1 Portrait of a Gossip (13 page)

“Yes. It makes me wish that I had put in a garden.”

“I was just thinking that too,” Juliet lied. “In fact, I was
thinking about maybe going into town to get some plants. I know a real gardener
would start with seeds, but I’m willing to cheat a bit to improve my odds of
success.”

Rose actually smiled.

“Would you like to come with me?” Juliet asked. “I’m afraid
I am pretty ignorant about plants. I did grow a zucchini in the second grade,
but we never lived in places where we could have a proper garden.”

“Well, I guess I could come. Maybe I could get a pot and
plant a few things too.”

“Would tomatoes grow here, do you think?”

“If you have a sunny spot,” she said, growing almost animated.
“Fresh tomatoes!
That would be wonderful.
And eggplant.”

“Would you like to go into town after breakfast? I would
suggest this afternoon since I know you paint mornings but I’m sitting for
Raphael at one.”

She might as well mention her modeling gig and see if there
was a reaction. Everyone would know anyway.

“This morning would be fine,” Rose said, looking a little
bewildered but pleased by the proposed outing. She said nothing about Juliet
moonlighting as an artist’s model.

“Great. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll go straight
off—if you don’t mind me in my work clothes.”

She giggled.

“Of course not.
They are our
uniform and badge of honor. It also gives the tourists something to stare at.”

“And here I was thinking I was just a messy eyesore,” she
said, feeling pleased that she had lured Rose out. Juliet didn’t believe that tiny
Rose was the killer, but she watched everyone and had been there a lot longer
than Juliet had.

“I’ll see you in about an hour,” Rose promised.

Juliet decided to ignore the wildflowers whose petals were
dropping and paint a lizard
who
was doing jerky push-ups
on a nearby rock. She was actually tired of flowers. And she could take a
little liberty with the reptile, improve on nature, maybe make the lizard’s
eyes a little bigger and give him a smile.

She worked quickly and then sat back to admire her version
of a reptile. She heard a soft sound off to her right and looked over to find
Raphael studying her painting. The sunlight showed all the silver in his hair.
It didn’t detract from his harsh handsomeness.

Juliet blushed.

“Mickey in plank pose?” he guessed.

“
Shh
!” she scolded, but realized
he was right. The lizard did look a lot like Mickey doing yoga. “I—I just got a
little bored and was messing around.”

“It’s good. You have a gift for caricature it seems.”

“One I think I’d better keep under wraps.”

“Not from Mickey. You should put it on a t-shirt for him.”

Juliet considered her painting. It really was a cute lizard.

“Maybe for Christmas,” she conceded.

“No one’s stopping off to spill their guts this morning?”
Raphael asked sympathetically.
“Poor Juliet.
You look
very irritated and bored.”

“You know, you see entirely too much,” she said crossly.
“Don’t you have a naked model to paint or something?”

“You are my only model today so I would say that is up to
you. I do need to do a panel of Eve
before
eating the apple and being covered in shame and fig leaves.”

“Oh, go away before I paint you as a toad.”

Raphael chuckled.

“If you do paint me as a toad you have to promise to show
me.” He looked over her shoulder. “It seems Esteban can’t keep away from here
either. I think he is even more curious about what happened to Harvey than you
are.”

“Swell, that’s all I need. Nobody will talk to me if he’s
here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Esteban can be charming enough when he
wants to be.”

“My point exactly.
I still need to
question Carrie Simmons and Jillian Holmes and I’ll be trampled in the rush to
get to him.” Juliet opened a jar of turpentine and stuck her brush in it. “I
should get cleaned up anyway. Rose Campion and I are going into town to choose
plants for a garden. I’m going to try to grow tomatoes.”

She figured there was no point in pretending that she wasn’t
asking questions about the murder, at least with Raphael.

“That is indeed dedication to the cause. Do you even like to
garden?”

“I expect I’ll learn to enjoy it,” she said bravely. “Dirt
is … wholesome. And I like tomatoes.”

Raphael smiled maliciously and turned his chair to face
Esteban.

“Why, look. It’s the bad penny.”

