number.' Ursula rummaged in one of her bags, dropping a computer disk, a huge pair of orange-tinted plastic sunglasses, and a tattered facial tissue on the floor, and finally came up with a scrap of paper and a pencil.
“I sometimes give classes there myself,' she said, handing the phone number to Jane. As Jane folded the paper to put it in her pocket, she couldn't help but notice that it was on the back of an advertisement for naturally grown cotton made into bras by downtrodden Mexican immigrants.
“Thank you, Ursula,' Jane said with a forced smile.
Arnold Waring and Charles Jones must have met up in the parking lot, because they were well into a conversation about a motion that was supposed to be coming before the town council about what color gardening hoses could be left out in front yards. They were in accord that it was nobody's business but the homeowner's and were each goading the other into attending the meeting and speaking to the issue.
Stefan was just behind them and waiting patiently outside the door until Arnie and Charles finally got out of the way. He sat down behind Shelley and Jane and sorted out some files he'd brought along, mumbling to himself and putting sticky notes on some of the papers.
Jane interrupted him to ask if he knew whether Geneva Jackson was coming along today. He replied that she'd caught up to him at the nearest stop sign and waved him over to say she was going to the hospital to visit her sister, now that Julie was well enough to fend off Geneva's hearty good cheer, which drove sick people wild.
Dr. Eastman finally arrived, winded from hurrying and looking a bit frayed at the edges. Jane wondered if something had happened to him since the day before, or whether Miss Winstead's presence was finally unraveling him.
He looked over the class and said, 'Miss Jackson's sister, Geneva, found some of Dr. Julie Jackson's notes she'd prepared for this class. She was tidying up the office when the police finished their examination and came across the file. So instead of the material I'd prepared for today, I think we should go over some of the material she had readyfor you. And after that we'll take a tour of Miss Winstead's garden and Mr. Jones's. If you remember, they live next door to one another.”
He then launched into what would have been Julie Jackson's talk. It was clearly geared for amateurs and was far more interesting to the group than anything Dr. Eastman had said, even though he was reading it with obvious boredom with the basic essentials.
Shelley and Jane took copious notes. The beginning was about soil conditions and was the first time Jane thought she might just eventually understand what grew in acid soil and what preferred alkaline conditions. She'd probably forget it later, but she'd have the clear listings in her notebook. Julie Jackson's voice, coming through Dr. Eastman's vocal cords, was clear and concise. Lists of common plants that liked acid soil in alphabetical order. What to do to alkaline soil to grow them well. Another list of sun and shade plants. Hostas, she said, could take more sun
Dr. Jackson was theoretically opposed to strong chemicals, but admitted everyone needed at least one bottle of weed killer and described how, when, and where to use it, and not use it, and how to protect yourself, the good plants, and the pets and children from the poison.
Furthermore, she listed plants you didn't want to have in a garden if children or pets might try to eat them. The first on the list was monkshood. The second was oleander.
Jane was scribbling like mad and so was Shelley. They'd compare their notes later and fill in the blanks. Jane made a note to tell Shelley about the mystery she'd read once in which someone at a hot-dog cookout was given an oleander stick instead of a harmless one to skewer a hot dog. What was the name of the author?
Dr. Eastman had read Julie's speech so quickly that the class ended early on a somewhat breathless note. A couple of people wanted to backtrack and ask questions. 'How do you have your soil tested?' Ursula asked.
Dr. Eastman explained that specialty nurseries might have testing kits, or one could contact the Agricultural Department to provide the material to do the testing.
Mention of a federal agency didn't go down well with Ursula. 'How would I know if they were telling me the truth?' she said. 'Everybody in the government lies.”
Dr. Eastman, who hadn't been subjected to as much of her philosophy as Jane had, merely looked at her with curiosity. 'Why would anyone deceive you about soil acidity?”
Ursula waved this comment away with a gesture that dislodged a small disposable camera from somewhere on her person.
Stefan Eckert asked, 'Do Dr. Jackson's notes say anything about water gardens? And the kind of plants that are best for this area?'
“I don't believe so,' Dr. Eastman said. 'But there's a lot of information available from thecounty extension office. Shall we adjourn the class and go see Miss Winstead's and Mr. Jones's gardens early?”
Charles Jones was on his feet at once. 'Excellent idea.”
Jane murmured to Shelley that this was a good plan. It would allow them to get home early so she could arrange for the cooking lessons and be home when her 'rented' garden arrived.
They rushed along to Charles Jones's house, which was as tidy and boring as he was. A front lawn as neat and well clipped as Dr. Eastman's surrounded a small, absolutely symmetrical, colonial-style home. The evergreen shrubs flanking the front door were clipped into absolutely perfect box shapes. The sidewalks and driveway hadn't so much as one errant leaf or blade of grass ruining their pristine condition.
“I hope my tires are clean enough to park here,' Shelley said, pulling the van up the driveway.
Miss Winstead wasn't with them this time because her house was the second on the tour and she'd driven herself to class. She parked her car in her own driveway and strolled along the sidewalk to greet them. 'Don't even think about walking on the grass,' she advised. 'The front yard is wired up somehow to turn on blinding lights to keep kids and dogs from daring to step off the walkways.
Charles himself arrived a moment later, and parked a boxy new Volkswagen on the street so his guests could use the driveway. 'I'm so eager to show you everything,' he said as Jane was levering herself out of the front passenger seat of Shelley's van.
“Should we go around this side of the house?' Shelley asked.
“No. There are no gates. We have to go through the house,' he replied, waving them toward the front door. He opened a series of complicated locks and hurried ahead, presumably to turn off various alarm systems. Then he stood in the open door welcoming the others, who had all arrived at the same time.
Jane and Shelley looked around the living room. It was large but sparsely furnished, with neutral colors and bookshelves filled with computer manuals, and no ornaments whatsoever. The boxy furniture was stark and vaguely Scandinavian, and lined up like it was still on display in a furniture store.
Charles escorted them through a hall and into a kitchen that was as spotless as he was and out the back door into the yard.
There was very little grass back here. But many gardens. As sparse as the house itself. Vast areas of mulch highlighted individual specimen plants. The whole area was laid out like a grid, with square gray blocks as pathways, and each single plant was carefully labeled.
It was so Charles Jones.
Jane worked her way along a path and leaned forward to examine an interesting-looking perfectly round plant with deep red blooms and almost black centers with yellow stamens.
MONARCH'S VELVET CINQUEFOIL, the label said, fol? lowed by the unpronounceable Latin nomenclature. It was the single plant in the bed. There wasn't even a nice ground cover around it, just boring mulch. And the next bed was a small grouping of DELPHINIUM ASTOLAT, so the label read. Six tall spikes of ruffled pink flowers, all carefully staked. Again, isolated in their splendor and looking beautiful, but lonely.
“Why is this so depressing?' Shelley said quietly and sounding genuinely sad.
“Because it's so terribly regimented,' Jane said. 'The flowers are absolutely perfect and beautiful, but stand like soldiers in separate companies lined up for a picture. And look at the solid fence all around the yard. It's like a prison for the poor flowers, each in its own little naked cell.”
Ursula, across the yard, was looking downright mournfully at a plum tree that had been torturously trained to complete perfection. Miss Winstead was examining an enormous Bressingham Blue hosta with leaves that overlapped like a drawing of the ideal hosta. Her thin arms were crossed as if she were in some sort of pain. Arnold Waring was bending over to read a tag in an area where the plant was gone. Apparently executed and removed because it hadn't lived up to Jones's standard. 'It was a peony,' Arnie said to no one in particular.
“Probably one of those big gorgeous ones that flop around no matter what you try to do,' Shelley
