The Garden (Haunted Series) Read online

  The Garden

  A novel by Alexie Aaron

  ALSO BY ALEXIE AARON

  HAUNTED SERIES

  The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow

  Ghostly Attachments

  Sand Trap

  Darker than Dark

  The Garden

  Coming soon! Puzzle

  PEEPS LITE

  Eternal Maze 3.1

  Homecoming 3.2

  CIN FIN-LATHEN MYSTERIES

  Decomposing

  Death by Saxophone

  Discord

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ~

  Copyright 2013 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron

  This book is entitled The Garden, but I remember another friendlier garden in another place in time. My grandparents had an organic farm in the 1960’s. It was a place to explore, to learn, and to understand that to have the good things in life you sometimes have to work hard for them. I am dedicating this book to my Grandparents Hilda and Arthur Zaske because in their garden they nurtured more than the plants, they also nurtured me.

  Table of Contents

  The Gardener

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Alexie Aaron

  The Gardener

  The old woman rubbed her gnarled hands, easing the ache before continuing the letter. She took a moment to gaze out the window and take in the garden below her. Its ivy hid the stone walls beneath. The plant over the years had become part of the wall, working its way around stone and pebble until it had taken over. Now the wall would not stand without the ivy, and the ivy could not live without the wall.

  I am confident you will care for my garden as I have done. You alone seem to understand the sacrifice it takes to nourish the roses. You have the strength to wield the axe, cutting away the dead wood in order to bring forth new life in the spring. A man of your qualities is hard to find.

  She signed her name and winced, not recognizing her signature. Where was the free flowing script of her youth? Instead the ill formed letters wavered with the spasms of old age. Blotting the page before folding it and sliding it into the prepared envelope, she tilted her head and a smile escaped and planted itself on her features. Memories of summers past and the heady aroma of dew-covered rose petals filled the room. She got up gingerly and danced around the room humming a tune from her youth.

  “Silly me,” she said and sat back down primly at her desk. She picked up the crystal bell given to her by a long forgotten beau. She shook it vigorously and smiled as she heard the footsteps of her maid making her way up the stairs.

  “Yes, madam,” the middle-aged woman asked, smoothing her graying hair away from her brow. “Did you need me?”

  “Hester, take a moment to catch your breath. Then take this letter to the post office, see if you can catch the afternoon post.”

  Hester looked down at the envelope, read the address and pushed down the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. “I’ll have to leave you alone, Cook is at her dental appointment,” she informed her.

  “Not a problem, dear. I’ll busy myself with gazing at my garden.”

  “You do love that garden, don’t you?”

  “Yes, it gives me great joy.” She smiled at the maid and tapped her watch. “You better hurry now.”

  The maid left the room. She listened while a starched apron was hung up and an outer coat was put on. The sound of the rear door opening and the lock engaging signaled her that it was time.

  She moved her chair out and away from the desk. She walked to the corner and fetched the library steps. Moving them to the window she climbed them with the grace of long ago summers and marveled at the view she had of her flowerbeds. She pushed back the heavy drapes, taking the curtain tie and centering it in the middle of the cast-iron rod. Eleanor Bonner Gruber took the prepared noose and slid it over her head.

  As she stepped off the ladder, it occurred to her that her first memory was of the garden, and now it would be her last.

  Chapter One

  Audrey turned her car off the road at the iron gates as instructed. She stopped and put the car in four-wheel drive in order to make it up the snow-encrusted drive. She followed the tracks of what she assumed were those of the lawyer’s vehicle up the steep hill. As she crested the rise, the house came into view. It had stood unoccupied for quite a few years as the validity of the will was argued.

  The Gruber estate was tucked between two forest preserves perched on the top of a small hill. Interstate 55 and its high, sound barrier wall stretched along the northwest border. It couldn’t be seen from the house when the trees were in leaf, but when the wind was right, the constant drone of traffic mixed with the bird song that emanated from the tall trees. The condition of the lawns that swept away from the old mansion couldn’t be assessed at this time. February held a tight rein on the cold snowy weather in Illinois, and at least a foot of sublimated snow blanketed the hillside.

  She parked beside the silver Lexus. Audrey gathered her briefcase and buttoned the top of her jacket before leaving the car. Navigating the icy walk was tricky. She could see where some industrious soul had cleared a pathway to the porch. Salt had been dusted but had yet to do more than cause intermittent breaks in the treacherous ice on the large stone pavers.

