The Red Book of Primrose House: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series 2) by Marty Wingate Read Free Book Online Page B

Texas?”
    “Certainly not.” Hugo sounded as if he were pumping her up for the big game. “It said they look forward to seeing how you will restore the garden. Davina tells me there will be an open garden day in July. Has she mentioned that?”
    “I’m not sure that would be entirely appropriate this year.” Could she not quell this preposterous idea? “You won’t encourage it, will you, Hugo?”
    “You’re too hard on yourself, but don’t worry—I won’t encourage her. Next week will be about the tools you found in the shed. Old tools are fascinating.”
    “I like that idea,” Pru said, thinking how that would move her out of the spotlight. “You should talk to Ned Bobbins about the old tools—he’s the one that discovered them and I’m sure he’d like to tell you the story.”
    Hugo muttered something that sounded to Pru like “I’ll just bet he would.”
    “Sorry?” she asked.
    “Didn’t the brothers get them back into working order for you?” Hugo asked.
    “Yes, Liam and Fergal—talk to them if you like.” She imagined Liam would love to have his name in the news.
    —
    As soon as she pushed in the heavy wooden gate, she could see the greenhouse door standing open, and the flats of primroses and cowslips upturned and scattered. She ran to the mess and saw tender young plants lying broken in heaps of potting soil. She stared in disbelief and then looked round as if she could catch the culprit in flight.
Rabbits?
she asked herself. No, rabbits would only nibble off all the green.
    She phoned Davina to let her know—the Templetons loved daily updates—and Davina went on the offensive.
    “I’m ringing the police right now, and I’ll have someone out to see what’s happened.”
    Pru dropped the empty flat in her hand—she’d already started to pick up the mess. “Do you think that’s necessary? I wouldn’t want to waste their time.”
    “It’s probably some local vandals, trying to cause trouble—some people just don’t like to see success—and we must take a stand to let them know they can’t get away with it,” Davina said.
    Detective Sergeant David Hobbes, a congenial young man with hair that might’ve been strawberry blond if it had a chance to grow, arrived while they were busy with garden tasks. It was a brief interview. He, too, thought it might be vandals, but said he would get back to the Templetons with anything he found.
    —
    Pru filled her weekend with odd jobs around the garden, hoping that an accumulation of tiny steps might result in a sense of accomplishment. Anything to ease the nagging anxiety about opening the garden to the public in only six months’ time—the thought that lurked just under her consciousness. Sunday afternoon, she stood on the sloped lawn, studying the house and sketching out a possible plan for terraced beds and wisteria running along the balustrade. The fragrant purple flowers would scent the air in May—just not this May, she thought. A garden takes time, she kept saying to Davina and Bryan. She repeated it so often she was afraid she’d start grabbing strangers on the streets of Tunbridge Wells and telling them, too.
    While she sketched, she heard a vehicle pull up on the drive, and soon after, Jamie Tanner came round the corner of the house, his eyes scanning the landscape. Pru called and waved to him, and he came down the slope.
    “Thanks for delivering the roses,” she said. “They’re perfect for the front of the house.”
    “I’m happy to help.” He looked over her shoulder at the rough drawing, more penciled impressionism than a realistic rendering. “Grapes?”
    Pru laughed. “That’s why I could never be an artist,” she said. “It’s wisteria.”
    Jamie’s small smile turned to a tiny frown, and he sighed. “Look,” he said, “Ned told me about what happened with your primroses. Do you know who did it?”
    Pru shook her head. “I thought it might be rabbits to begin with, but Davina called out the police.