I took a forkful of coffee cake and a sip of coffee.
She seemed to come to a decision and turned to me. “I did write some excellent articles. I submitted them to several magazines. However, I made the mistake of mailing them from the Society’s office.”
“That sounds like a logical thing to do. The magazines would assume you had credibility working for a garden club society.”
“That’s what I thought, but when one of my articles did get published, the credit was given to Spencer Hausman. Evidently he intercepted my work, changed my name to his, and sent it off.”
Shocking. I was stunned to think anyone would have the nerve, but somehow hearing this about Spencer didn’t surprise me.
“Did you confront him?”
“Oh, believe me I did, but you see, I’m not all that innocent. Spencer found out something about me and threatened to expose it if I even mentioned what he’d done.”
“I see. So now, you’re running away by quitting. Don’t you realize he’ll always have a hold on you until you face up to him and settle the situation that’s the problem?”
“I just can’t. Not yet anyway.”
We sat in silence finishing our breakfast.
When Paul Youngblood entered the Club, I smiled.
“Do you know Paul, Regina?”
She seemed alarmed. “Why?”
“Well, I…” Now why had she taken such a fright at a simple question? “I thought maybe he might be worth getting to know. I’d like an introduction, if you would.”
Paul came toward us holding a plate of fruit-topped waffles in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.
“Regina, how are you this morning?” His glance scanned her face.
She looked away, and then made a robotic introduction. “Jillian, this is Paul Youngblood, the famous landscape architect. Paul, Jillian Bradley, of the ‘Ask Jillian’ column.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Bradley.”
“How do you do, Mr. Youngblood? I’ve heard wonderful things about your work.”
He lowered his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Won’t you join us?” I looked around for an extra chair.
Regina stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m late as it is. I really must go.”
Before I could even say goodbye, she rushed off.
Paul took the unoccupied seat. He drank his orange juice in one long swallow. Then he tilted his head, and contemplated me once again. “I believe we’ve met before. Ah. The elevator, wasn’t it?”
“That’s correct.”
He began cutting up his waffles into quarters and cramming the large hunks into his mouth.
I couldn’t help but prod him for information. “You seemed distracted. I hope everything’s all right.”
With my statement, he dropped his fork on his plate with a clank. A short sigh escaped him. “Hah, all right? I don’t know if anything will ever be all right.”
“Well, maybe if you elaborated, an ol’ gal like me might be able to offer some advice. I’m a good listener.”
He looked around.
A married couple turned back to their eggs and toast.
He eyed me with a grin. “I just had the wind knocked out of me about a month ago is all.”
He seemed to be weighing whether I was worth the risk.
I certainly hoped so because I’d been dying for this since I first saw him in the lobby.
“Hmm, you look like a good listener all right.” He shifted in his chair, got comfortable and sipped his coffee. “So you really want to hear it? The whole sad mess?”
“I’m especially good with messes.”
He chuckled. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Go ahead and eat.”
He grabbed his own fork again and started swallowing more waffle quarters. “Come on, eat while I tell you. I don’t want people thinking our chat is anything important.”
I dutifully obeyed. Sipping on the warm coffee was a sweet price to pay for the kind of information I was expecting.
“I had a girl…a fiancée. She was a go-getter. Her business took her to New York. She took the wrong plane…at the wrong time…9-11.”
“Oh, my word!”
“They never actually identified her remains. Too charred.”
“Paul, that’s terrible.”
He nodded. “I’d been dating her for three years. Really shook me up.”
“I imagine it would.”
“Don’t know if a man can ever get over that sort of thing, you know? Regina I’d actually known before — an old school friend. We had dated in college, but the little minx got sick of me, found a guy ‘going somewhere.’ One of those deals. Eventually I got sick of her, or at least trying to chase her, and found my girl, the one who died.”
Paul sat back in his chair, contemplating. He sat in silence for a few moments before he turned to me again.
“I need to get back to my room. Please excuse me.” With that, he abruptly left.
I arrived in the conference room a little early.
Good. Time for some coffee.
I filled a cup from the silver urn and took a seat toward the front of the audience. Hugh Porter had unpacked his edible borders and an assortment of herbs, leaf lettuce, and marigolds lined the floor around the podium. I used the first few minutes to observe his selections. Then I made notes of each variety, their health, and combinations to please the eye.
“Evelyn! Darling.” The voice cut through my concentration. It feigned all the attachment of a dear friend, and yet, the voice chilled my blood. Thankfully, the greeting wasn’t for me. I did fear for the poor soul under attack.
The Barracuda.
‘Evelyn’ answered, sounding a little startled, “Celeste, how are you? You…look fabulous as always.”
“Oh, thank you. New tailor.”
Evelyn turned to the man standing quietly behind her. In an authoritative voice commanding him as if not doing her bidding would doom them to social obscurity forever, “Thomas, say hello to Celeste.”
Thomas, acting as though he was looking for any rock to crawl under, managed a feeble, “Hello.”
Evelyn elbowed him and nudged him still closer.
I began to wonder about the relationship between these two. How could a woman serve her man up in such a fashion for nothing more than a good word from this tigress? Evelyn persisted with a cruel giggle. “Is that all you can say dear, just hello?”
