Read Online The Garden Plot by Marty Wingate - Free Book Online Page A

keptbrushing away the soil and it looked like a swirly picture of the back end of a horse. I showed Mrs. Wilson.” Pru took a breath and looked over at the area. “But I didn’t uncover this much. And it looks as if someone has dug out more under the edge of the mosaic.”
    “And which spade did you find on the ground?”
    “That one. Have I destroyed evidence? You’ll find my fingerprints on the handle. Do you think I covered up the murderer’s prints?” She thought for a moment. “You’ll find my fingerprints on the door latch, too, won’t you?”
    “And your footprints on the ground outside and in here,” Pearse said, as if taking account of all the ways Pru had disturbed the scene. “You won’t be out here again anytime soon, will you?”
    Yes,
Pru thought,
I live to compromise murder scenes.
“Not until I’m allowed.” She drew herself up. There went the big account, the big garden project, the big paycheck. “How long will that be?”
    “A few days, at least. You can ring me to be sure, before you start making your own Sissinghurst here.” He handed Pru a business card as he spotted the pile of leaves in the far corner.
    Pru followed his gaze. “Is that more evidence? I didn’t go in that corner.” At least she had left one corner undisturbed.
    Pearse stepped around the bloodstained soil and bent down to look more closely. “Look at that, a hedgehog nest. Now, there’s a reason to leave an untidy corner of the garden—give them some space of their own. Looks like last winter’s nest, it’s empty now.” Pru observed Pearse observing the hedgehog nest: he looked nothing like an inspector now, rather more like a naturalist in the country. Now she could see where those smile lines came from.
    “Is there still a scent?” Pru asked. “Toffee growled a little the first day I was out here. Maybe that’s what he growled about.”
    “Toffee?”
    “Toffee Woof-Woof,” Pru said, trying not to smile, “the Wilsons’ dog. He must be upstairs in a bedroom right now.” She gestured back to the house.
    Pru swore she could see a ghost of a smile on Pearse’s face.
    “It’s possible, if the hedgehogs have been back round here,” he said. “Toffee might have picked up the scent.”
    “At first, I thought it might be a badger,” Pru said.
    “Badger? In Chelsea? Might as well look for a unicorn, too.” He stood up and was once again a police officer.
    Overcoming her reluctance to look at the bloody stain on the soil, Pru peered over at the dug-out area around the mosaic. “Hmmm,” she said.
    Pearse looked at the ground, too, and then up at her. “What do you see?”
    “The soil looks quite damp there in the hole.” She started to step closer and stopped. “Is it all right if I check?”
    “Go ahead.”
    Pru knelt down and saw on closer inspection that the soil wasn’t just damp, it was wet, and looked as if it got wetter the farther down it went. She reached down, gathered up a handful of soil, and squeezed. Dirty water dripped out.
    “Malcolm, the neighbor in back, said he tried to grow roses against his wall down here and they died. He thought it was too wet. I wonder, could there be a stream running underground here?”
    “I don’t know, Ms. Parke. Perhaps that’s something you’ll discover when you make your garden here.” Pru sensed an approaching dismissal. “You can go for now, but please take your passport by the station.”
    She walked back into the kitchen, where the Wilsons had remained on the sofa.
    “Mrs. Wilson, I’ll be going now,” Pru said. “Would you like the key to the basement back?”
    “Not at all, dear, we still want a garden—although I suppose we’ll need to sort that out with Xanthe, Jeremy’s widow. Ex. Well, never mind. We’ll just wait until all this is finished. Would you like another cup of tea?”
    “No, thanks. Mr. Wilson, I’m sorry about your friend.”
    “Thank you, Pru. And I’m sorry I frightened you.”
    Pearse stepped back