Murder Crops Up by Lora Roberts Page A

He didn’t seem too happy to be contradicted, and I realized he didn’t want Bridget to worry about it. But she was bound to worry, no matter what.
    “Well, she couldn’t have tripped on the rake. She fell backwards into the trench. If she’d fallen forward, she probably would have fallen on her head instead of her neck, and that might not have killed her.”
    He frowned. “I see what you’re saying. But maybe she was backing up for some reason—to let someone by—”
    “But anyone who was with her would have reported it right away,” Bridget said. “If someone was there, they didn’t speak up. That doesn’t sound like an accident.”
    “Accident or not, let the police deal with it.” Emery looked at each of us in turn. “They have the resources to figure it out. You don’t.”
    “They don’t know the garden, though,” Bridget pointed out. “They don’t know the gardeners. Not like we do.”
    “I don’t know them so well, either.” Now I found myself on Emery’s side. “I’ve only been gardening there for four years, and you’ve been there less time than that, I believe. Tamiko has been there since it started in the seventies.”
    “You see?” Emery pushed his chair back. From the living room we could hear the frenetic strains of Robin Williams singing about friendship. “I’m going to watch Aladdin with the kids. You coming?”
    Bridget shook her head. “We still have to plan for Claudia’s birthday party.” The children in the living room shrieked with laughter, and she raised her voice.
    “In fact, could you close the door?”
    “Aren’t we finished with the party?” I wouldn’t have minded taking in a few minutes of Aladdin before I had to leave. My taste in movies is just about at the third-grade level.
    Bridget watched the door swing shut behind Emery, then leaned forward, putting a hand on my wrist. “I don’t want Emery to hear this,” she murmured. “But I’m really afraid Rita’s death was not accidental.”
    “What do you mean?” Her expression chilled me.
    “Because I heard her arguing with someone just before I left this morning.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought about going over and intervening, they sounded so nasty.” She took a tissue from the box on the counter and blew her nose. “But I didn’t. Maybe if I had, Rita would still be alive.”
    “It had nothing to do with you,” I said, covering Bridget’s hand with my own. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
    “I called Bruno, of course. I just didn’t know if I should say anything about it to anyone else. You won’t gossip. And I just felt you should know.”
    “Why? Who was arguing with Rita?”
    “They were shouting at each other. Rita said that she had a right to do whatever she wanted. And she said—”
    “She? Who?”
    Bridget didn’t answer that right away. “She said, ‘Your rights may not last long, if you keep it up.’" Recounting this, Bridget shivered. “I’d never heard her sound mean like that. It gave me a chill.”
    “Who? Who was mean?”
    Bridget looked at me with unhappy eyes. “Tamiko.”
     

Chapter 10
     
    Waiting for Drake to call that evening, I couldn’t settle down. I took his houseplants out onto the back porch for grooming, leaving the door open so I could hear the phone.
    It was cold, with the damp, penetrating chill of winter nights in California. Some folks had their fireplaces going, adding the aroma of wood smoke to the air, along with the cold, fresh scent of redwood trees. The combination of wood smoke and redwood was nostalgic for me. Though I relished my comforts and my relative security, occasionally a longing for that other life, lived on more elemental terms with fewer complications, took me by surprise.
    Finally the houseplants were ready for a bath in the kitchen sink. I carried them in, glancing at the clock. It was past Paul’s usual hour to call, but his freedom to phone no doubt depended on what was happening with his dad