“Exactly,” Candace said. “I’m glad you understand.”
“Well, unfortunately for Rosie, she can’t enter this year.”
“I did hear that she passed away,” Candace said. “And that’s very sad. It is a problem though, when we have such an elderly selection of contestants.”
“Is it mostly a popular contest for seniors?”
“All ages get into it,” she said. “We do have a few in their thirties, several in their forties and fifties, but honestly the seniors in their sixties and seventies are really, really strong advocates of this fair. And they love the contests. And we do have, you know, like pie-baking contests and cake-baking contests and a jam contest. There are a lot of contests. So honestly, the tropical fruit, although it’s an oddity and it’s a fun contest, is only one of about forty, I think.”
“Wow,” Doreen said. “That puts a lot of pressure on you to keep a lot of judges moving through the fair.”
“Every year it’s a challenge,” she admitted. “There’s no easy way to get people in to do this. Nobody wants to pick a winner because, like I said, there’s always a loser then.”
“Do you ever have just one or two entries?”
“A couple times we’ve only had two entries in some categories,” she said, “but it’s never happened that we’ve just had one.”
“Good to know,” she said. “And, yeah, I was looking into Rosie’s life. I understand that she had some secret weapon for her kiwis this year, so to know that she can’t enter them now was just sad. I wondered if it would upset the applecart at all.”
“Well, I’ll tell you this. She is one who registered a complaint last year against Marsha. She and Delilah.”
“Delilah Norstrom?” Doreen asked, remembering the name of one of the other dead women.
“Yes, that’s her. The two of them were quite upset,” Candace said. “They were pretty positive that Marsha was growing the kiwis in the greenhouse.”
“They are climbers too, aren’t they?” Inside a growing suspicion brewed.
“Exactly,” Candace said. “And they’re big. Plus you need male and female plants.”
“Right,” she said. “So, unless somebody digs it up and sees a pot-bound root ball was at the base of the kiwis, there’s really no way to know if they had come from pots or not.”
“And again, this is all in fun,” Candace said, “so we try hard not to get into something like that. But we do take the accusation seriously.”
“And what did you do about it?”
“Well, what we did was talk to Marsha and ask her about it and said that there were concerns from other contestants.”
“What did Marsha say?”
“She was adamant that she hadn’t cheated,” Candace said. “And really, again, we had to take her word for it.”
“And, of course, if she’s won consistently, then that’s even a bigger problem,” Doreen said, nodding. “What was Marsha’s last name?”
“Langford, Marsha Langford,” she said. “For a while there, she was entering a lot of different contests. But the only one she ever really did well in was the tropical fruits.”
“Perfect,” Doreen said. “That’s always good to know.”
“Right,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. If you’re interested in entering, check out the website. We have bulbs, perennials, and annuals too. We have all kinds of categories. And that keeps changing too, so, if you don’t find anything this year, take a look later, and maybe you’ll find something that you can win at next year.”
And, with that, the other lady hung up.
Chapter 22
Tuesday Lunchtime …
Doreen couldn’t help herself. She had to look up where this Marsha Langford person lived. It was noted that she’d entered one of the contests for a beautiful garden too. With that distinction, her address was clearly printed on the contest website. Doreen didn’t know if Marsha still lived there. But, hey, it was worth a walk. She pulled it up on Google and smiled. It was just past where Heidi’s house was, around a corner. Doreen could avoid Heidi’s house if she wanted to, or she could carry on another couple blocks.
Now was a perfect afternoon to go. She should be moving gravel, but she wouldn’t do that just yet. She made herself an omelet first and sat down on her brand-new patio, even though she was not too hungry after the banana bread. But it could be hours before she ate again. So, with the omelet tucked inside her belly, nice and warm and happy, she headed out with all the critters.
As soon as she got to Heidi’s, Mugs got excited. Doreen walked past Heidi’s, knowing that the woman wouldn’t be out in the garden. Although Aretha might. But Doreen carried on down past them, took a right, and then a left. Sure enough, she was where this Marsha Langford lived—or maybe used to. Doreen walked past the property to see the front garden in a blooming array of chaos. Mugs immediately sniffed the ground, his tail wagging at the fresh garden.
She stopped and smiled because it was gorgeous. Not the same controlled look as Heidi’s, but it was a garden where somebody had tried a little too enthusiastically to grow a bunch of flowers and then had walked away. While she wasn’t looking, the flowers had taken off and grew without any help from a human. It was a colorful battle as each plant tried to fight with the other.
A woman popped her head over the top and said, “Hello.”
Mugs woofed, backing up slightly. Doreen smiled and said, “Hi. I had to stop and admire the chaos.”
“Isn’t that a good word for it?” the woman said. “I’m Marsha, by the way. Some people still come by to take a look at this, after I became a semifinalist in one of the garden contests,” she said proudly.
“I was talking to Candace about the county fair judging contests,” Doreen said. “And she mentioned that you were active in them.”
“Yes, I’ve been the steady winner of the kiwi contest for