Managing a terse smile, he said, “Hello, Celeste.”
Celeste gave him a sour nod, as if even this small token was unworthy to bestow on those unaccustomed to her radiance. Then she leaned in to reward the faithful Evelyn with a comment.
From the look on Evelyn’s face, it was a slice of juicy information. Celeste ignored poor Thomas as if he didn’t exist.
“The specimens you’ve provided are just perfection. Between that sweet husband of yours and that weasel Spencer Hausman, it looks like your warehouse nursery business is doing well.”
“Now, Celeste, you know Spencer’s not a weasel, really. He’s just intense, but isn’t that the way of a true artist? He’s really a very hard worker. I don’t know what Thomas would do without him.” The pitch of her voice rose several levels.
“Evelyn darling, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I just think Thomas should be careful of someone who has never been married and who has that hungry look in his eye.”
“Oh, Celeste, you really are one with an imagination, but it’s all right. I keep a good eye on things, as you know.”
“Oh, yes. I know you do. If you watch your business with as much prowess as you watch Society matters, I’m sure you’re fine. I see Hugh Porter coming in. I’d better find a seat. I’ll talk to you later, darling.”
“Yes, we’ll talk after the session. Come, Thomas,” Evelyn commanded, “sit.”
So much like a dog…poor man.
Finally, Nicole, Ann and Dominique entered the room. I was saved. I shot my hand up enthusiastically
to get their attention.
“Over here, ladies, I’ve got us some seats.”
They all made their greetings and got to their places just in time for the lecture.
When it was over, Hugh invited everyone to taste the plants. In a strange goat-like way, I found myself enjoying the flowers and greens tossed together on my sample plate.
I caught up with him as soon as the crowd of questioners cleared. “Hugh, that was thoroughly entertaining. I did so enjoy it.”
“Thank you. You’re Jillian Bradley, aren’t you?” He beamed. “It’s always a pleasure sharing my knowledge, especially with those who spend their lives appreciating foliage the way you do.”
“Actually, Hugh, I’ve been dying to see this presentation all week. I’m certain it will be one of the major highlights of the meeting.”
He chuckled. “Well, I love plants and good food. So much the better if I can put them together. People become…intrigued.”
The laugh lines around his twinkling eyes crinkled. “Have you read my new book?”
“You Can Eat the Flowers?” I shook my head. “No, but I plan on buying a copy before I leave.”
Hugh winked. “I’ll sign it for you. Find me later.”
“I will. You’ll be getting a great review from me.”
“Thanks, Jillian. It was a pleasure. You’ll have to excuse me. It looks like a few more people have questions.”
Ann sighed. “I’m ready for a break. Let’s go into that cozy library with the fireplace and order something to drink.”
The room was dark and cozy, illuminated by an inviting fireplace and candelabra lamps that lined the walls. We ordered tea and talked awhile about the edible borders. Dominique appeared distracted, staring into her cup as if it contained a warm ocean.
“Dominique, are you with us?” I kidded.
“Sorry.” She smiled. “I was just thinking about poor Thomas. Did you notice? His wife acted more like his mother. It made me terribly uncomfortable listening to them.”
“Are they always like that?” Ann looked curious too. “Maybe it was an arranged marriage.”
We all chuckled. Of course, Ann, the analytical, needed to understand their motivations, their background.
Dominique arched a brow. This was the look that always preceded one of her little rant sessions. Usually the rant consisted of a drawn out morality tale cloaked in something remotely obscure or profound.
“Now you guys know that I’ve been on safari many times. On my first trip, I was shocked to see a herd of elephants wandering around in a dense thicket. Why in the world would they be there? Wouldn’t they prefer open spaces?
“Well, turns out, they had some good reasons for being there. They could find refuge from predators. They could also eat the fruit from the trees.
“However, they had a reoccurring problem. Their very presence there spoiled the new saplings. The fruit that the thicket once produced would quickly vanish, trampled to powder under their massive feet. Soon, the trees themselves withered and died. Perhaps Thomas finds himself in a similar situation.” Dominique shrugged and sipped her tea.
“Yes.” It was my turn to translate. “Thomas has to be withering inside to tolerate being treated so badly. Shameful…but…we are obliged to talk about pleasant things over tea. So, what are you ladies up to for the rest of the day?”
My change of subject took the wind out of the moment.
Ann stood quickly and announced, “I’m going to do some shopping in a few of those boutiques I saw on Main Street. Anyone want to come?”
Nicole smiled shyly. “I’m going to Paul Youngblood’s lecture.”
Dominique nodded. “I’m with you, Nicole. He’s so good looking.”
“And it doesn’t matter what he’s lecturing on, right?” I teased.
“Of course not.”
“What about you, Jillian?” Ann signed the bill.
“I’m curious about Walter’s father, I admit. I think I’m going to pay him a visit. After that, I might do a little shopping myself.”
Nicole motioned to Dominique. “We should go. His lecture starts in about five minutes.”
“Coming.” Dominique grabbed her purse, not at all interested in missing one “handsome” second.
