“Well, my goodness,” Ethel said. “There’s something new to learn every day. Wild carrot seeds.” She frowned. “And just think of the money we spend for birth control meds, when we could go out to the country and gather them.” She pulled her gloves on again. “But I suppose the pill is more convenient,” she added thoughtfully. “And the medication is standardized and labeled.”
“That’s all true,” I said. I bent over and dropped the seeds onto the ground around the plant. “Wild plants don’t wear labels. Which is another drawback where this plant is concerned.” I straightened up. “Not long ago, a group of foragers out on a hunt for wild foods found what they thought was a patch of wild carrots. They harvested a big bag of leaves and put them in a salad, along with some other wild-gathered plants. They all got very sick. One person died.”
“Uh-oh,” Ethel said softly.
I nodded. “The killer was hemlock, the poisonous plant that is said to have killed Socrates. Its dominant chemical, coniine, is similar to nicotine, which is also a killer. Poison hemlock and wild carrot—Queen Anne’s lace—are lookalikes. I’ve read that it only takes a handful of fresh poison hemlock leaves to kill somebody, and even less of the root or the seeds, where the plant chemical is more concentrated.”
Ethel fingered the leaves of Queen Anne’s lace. “Is it hard to tell the difference?” she asked. “Do they look much alike?”
“They’re enough alike to confuse somebody who isn’t careful,” I replied. “The flower stalks are different, for one thing—poison hemlock is smooth, with dark spots or streaks. The wild carrot stalk is green and covered with little hairs. But there’s another, more certain giveaway. Wild carrot smells like fresh carrot. Poison hemlock smells rank. It’s really yucky.”
“Good to know.” Ethel laughed a little. “But I don’t think I’ll tempt fate. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“I understand,” I said, and went back to my weeding. In another twenty minutes, I had vanquished the rampant chickweed and Ethel had cleaned out the garlic chives that had sneaked over from the culinary garden. And the morning, already hot to begin with, hadn’t gotten any cooler.
“I need to get back to the shop.” I stood up and pulled off my gloves, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I think we’ve accomplished quite a bit, don’t you?”
“We have,” Ethel replied. She straightened up and gave me a hesitant smile. “I wanted to mention something odd that happened this morning, China.”
“Odd?”
She nodded. “I got here early, because I wanted to work while it was still cool. I parked in the alley, and as I came around your stone cottage, I saw a woman dressed up like a Gibson girl—a white blouse and long dark skirt, with her hair piled up on top of her head. She was snipping lavender right over there, beside the fountain. She was carrying a basket, and she was filling it.” She pointed. “She looked up at me and smiled.”
My heart seemed to skip a beat or two. “Did you speak to her?”
She shook her head. “That’s the strange part, really. I thought she was going to say something. She looked as if she wanted to. But then I heard Mr. Cowan’s dog barking across the alley, and a cat squalled bloody murder and a garbage can went over. I turned around to see what was going on, and when I turned back, she was . . . well, she was gone.” Ethel laughed a little uncomfortably.
“Gone?” My voice squeaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Gone, as in walked away?”
“Not exactly. I mean, one minute she was there and the next, she wasn’t. It was like she just . . . vanished. If I believed in ghosts, I might have said I’d seen one. But I—” She ducked her head apologetically. “Sorry. I know that’s silly. It was eerie, is all. Her disappearing like that. It kind of gave me the willies.”
The Gibson girl. The woman in the swing with the baby in her arms. Who might have worn the white shirtwaist and gray skirt that Ruby and I had found in the storeroom. Who—
I shivered. Who might have pinned the photo and the fresh sprigs of lavender to my bulletin board. Had Ethel actually seen my ghost? If that was true, did it make her real?
“China?” Ethel was eyeing me curiously. “Do you recognize her? Maybe she’s one of your neighbors?”
I shook my head numbly, then tried to laugh it off. “I’d prefer it if she asked before she helped herself to the lavender, but it doesn’t matter. There’s plenty for everybody.” I bent over and brushed the dirt off the knees of my jeans. “Come on, let’s see if anybody else is ready to call it quits.”
I went with her to thank the others for their work, and to tell them that the fall classes were posted in the shop. If they wanted to enroll in their freebie course, it would be good if they could do that early, before the classes filled.
After the heat of the August morning, the shop was blessedly cool and quiet. A customer—Mrs. Birkett, who is ninety if she is a day but as sprightly as you or I—was browsing the bookshelves. I greeted her, then, trying to put the Gibson girl out of my mind, I stepped into the Crystal Cave to thank Ruby for opening the shop.
She
