understand why the tree had been so coveted at the garden center.

  I rang the doorbell and heard a whistle sound inside that reminded me of a boiling kettle. The door clicked open and a small, stout man stood there in buckled shoes and a long waistcoat. He wore shades of yellow from head to toe. Even the locket on his necklace was gold.

  “Jerry Templeton?”

  The gnome looked me up and down. “Are you aware that you swallowed a ball?”

  I placed a protective hand over my stomach. “It’s a baby, Mr. Templeton.”

  “I’m not interested in buying a baby, but thank you.” He started to close the door and I pushed out my hand to block him.

  “That’s good because I’m not here to sell my baby, sir.”

  He fixed his beady eyes on me. “Then why are you here? There’s not another mayoral race, is there? I’m still exhausted from the last round of campaigning.”

  “I’m here to talk to you about the incident you witnessed between Adam Clayton and Albert Geary at the garden center.”

  His brow lifted. “Oh, that.” He chuckled. �
�Come on in. I don’t mind reliving that moment of glory.”

  I crossed into the foyer and was immediately struck by the minimalist decor. Other than a few well-placed pieces of furniture and artwork on the walls, there was nothing of a personal nature. No knickknacks, no photographs. Nothing.

  “How’d you hear about the fight?” he asked.

  I trailed him into the living room and he gestured for me to sit on the loveseat. “I’m defending Mr. Geary.”

  He balked. “You’re a lawyer?” His gaze drifted to the ball I’d allegedly swallowed.

  “Yes, Mr. Templeton. I assure you it’s entirely possible to be pregnant and a lawyer at the same time.” I flashed a friendly smile. “It’s called multitasking.”

  The gnome turned a deep shade of crimson. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He gave his head a quick shake and the color drained away. “So what did Al tell you?”

  “You were there. Why don’t you tell me your version of events?”

  “Uh, sure.” He paced the length of the rug, appearing to collect his thoughts. “I came in with Marty, after Al and Adam had seen the tree. We were all there for last minute additions to our gardens because of the upcoming competition.”

  “And what were the other two doing when you arrived?” I asked.

  “Staring at each other like they were ready to pull out weapons, which I guess they kind of did.” He stopped pacing and held up his small fists.

  “Who struck first?”

  “Your man Geary,” Jerry said. “Surprised the hell out of me, too. He’s a celery stick compared to the round rock we call Adam Clayton.”

  “Is it true that Mr. Geary…tossed Mr. Clayton?”

  Jerry burst into laughter. “Straight down the row of hydrangeas. It was amazing.” He slapped his leg and then seemed to think better of it. “It was horribly demeaning. Never should’ve happened.” He lowered his gaze.

  “And you’re all members of the same gardening club?”

  His eyes narrowed into slits. “Who told you that?”

  I put a finger to my lips. “I know. It’s like a secret society. I promise I’m not interested in exposing you, though to be honest, I’m not sure why it’s such a big deal.”

  “Think about it,” Jerry said. “A group of straight males centered around gardening for one thing.”

  “Straight guys can’t like gardening?” Gareth had a green thumb, but I wouldn’t say he was that interested in gardening even when he was undead.

  “It isn’t just that,” Jerry admitted. “There are five of us—an elf, a dwarf, a leprechaun, a vampire, and me. Everyone would make fun of us if they knew we spent one night each week together talking about flowers.”

  “You’re like the paranormal version of The Breakfast Club,” I said.

  He peered at me. “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Good movie,” I said. “You should watch it.”

  “I haven’t gotten around to getting one of those screens yet,” he said. “I spend most of my free time outside in the garden.”

  “On second thought, you should probably keep it that way,” I said. “It’s a healthier lifestyle.” I paused for a beat. “Why do you think Mr. Geary was so angry about the acacia?”

  “The competition, I guess,” Jerry said. “He really wanted to win this year. He’s been runner-up the past two years.”

  “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride,” I said.

  Jerry frowned. “Is that what you do?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Say phrases that nobody else understands. What planet are you from anyway?”

  “Pennsylvania,” I replied.

  “What has Al said about all this?” he asked. “If you’re his lawyer, you must’ve talked to him.”

  “I haven’t been able to have a conversation with him yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because slabs of stone can’t talk,” I said.

  He made a face. “Here you go again.”

  “Someone turned Mr. Geary to stone,” I said.

  Jerry’s jaw unhinged. “Stone? Al Geary is made of actual stone? Like a lawn ornament?”

  “We’re trying to get to the bottom of it.” I opted not to tell him about Althea. No need to drag her good name through the proverbial mud.

  “Did you talk to Clayton?” He shook his head. “Not that a dwarf would have any means of turning someone into stone.”

  “Unless he had access to magic,” I said. “Plenty of non-users of magic have managed to perform spells in this town.” And that was just during the time I’d lived here.