“Miss Juliet,” Esteban said, ignoring Raphael. “No visitors
besides this two-wheeled vagabond?”

“No, but that’s okay. He’s famous and adds to my social consequence.”

“And on that note, I think I shall leave you,” Raphael said
and wheeled away.

“Hold up,
Rafe
,” Esteban said.
“You owe me a coffee. And I have a hypothetical question.”

“I hate hypothetical questions,” Raphael answered.

“You just haven’t heard the right ones.”

“And thus I am forsaken.” Juliet sighed theatrically.

“See you at one,” Raphael called back to her. Esteban said
nothing though his mouth was crooked in a smile when he glanced over his
shoulder. “Don’t worry. Someone will hear you scream if I threaten your
tomatoes.”

“There better not be any fig leaves and apples!” Juliet
called back and then ducked her head guiltily. No one was looking at her, but
Raphael was right. Down there everyone could hear a raised voice.

Speaking of overheard voices, Juliet caught just a bit of
conversation between Jillian and Mickey.

“Mickey, did you ever do a wrong thing for a right reason?”

“
Personally,
or professionally?” he
asked.

She hesitated a moment.

“Either.”

The voices faded and left Juliet wondering what they had
been talking about.

*
 
*
 
*

White Oaks didn’t have a garden center, but they did have
Flowers’ Friend, a sort of co-op where people sold their extra plants and where
one could buy organic potting soils and plant food.

Juliet parked next to the door which was sporting a bright
awning that might have been stolen off a circus tent.

Juliet had never explored the shop, since the smell of what
she finally learned was fish emulsion and manure had been off-putting. That
afternoon, with wind gusting from the east and carrying the scent of smoke, the
odor was less noticeable, at least until one stepped inside and encountered it
in concentrated form. She did her best not to recoil since Rose was sniffing
and looking like she enjoyed it.

The man at the counter could not have been that old since
his skin was unlined, but his hair was gray and he smelled musty. Or, Juliet
conceded, the bags of dried moss beside him smelled musty. He smiled at them as
they came in but a bit wearily, and she had the feeling that he had started
living the role of the gray hair a long time ago. Or maybe business was slow
during the week. They were the only people in the store.

Rose was in her element. Her habitual nervous shyness fell
away and she chatted happily with Arnold Schwartz while Juliet selected a bag
of potting soil that had a tomato on the label, a cardboard pot—the only kind
they had outside of some small ceramic planters shaped like improbably fat fish
and frogs—and one of the leggy, rather pale plants in a small cardboard pot
that said “beefsteak tomato” in block letters. White roots were bursting out of
the bottom and it had one blossom and one very small tomato about the size of a
baby pea. The plant didn’t look especially healthy, but she figured that there
was a good chance she would end up killing it anyway, so it was kinder to leave
the more robust ones behind for someone with an actual green thumb.

Deciding to let them have their fun and to quiz Rose when
they stopped at the bakery after—there should be time before the kids’ lunch
hour—Juliet pretended to look at seed packets and watched the sun through the
tree leaves whose shadows danced on the open door . She possessed herself in
patience while the silver-haired bookends, in identical pairs of reading
glasses, carefully read the label on every bottle and bag of fertilizer like
they were the writings of Thomas Aquinas. She wished she had thought to bring a
sketch book.

“You’ll want to get some marigolds too, Juliet,” Rose said,
breaking off her conversation with Arnie Schwartz. “It keeps away pests.”

“Okay.” Juliet turned back to the rusty wheelbarrow where live
plants were displayed. There were a few small pots of what she recognized as
French marigolds sitting on a bed of straw. She sniffed tentatively at the
buttery yellow globes. The smell was not sweet, but she kind of liked it.
Certainly it was better than fish emulsion.

“Have you decided what to get?” she asked Rose, deciding
that enough was enough.

“I think so. The thyme looks so—oh.” She stared at Juliet’s
tomato. “You know, sometimes it is better to get a smaller, bushier plant.”

“You’re being tactful. You’re probably right, but this one
looks so sad, I thought I would give it a second chance.”

Rose smiled at Juliet like she had just announced a cure for
cancer.

