Between a Rock and a Hard Place: A Potting Shed Mystery (Potting Shed Mystery series Book 3) by Marty Wingate

Menzies was the one who brought the seeds back. I need to find the earliest mention of this fuchsia grown in Britain attaching it to him after his return in 1795.”
    “And that link would show that this is the real thing?” Saskia said, nodding to the journal, the corners of her mouth curled up in a smile.
    Pru’s pulse quickened at the thought of it. “Yes—that might just do it.”
    Pru had worried about keeping one step ahead of Saskia, but by the end of her assistant’s third half day, the two had settled into a rhythm, and Pru found it easy to accumulate a variety of assignments to hand over—tracking down letters written by other crew members after the journey, checking on the conditions on board the ship, finding descriptions of the food served to the visiting British officers in Santiago.
    “We’ll start with the letters between Sir Joseph Banks and Mr. Menzies,” Pru said.
    “I have them for this afternoon,” Saskia said. “I thought we’d start after tea.”
    It didn’t do to mess with Saskia’s schedule; she divided up each of her half days into compartments of assigned work broken up by tea at three o’clock. But when Pru looked out the window behind her, she saw a break in the clouds and a ray of sun sent its light into the office.
    “I could use a wee break. Let’s take a walk first, shall we?” Pru asked.
    “But we might get finished.”
    “Just for a few minutes,” Pru said, pulling on her coat and handing Saskia hers. Pru loved to stroll through the garden and often took the long way when she walked from building to building just to be outdoors for a few minutes longer; it brought her back in touch with the reason she was there—plants.
    —
    Saskia had made a good sounding board from the start. No, not a sounding board—more of an acoustic tile, absorbing Pru’s frustration in dealing with Iain. “Who does he think he is, treating a co-worker like that?” Pru wondered aloud as they took the hill up to Inverleith House. “ ‘Show some initiative, Ms. Parke,’ ” she said in mocking imitation of him. “I know how to carry out research—but I’m supposed to stay in touch with him.” She pressed her lips together and muttered, “I’ll stay in touch with him, all right. He’ll see.” Saskia didn’t speak, only watched and listened.
    Pru paused for a moment to soak up the sun and Saskia held up, too. Murdo sauntered by. “Ladies,” he said, nodding his head. “Off to do a bit of pruning today.”
    On his heels was a co-worker, who murmured as he passed, “He will not be pruning, today or any other day. He will be hauling all of our rubbish out of the garden—and that’s as far as it goes.”
    Saskia rolled her eyes. “Seems that he ripped a whole bed of Royal Distinction salvia out of the Queen Mother’s garden one day when he should’ve been weeding,” she said to Pru. “They won’t let him near a proper job now.”
    Pru led them up to a small piece of lawn that was almost hidden by surrounding trees. She stopped and looked up at a tall specimen with little glossy leaves that sparkled in the light.
    “Look, it’s his,” she said to Saskia. “Well, named for him at any rate. Mr. Menzies’s southern beech—isn’t it a beauty? The southern beeches have such class—silver bark, evergreen leaves, and the way it spreads its branches.” Pru pulled the stem through her hand, letting the foliage brush against her. “Native to New Zealand. I wonder did he see one on his visit there, or was it just named for him?”
    Saskia’s eyes followed the line of branches. “
Nothofagus menziesii
,” she said. “It can grow to almost thirty meters. It’s native to both islands. Small-toothed evergreen leaves. Called the silver beech usually. Hardy to minus twelve. Would you like me to find out how it was named?”
    Pru had no doubt that Saskia could dig up that fact in no time, but vital statistics could not take the place of emotion, and she was a bit