  The door opened. “Let me help you up those steps,” suggested the attorney Audrey had met earlier that week in Lincoln Park. He was a strong man whose business attire seemed to fight with the thirty-year-old’s broad shoulders.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jefferies. I appreciate not breaking a hip, leg or whatever those steps have in mind.” She accepted the guiding, expensively-gloved hands, and soon she was navigated into the foyer of the house. She was surprised by the warmth. “Is the heat on?”

  “I boosted the temperature for our visit,” he explained. “It had been kept just above forty-five all winter so that the pipes wouldn’t freeze. These old places have a bad habit of rapidly falling to ruin if not properly maintained. The firm has an agreement with the parks department. One of their crew drops by once a week to make sure that the old place is sound.”

  “It’s rather remote considering its
location to the city,” Audrey commented as she opened up her coat and slid out of her boots. She drew a pair of flats out of her briefcase and slid them on, balancing on legs used to this wintertime maneuver. Audrey was a tall good-looking woman with the traditional extra fifteen pounds of weight most Chicagoans added by the time they crossed thirty. On her, it gave her legs an athletic form and rounded her hips.

  “With the forest preserve and the golf course for neighbors, there isn’t much in the way of traffic through this area in the winter. Come spring, you will find, much to your annoyance, the traffic on the two lane road just crawls along. Don’t even attempt it while the evening rush is going on. Many drivers have found this as a way around the traffic jams on Interstate 55 and use it to their advantage,” he advised.

  “I’m still surprised this oasis hasn’t been snapped up by developers, carved into mini estates and sold to the highest bidder,” Audrey mused as she took off her knitted cap and shook loose her long auburn curls.

  “Zoning and the stipulation of the present owner makes this a tricky property to deal with,” the lawyer pointed out, trying not to stare at the attractive woman who seemed so comfortable in her skin. Her brown eyes were sharp and wouldn’t miss his admiration if he kept staring.

  “Mr. Jefferies…”

  “Please call me Alan.”

  “Alan,” Audrey continued, “If my information is correct, this estate was inherited by an inmate of the Illinois prison system. He has opted to lease the property free of charge as a domestic violence shelter.”

  “My client’s case is complicated. I can’t speak further on it as it is also confidential. What I can say is that upon hearing about the gift he sought immediately to put it into use for the aid of the victims of domestic abuse.”

  “The family fought this I understand.”

  “Oh yes, but we won.” Alan smiled, his clean shaven face blushing a bit.

  “If he didn’t want the property, why not just give it back to the family?”

  “He had his reasons. Now, let’s not waste any more of our valuable time. You’ve been hired to assess the nature of the building to see if it is indeed a good fit for the shelter, and if not, give any recommendations you may have to make it a better fit. There is a considerable fund associated with the estate that can be tapped for repairs and reconstruction. The only stipulation is the walled garden out back is to stay put. It can’t be built over or turned into a playground. The plants are to have homes there as long as they are viable. After, they must be replaced with whatever will thrive in their space.”

  “It must be some garden,” Audrey commented.

  “I have a few pictures of it in summer and fall. You would be impressed. The original owner of the property was a magician, considering the climate.”

  Audrey walked over to a solitary table which she assumed once held floral arrangements. There were faint water rings marring the otherwise pristine polished surface. She set her case down, opened it and extracted a clipboard prepared for the assessment. “Alan, do you want to follow me around or relax? If I have any questions I can wait until I finish, and we can go over them at that time.”

  “It’s a bit creepy here even during the day. I prefer to tag along. I’ll be quiet as a church mouse,” he said, his green eyes twinkling.

  Audrey assumed those eyes, combined with his good looks, worked marvels with jurors. She, however, was not interested. She held a firm belief in not mixing business with pleasure. “Speaking of which, any rodent problems?” she asked, pen ready.

  “Not that I’ve heard. We had an exterminator in to take care of an insect problem after we took control of the property. No evidence of mice or rats was found,” he reported.

  A clicking sound behind them drew their attention to large, wooden entry door. Audrey watched in amazement as the doorknob turned right and left.

  “The door must be stuck,” Alan said, walking to aid whomever was trying to enter. He pulled the twisting knob, and the door popped open. The empty porch greeted him. Just a small whirlwind of snow moved across the lawn, otherwise there was nothing there. “Odd,” he commented.

  Audrey clicked her pen and noted the occurrence down. “Let’s start with this floor and move our way up. Let’s save the basement for last,” she suggested and clicked her pen closed.

