Rich Doyle Mysteries: Rose

Chapter 4: The Gardener

Bob was unable to accompany us to question the staff. Calloway called him away on some trivial matter, probably in an attempt to keep him from advising us. That didn't faze Rich at all. He led me to the kitchen, where the staff of five was waiting. He clasped his hands in front of him and grinned widely. "Hello everyone!" he said enthusiastically. "It's a fine day, isn't it?"

"Idiota!" one of the women said irritably. "It is not fine day. The mistress, she is dead. How can you say it is fine day?" She had a thick Italian accent and could only have been Carmen Corderro, my—erm—friend Domiano's mother.

Rich, for his part, ignored Carmen. "Care to introduce yourselves?" he said.

"Carmen," she said. "I cook here."

"Jeremy," said a younger guy, probably between Rich and Bob's ages. He had a strong Southern accent. "I'm the gardener."

"Missy," said the girl in the traditional maid's outfit—the black dress, frilly white apron. She looked like she was from another time period, and I didn't like the wide-eyed way she was looking at Rich with. "I'm the maid."

"Helena," said a friendly, middle-aged plump woman. She smiled at us, and I felt warmth from it. "The housekeeper."

"Arnold," said a stiff-lipped, disapproving man in a black tux. He looked down at us with an irritated look, like we were dust on his immaculate floor. "The butler."

"Splendid!" Rich said enthusiastically. I had no idea how he would proceed. He turned to Jeremy, the gardener. "Shall we talk?" He motioned to two rooms over—the dining room, and me and Jeremy followed him there. He sat at the end of the table, and Jeremy sat to his left. I sat on the right, curious how Rich was going to tackle the problem of not knowing how to proceed. I underestimated my cousin; he folded his hands on the table and said, "How long have you worked for Mrs. Graham, Jeremy, and when did you start?"

Jeremy was twisting his newsboy hat in his hands, avoiding Rich's eyes. He seemed awfully nervous. His big brown eyes looked at me imploringly, his dusty blond hair messily cut. "Yessir, I started here about two years ago. Me and my mom, we moved from Texas to Georgia after my parents' divorce, and I was looking for some work. Mrs. Graham—fine lady, she was—she was advertising for a gardener, and my mom and I always loved gardening together. I didn't reckon I had much of a chance of getting the job, but I tried anyway. I ain't ashamed to say, sir, that me and Mrs. Graham hit it off and she hired me on the spot. I've been working here ever since."

"Interesting." Rich was tapping his thumbnail on his tooth as he thought.

I didn't think Jeremy had much of a reason to kill Mrs. Graham from what he was saying. She had given him a job when he'd just moved to town, and it sounded like Jeremy's admiration for the old woman was genuine. Then again, he seemed incredibly nervous and still avoided Rich's piercing gaze. That was definitely suspicious.

Rich laid his hands on the table in front of him. "Could you detail the last time you saw Mrs. Graham?" he asked.

"Yessir," seemed to be Jeremy's staple answer. "Well, sir, I'd just finished eating with the other staff at about six in the evening, and I was getting ready to head for home. But, sir, I felt something awful. I dunno what was wrong with me, but my head ached and I felt sleepy and I don't think I could've made the drive home."

"Hold on," I said. "You mean you were here last night? But the police said none of the staff was present when Mrs. Graham was killed!"

Jeremy's face reddened, and I clammed up, realizing the true meaning behind his words. "You didn't tell them the truth."

"I didn't mean to," Jeremy protested. "They asked if anybody was in the mansion when Mrs. Graham was killed, miss. They never said nothing about a garden shed."

"A garden shed?" I was totally lost now.

"Perhaps," Rich said patiently, "you could finish the story and ease some of Rose's confusion?"

"Yessir," Jeremy answered. "I went to Mrs. Graham and woke her up—she was sewing on the couch, you see, and she often fell asleep. Never finished sewing nothing in her life, but she loved to do it."

"The couch?" Rich seemed surprised by Jeremy's statement. "Are you sure?"

"Yessir," Jeremy replied. "She was sitting on the couch." He waited, but Rich motioned for him to go on. "So when I woke her up, she asked me what I wanted, and I says to her, 'Ma'am, sorry to bother you, but I reckon I'd crash my car if I tried to drive it home feeling ill.' And she says, 'Jeremy, you absolutely will not drive home if you don't feel up to it! Ya'll can stay here in the house.' And I says, 'Ma'am, that's mighty kind of you, but I wouldn't dream of staying in the house. The garden shed'll do me fine.' And she says, 'Sure, you can stay in the shed!' so I stay in the shed all night. I didn't hear nothing, I swear. Slept like a log the entire night."

"So you weren't in the house," Rich said, "you were in the shed. Whereabouts on the premises is the shed, Jeremy?"

"Behind the house, sir," Jeremy said. "A couple of yards into the garden."

"And would you say that you could hear the gunshot from the shed?"

Jeremy shook his head. "No, sir. I didn't hear nothing. I'd have called the police and investigated if I'd heard it."

"So, let me guess this straight," I said. "You were in the garden shed back there, which isn't that far from the house, but you didn't hear the shot? Who found Mrs. Graham's body, anyway?"

"I didn't hear the shot," Jeremy insisted, shaking his head. "Missy found the body."

Rich nodded several times before adjusting his glasses. "Alright, then. Thank you very much, Jeremy."

The gardener backed out of the room, watching Rich suspiciously. My cousin turned to me with a grin. "That was useful," he told me.

"Was it?" I answered. "He didn't hear the shot, but he was supposedly in the garden shed. He wasn't even the one who found the body! Yet he was supposedly here the whole night."

"He was sick. Probably slept like a babe the entire night, dear cousin," Rich replied. "At this point I don't believe he's lying. But on to more important notes. Mrs. Graham was sewing, on the couch." He tapped his finger on the table for added emphasis. "But she died in her chair. Another thing; when Jeremy spoke to her, she could hear him."

"So?" I said. Then I remembered. "Oh. She was supposed to have her hearing aid in."

Rich tapped the side of his nose. "Right! We'll make a detective out of you yet," he said teasingly. I rolled my eyes. "So, at some point between her encounter with Jeremy and her murder, she took her hearing aid out and put it upstairs. Unless ..."

"Unless someone took it out—after she was killed," I finished for him. "But why go to so much trouble? And why, if the killer didn't do it, would she go upstairs, take the hearing aid out and put it on the table? None of this makes any sense. We should look into the hearing aid thing."

"We will," Rich agreed. "But first, the other members of the staff. We'll start with the one who found the body—Missy." Standing up, he called the maid into the dining room.