  “I’ve never seen Clayton mess with magic,” Jerry said. “Even in his garden, there’s no trace of it. He prefers to let Mother Nature do her thing. We all do.”

  “Garden purists,” I said.

  “All of us,” he said. “Even Mr. Tat.”

  “Mr. McTavish?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “Yeah, we like to rag on him because of his taste in shiny, useless objects.”

  “I gathered.”

  “You might want to talk to him,” Jerry said. “See if he saw anything at the garden center that I missed.”

  “Thanks, I intend to.” I tried to stand, but gravity and the weight of my stomach dragged me back to the loveseat. I flailed for a moment like a turtle on its back before the gnome took pity on me and grabbed my hand. He pulled me to my feet.

  “Not easy walking around with an extra stomach, is it?” he said.

  “Gets harder by the day,” I admitted.

  I lumbered behind him to the front door and he opened it for me.

  “Nice tree out there, by the way,” I said. The golden-yellow flowers looked particularly pleasant from this vantage point.

  Jerry smirked. “No point in letting the opportunity slip by. If I didn’t grab it, Marty would have. One thing we all have in common is good taste.” He paused. “Well, in plant life anyway.”

  I shot him a quizzical look. “You take issue with their taste in what—partners?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s not really relevant and it’s not my business.”

  “What isn’t?” There was a story lurking here and I wasn’t leaving until I heard it.

  Jerry scratched the back of his head. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, honestly.”

  “Mr. Templeton, right now we don’t know what is or isn’t relevant. If you have information that might be useful, I’d like to hear it.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Al was involved with someone.”

  “Someone he shouldn’t have been, like someone’s wife?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” His tongue darted out and ran across his upper lip. “A paranormal that isn’t known for affection and cuddles. Sort of goes against the whole elf worldview.”

  “A vampire?”

  “A Gorgon.”

  I gaped at him. “Which Gorgon?”

  “Amanda. The one that makes stuff for the gardens. Everybody in the club knows her. We’re all customers.”

  I struggled to regain my composure. Amanda certainly hadn’t mentioned a special relationship with Albert Geary. What did that omission mean?

  “She’s real good about personalizing everything. Doing exactly the way everyone wants. Adam wanted an orange hat for his garden gnome to match the color scheme and she made sure to paint it the exact shade he requested.”

  “I guess that makes her popular with certain gardeners.”

  “Sure does.”

  “So she knows about your secret club?” I asked.

  “She knows we’re all enthusiastic gardeners who compete every year,” Jerry said. “Beyond that, I’m not sure what Al may have told her.”

  “How do you know they’re…involved?” I asked.

  “He told me.” Jerry paused. “Well, he hinted at it. I think he was afraid to say it outright—that we might make fun of him. We do tend to give each other a hard time, but it’s all in good fun. Usually.” He fiddled with his loc
ket. “Do you think she might have done it? Gorgons can do that sort of thing, can’t they?” He seemed nervous to make the suggestion out loud.

  “They can, but the Gorgons in Spellbound have never turned anyone to stone.”

  “Who knows? Maybe Al tried to break things off and she lost her temper. I once had a girlfriend replace the tires of my jalopy with cinderblocks after a particularly brutal argument.”

  My head was still spinning from his revelation. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Templeton. I sure appreciate it.”

  Whatever Amanda knew, it was apparently more than she’d been willing to tell me.

  “Mocktail?” Dr. Hall handed me a tall glass filled with ice and a raspberry colored liquid. I’d kept my promise to Daniel and come straight home from Jerry’s house so that he could drive me to Dr. Hall’s office.

  I eyed the drink suspiciously. “Is it really a mocktail or are you just trying to slip alcohol past me?”

  “Would I do that to you?” She set the glass on the table next to my chair.

  I shifted in my seat, my back uncomfortable with all the extra weight. “To be honest, I’m not completely sure.”

  Dr. Hall wagged a finger at me. “See? I like to keep you on your toes. Makes for an interesting relationship."

  I dared to take a sip. "I don't think that should really be the cornerstone of the therapist – patient relationship.”

  She shrugged and flopped on the sofa opposite me. “What do you know? I'm the one with the diploma on the wall from a prestigious vampire university.” She clasped her hands in front of her knee. “So I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to ask you how you’re feeling.”

  I clutched the glass in my hands. “Do you mean about the baby or life in general?”

  “It means whatever you want it to mean. How you answer might reveal what's on your mind.”

  I had to hand it to her, sometimes she actually made sense. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my father, as I’ve mentioned.”

  Dr. Hall became fixated on a spot on the coffee table. She took the fabric of her sleeve and began to rub the top in an effort to clean it. “You really don't want to become one of those women with daddy issues. Those ladies make all sorts of poor choices.”

  I had another taste of the mocktail. It was surprisingly tasty.