LJI:LCI (1) In The Garden
“It was really Miranda’s own fault. Her and her perfect, award-winning azaleas. If she hadn’t won ‘most beautiful neighborhood garden’ three years in a row, then I wouldn’t have had to take matters into my own hands.”
Dolores Nedemyer adjusted her wire-rim glasses which had slipped ever-so-slightly down her nose.
“I really must get these glasses tightened. Are you writing all this down, Tommy? Your mother, God rest her soul, would be so proud to see you today, in that fine uniform, such a good boy you have turned out to be.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy pointed to the legal pad in front of him. “I am writing every word.” The folder he’d been handed before coming into the room was barely visible underneath it.
“Well, you can just take out that bit about my glasses. That has nothing to do with my story.”
"Yes, Ma’am, I know."
“Good boy. Now, where was I?”
“The deceased’s azaleas,” Tommy prompted.
“Such an ugly word, deceased. I hate it. Miranda, she’s not deceased. She’s been taken from us, too soon, too soon.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but the coroner…”
“I don’t care a whit for what the coroner says. Deceased is an ugly word.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy looked at his watch and scribbled down the time. “Miranda’s azaleas?”
“Better. Yes. You know how she did it, don’t you?”
“Did what, Ma’am?”
“How she grew such beautiful azaleas?”
Tommy sighed. “No, Ma’am, I don’t, but I am not sure what that has to do with…”
“I’ll get to that,” Dolores interrupted. “She had a secret weapon. Before Miranda started using her secret weapon her garden was just one more pretty place. Before Miranda started using her closely-guarded secret, I’d won ‘most beautiful neighborhood garden’ nearly every year. I’d even had my own sign made. I didn’t mind the one or two years the Country Club Garden Society gave the award to someone else; I just moved my sign to the back of the garden and let them put up their own, smaller one. But then Miranda had to go and win, not once, not twice, but three years in a row! Can you imagine?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“After the second year, she asked for the better sign, for my sign. Well, I was neighborly, of course, and I let her have it. I put it right at the edge of her garden. You know our properties share a border, right?”
Tommy nodded.
“Well, I put it right there at that property line. We shared it. It was almost like it was still mine. But then she had to go and win a third year in a row. She moved it. Can you imagine? She moved my sign. Mine.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“So you understand. I had to get my sign back. But…”
“Is that when you…”
“Don’t interrupt me, Tommy. I’m telling my story.” Dolores adjusted her glasses again, unaware that small wisps of grey hair escaped from her tight bun each time she did so. “But,” she began again, “I couldn’t just take it from her. No, I had to earn it. I had to learn her secret weapon.”
She sniffed.
“Cats. Can you imagine?”
Confused, Tommy stopped writing for a moment. “Cats?”
“Cats. Did you get that?”
He carefully wrote C-A-T-S on the yellow legal pad. “Yes, Ma’am. Would you elaborate?”
“I watched her. We were neighbors you know. I watched her all the time to see what she was doing to make those azaleas grow. Cats. She had nearly a dozen of them. I could smell them, poor things. Sometimes I hear them too, meowing and crying for their supper.”
Dolores paused for a moment and brushed at her cheek. “Makes me cry, it does, all those poor cats. I can’t have them myself, allergic as I am. They make me sneeze something terrible. But what she did with them…” She trailed off.
“What?” Tommy asked, not sure he wanted to know.
“She was burying them in her garden of course.”
“Alive?!”
“No, of course not. They were dead. She was using them as fertilizer. I looked it up on the Internet. Azaleas love it. They thrive on it. So, you can see, it really was her own fault.”
Tommy opened the case folder, looked at the many photographs of Dolores’ garden. He read over the coroner’s report, but he already knew what had been found there.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, and after glancing at his watch, wrote down the time again. “I see now, why you did what you did.” He motioned for the matron standing quietly in the corner.
“So, I’m free to leave? After all, I couldn’t use cats.”
“No, Ma’am.”
Dolores Nedemyer adjusted her wire-rim glasses which had slipped ever-so-slightly down her nose.
“I really must get these glasses tightened. Are you writing all this down, Tommy? Your mother, God rest her soul, would be so proud to see you today, in that fine uniform, such a good boy you have turned out to be.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy pointed to the legal pad in front of him. “I am writing every word.” The folder he’d been handed before coming into the room was barely visible underneath it.
“Well, you can just take out that bit about my glasses. That has nothing to do with my story.”
"Yes, Ma’am, I know."
“Good boy. Now, where was I?”
“The deceased’s azaleas,” Tommy prompted.
“Such an ugly word, deceased. I hate it. Miranda, she’s not deceased. She’s been taken from us, too soon, too soon.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but the coroner…”
“I don’t care a whit for what the coroner says. Deceased is an ugly word.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy looked at his watch and scribbled down the time. “Miranda’s azaleas?”
“Better. Yes. You know how she did it, don’t you?”
“Did what, Ma’am?”
“How she grew such beautiful azaleas?”
Tommy sighed. “No, Ma’am, I don’t, but I am not sure what that has to do with…”
“I’ll get to that,” Dolores interrupted. “She had a secret weapon. Before Miranda started using her secret weapon her garden was just one more pretty place. Before Miranda started using her closely-guarded secret, I’d won ‘most beautiful neighborhood garden’ nearly every year. I’d even had my own sign made. I didn’t mind the one or two years the Country Club Garden Society gave the award to someone else; I just moved my sign to the back of the garden and let them put up their own, smaller one. But then Miranda had to go and win, not once, not twice, but three years in a row! Can you imagine?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“After the second year, she asked for the better sign, for my sign. Well, I was neighborly, of course, and I let her have it. I put it right at the edge of her garden. You know our properties share a border, right?”
Tommy nodded.
“Well, I put it right there at that property line. We shared it. It was almost like it was still mine. But then she had to go and win a third year in a row. She moved it. Can you imagine? She moved my sign. Mine.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“So you understand. I had to get my sign back. But…”
“Is that when you…”
“Don’t interrupt me, Tommy. I’m telling my story.” Dolores adjusted her glasses again, unaware that small wisps of grey hair escaped from her tight bun each time she did so. “But,” she began again, “I couldn’t just take it from her. No, I had to earn it. I had to learn her secret weapon.”
She sniffed.
“Cats. Can you imagine?”
Confused, Tommy stopped writing for a moment. “Cats?”
“Cats. Did you get that?”
He carefully wrote C-A-T-S on the yellow legal pad. “Yes, Ma’am. Would you elaborate?”
“I watched her. We were neighbors you know. I watched her all the time to see what she was doing to make those azaleas grow. Cats. She had nearly a dozen of them. I could smell them, poor things. Sometimes I hear them too, meowing and crying for their supper.”
Dolores paused for a moment and brushed at her cheek. “Makes me cry, it does, all those poor cats. I can’t have them myself, allergic as I am. They make me sneeze something terrible. But what she did with them…” She trailed off.
“What?” Tommy asked, not sure he wanted to know.
“She was burying them in her garden of course.”
“Alive?!”
“No, of course not. They were dead. She was using them as fertilizer. I looked it up on the Internet. Azaleas love it. They thrive on it. So, you can see, it really was her own fault.”
Tommy opened the case folder, looked at the many photographs of Dolores’ garden. He read over the coroner’s report, but he already knew what had been found there.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, and after glancing at his watch, wrote down the time again. “I see now, why you did what you did.” He motioned for the matron standing quietly in the corner.
“So, I’m free to leave? After all, I couldn’t use cats.”
“No, Ma’am.”