  ~

  She moved restlessly though the hall, pausing briefly to take in the conversation below her. Their words wafted upward, but she lacked concentration and this made it difficult to understand them. Where was her prince? Had she not given him all he could ask for? And yet, he was not here. Her hands clenched as her temper boiled. She let out a screech and pounded the walls.

  ~

  “What the hell was that?” Alan asked as the sound reverberated off the walls of the upper hall.

  “You mean who the hell was that,” Audrey corrected. “Sounds like someone is trying to scare us. Tell me, how did the family take the news that this place wasn’t going to them?”

  Alan picked up his phone and held his finger up while it connected. “This is Jefferies. Let’s get some new locks on the doors after a thorough search of the premises.”

  “Tell them to use dogs,” Audrey suggested.

  “Dogs would be nice. We may have squatters in the Gruber house.”

  Audrey continued to look around, checking to make sure all the first floor windows were latched. She boldly opened up closets and pulled back draperies. Not one square inch was left unnoticed by her inspection.

  “If you would like, we could reschedule once the house has been cleared of whoever is playing with us,” Alan suggested when he caught up with her on the second floor.

  “No, let’s soldier on. I have a challenging schedule to adhere to if I am going to get this place fit for occupation in April,” she explained.

  “How long have you been working for the shelter?” Alan asked interested.

  “Oh, I don’t work for them. I donate my expertise and time. Payback. They were there for me when I needed them. Now it’s my turn to step up.”

  Alan nodded, admiring the no nonsense way Audrey explained herself and left no room for furthering the conversation. He would ask his assistant to look into Audrey McCarthy’s background. This way his interest would be satisfied, and she wouldn’t be the wiser.

  “Six bathrooms are listed in my information. I’ve found four. Do you have any idea where the other two are located?”

  “Let’s see, the ground hall has two…”

  “One between the kitchen and dining room. The other on the far side of the parlor,” Audrey said checking her list. “I have four more on the first floor, one in the master suite. The others are between each of the six remaining rooms.”

  “We haven’t been to the basement or the attic, although I don’t expect to find one there unless the maid’s quarters are up there?” Alan questioned. “The door to the attic is on the south end by the servants’ stairs. Follow me.”

  Audrey let him take lead. She stopped when something out of place caught her peripheral vision. “Alan, is this the library?” she asked.

  He turned around and walked back. “I believe it is.”

  “I was told the room was sealed until the books could be recorded.”

  “That’s the information I have.”

  “The door’s standing open,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “Was it closed when you examined the bedrooms?” Alan asked.

  “Yes, that’s what I remembered. I even checked the door and found it locked. Since it’s open now, do you mind if I have a look around?”

  “No, just don’t remove any items,” he cautioned. “My assistant assured me the door was locked, and the only key was in her possession. She’s been doing the inventory so it may be a bit disheveled.”

  The first thing Audrey noticed was the lack of draperies. The window was bare. The late afternoon light would fill this space, possibly fading the ancient tomes that were stacked haphazardly on the large desk to
p. She walked spellbound to the window behind the massive desk and looked out. “I can see the walls of the garden. It really is large,” she said, resting her forehead against the cold glass.

  “There are twenty varieties of roses, some with lineage that goes to back to England. Several fruit trees, although I understand they are well past good production. A quarter of it had been used to grow vegetables, but the majority of the garden is devoted to the roses. You see stone benches placed here and there to take in their beauty.”

  “Is it true Ms. Gruber wanted to be buried in the garden?”

  “Yes, but the family forbade it. They thought they were to receive the land and intended to cut it up into expensive plots. They didn’t want to fool around with, nor bear the expense of, the removal of her body. They planted the old gal in the cemetery down the road.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Not really, she’s in a grand mausoleum. The place is adorned better than most museum foyers.”

  “How did her wishes get ignored?”

  “Tricky thing,” he started. “The old doll wanted Hagan Fowler to get the estate. Her will held up in court, but since Hagan wasn’t related to her, her body disposal fell to the family, who promptly, and with no ceremony, planted her in the family crypt. I think they did it deliberately to get back at her for disinheriting them.”

  “That was cold. I gather she wasn’t a family favorite with the original heirs.”

  “She was a bitch. Mean old cranky bitch, to quote her niece Mary, who was named after her grandmother, the originator of the garden. Although, the women that worked for her as maid and cook found her to be delightful and kind, said she often called them her roses. My firm came into this after the new will was found. The old gal’s lawyer suggested that the new owner get his own set of lawyers because his interests were tangled up in the family’s businesses. He called one of the founding partners who gave me the task of securing the estate and to deal with it as the new owner saw fit.”

  “How did she know Hagan?”