“I do that too. Well, I used to. They had a table of nearly
dead plants at my grocery store and I could never just walk by it without
bringing something home. My husband—” But there she came to a full stop and her
sad expression returned. “Well, not everyone cares about plants.”

“Well, I think it’s my week for taking in strays. But just
in case I will get one of those bushy ones too. And—oh, is that catnip?” The
handmade tag said it was. “I should get some for Marley.”

Juliet picked up another tomato and the catnip, which was
outrageous at six dollars. She fought a short battle with monetary horror over
paying for what looked like a weed, but the thought of Marley’s pleasure
carried the day. Sighing, she added the herb and a second cardboard pot.

“I don’t want to hurry you,” she lied. “But I learned
earlier this week that you have to get to the bakery before the kids or it’s
impossible to get any cupcakes, and I am having a terrible craving for one of
their lemon cupcakes. Last time I gave mine up for Elizabeth Temple. Lemon is
her favorite.”

“I didn’t know you and Elizabeth were close,” Rose said,
beginning to bring pots to the counter which was actually an old wooden door on
sawhorses. She was careful not to sound curious, respecting boundaries that
weren’t actually there.

“We aren’t. But she’s very nice and terribly smart, and I
just think that sometimes she misses being able to get out and talk to women.
Oh, I know her work is absorbing—and those quilts are to die for—but I still
have the feeling that she misses the art shows and such. I know that sometimes
I get a little lonely for company too and I’m not stuck in a wheelchair.”

Rose nodded, not looking at her.

“Darby is very nice too.
Very lively.
You must enjoy her company.”

So Rose had noticed them talking.

“Yes, Darby is fun.”

“Carrie can be … colorful.” Rose’s eyes were glued on some
herb that didn’t deserve all the attention it was getting.

“Carrie,” Juliet hesitated. “I don’t think she cares much
for other women. Some women don’t.”

“No. And it’s made Jillian very unhappy.” Rose finally
looked at her. The gray eyes were
indignant,
confirming that Rose had also seen what was going on with Jake and had drawn
the same conclusions.

“I thought—but then supposed that maybe I imagined it,”
Juliet said leadingly.

“Imagined what?”

Arnie stayed silent and began adding up Rose’s purchases.

“She seemed especially upset last weekend, but she has
always struck me as being a little depressed. I don’t think she’s happy.”

“She didn’t used to be depressed,” Rose said earnestly. “But
she lost her parents and then her brother last year, I think. Her dad was no
loss—a brutal, drunken man, but I gather it made her and her brother very close.
He helped her crawl out from under the old man’s fist, and since his death
she’s been … sad.
Withdrawn.
And this whole thing with
Harvey hasn’t helped. I think everyone is on edge.”

“Poor thing,” Juliet said. “My folks are both gone and I’m
all that’s left. It can be hard being on one’s own, not having anyone left who
remembers the things you did as a child.”

“Yes. But sometimes alone is better than being with someone
who doesn’t care.” Juliet had the feeling that they weren’t talking about
Jillian anymore.

“But I think Jake does care,” Juliet said, deliberately
misunderstanding. “He’s just stupid and weak where women are concerned.”

“You may be right,” Rose said, opening her crocheted bag and
pulling out a hemp wallet. “But nothing he does will ever make up for the grief
he’s caused his wife.
Nothing.
She was so young and
naïve,
and she believed with all her heart that he was her
savior, her knight in shining armor. And he’s nothing of the sort.”

Juliet nodded.

“Some things are beyond reparation,” she agreed.

“Yes. Now, let’s see what you’ve got there.” Rose sounded
brisk. The gossip was over. “That looks good. Did you get some fertilizer?”

“Will I need some?” Juliet asked, accepting the change of subject.

“Oh yes, tomatoes are heavy feeders.”

“Well, what would be best? Is any of it less stinky?”

Rose chuckled.

“You’ll come to think of this as perfume if you stick to
gardening.”

“
Hmph
.
I
may learn to tolerate it, but you won’t catch me dabbing this behind my ears
any day soon. What about—is that really bone meal? I mean, meal made of bones?”