“Going up?” Evelyn waited near the elevator door again flanked by Thomas. Apparently, the elevators were the “happening” place to fish for interesting news.
“Yes, fifth floor, please.” I tried not to smile at the irony.
“Us, too,” she replied, not getting the joke.
“I see by your name-tag that you’re attending the garden club conference.” This was an attempt to make friends with Thomas, the un-awful one.
Before Thomas could answer, Evelyn stepped slightly in front of him.
He stepped back and looked at the floor.
“Indeed we are. I’m Evelyn Westover, and this is my husband, Thomas. We are sponsors of the conference.”
“Oh really? How nice. I’m Jillian Bradley.”
“My dear, what a pleasure to meet you. I read your column. I love your humor, so plebeian, if you know what I mean. I’m sure it works well for the masses. Quite ingenious, really.”
Was that meant as a compliment or an insult? Had she overheard our conversation?
The elevator stopped and let us off.
“See you later,” Evelyn cooed, a little too smug. She headed for her room.
Thomas followed a few steps behind.
CHAPTER FIVE
After freshening up, I returned downstairs with Teddy and ordered the car. The fog had rolled in, and the wet mist hit my face the moment I stepped beyond the lobby doors.
Walter, the bellhop, appeared with the Jeep and held the door open. I set Teddy gently inside.
“I’m off to see your father today. See, I do keep my promises.”
“Oh, thanks, Mrs. Bradley. You’re great!”
I climbed into the driver’s seat, ready to get to the end of this mystery. It had been a nagging undercurrent in my mind all week. What sort of problem had Walter been inferring? Why did it require my expertise?
I headed past the gatehouse and down Highway 1. After a few turns, I pulled up in front of the large warehouse nursery, parked, and rolled down the windows a little for Teddy.
“I’ll be right back.”
I headed for the entrance and walked through the automatic doors.
A clerk at the check-out counter on the right buried her nose in some paperwork.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“May I help you?” She seemed a little surprised, and squinted at me behind red trimmed Coke-bottle glasses. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m here to see Mr. Montoya. He’s expecting me.”
“Hmm…he’s in the office. Straight past the cyclamens, turn left at the hydrangeas. There’s a sign.”
I moved in the direction she spoke and barely missed tripping over a hose.
“Thank you.”
I had never seen so many cyclamens in such an array of colors in all my life. They were beautiful! The hydrangeas were not as robust, but it was, after all, not their season. I finally saw the sign. It read “Office.”
I knocked.
“Come in.” The man’s voice sounded curt. He sat with his back to me hunched over a stack of papers.
“Hello,” I said with a smile. “I’m Jillian Bradley and I believe Mr. Montoya is expecting me.”
“Mrs. Bradley.” He jumped up from his chair as if the meeting had completely slipped his mind. He stepped forward and held out a hand. “Uh…Walter Montoya…Senior, at your service.”
He glanced warily down the hallway to see if anyone was listening. Satisfied, he ushered me in and closed the door.
“Thank you for coming. It’s a real honor to have a celebrity in Half Moon Bay.” He offered me a cup of coffee that looked freshly made. I accepted. “Won’t you have a seat?”
“Thank you.” I sat down on a small chrome chair covered i
n green vinyl.
“I’ll come right to the point,” he said with downcast eyes. “I’ve done the books here for fifteen years, and in all those years there’s never been any trouble with our accounts. Everything balances out to the dime — that’s how I run things.”
He lifted his eyes.
“Then last month, I discovered a lot of money missing. I’m talking big money, money that could rob me of my job…all in the account for this conference. I would tell someone, but I’m afraid if I don’t find out what’s going on, I’ll get the blame.”
“Oh my…do you have any idea what may have happened to it?”
“All I know is that I got to balancing the books two months ago, and they came up $8,000 short.”
“That’s a lot of money. It’s just gone?”
“Shh! Please Mrs. Bradley. No one knows anything about it yet, except my wife. I tell her everything. She’s the one that told me to get outside help before I told the boss about it. That’s why I asked my son to talk to you.”
“I can see your problem, Walter. You haven’t told your boss anything about the shortfall?”
“I was so stunned I told myself there had to be a mistake somewhere, so I decided to let another month go by to see if it would work out somehow. Now I know that it was the wrong thing to do because I still can’t account for the shortfall. Since I waited so long to report it, it makes me look like I took it, but I swear to you I didn’t!”
“I believe you. Tell me, has anything unusual happened that you can think of?”
“No, things are pretty much the same as they always are. Same wholesale accounts, same upfront sales, no changes in personnel. I can’t figure it out, but if I don’t come up with an answer soon I’m afraid I’ll have to take it to the boss and let the chips fall where they may.”
“Do you have any idea where to start looking?”
“All I know is the owners leave most of the business concerns to me and the warehouse manager. You must know him, Spencer Hausman. He’s running the conference you’re attending.”
“I certainly do know him, but not very well. I’ve only spoken to him on the phone and had tea with him. How long has he been the manager?” Was this more than just a coincidence?
“He’s been here for almost four years. We get along fine as long as he stays in his office and I stay in mine.”