Reap a Wicked Harvest by Janis Harrison Page B

and waited for him to face me again. “Why do you think Marnie was murdered?”
    Eugene gulped. “I don’t know. She was usually in control of most situations. She could work anyone around to her way of thinking.”
    â€œCould she work you?”
    â€œHell no. I’m my own man.”
    â€œSo she couldn’t work you.” I paused then added quietly, “And she couldn’t work the person who took her life.”
    Eugene’s face paled. “You aren’t thinking I killed her?”
    â€œI’m not accusing you, Eugene. I’m stating a fact that you gave me yourself.”
    He took a step toward me. “How long have we known each other, Bretta? Four? Five years? Surely you can’t believe that I’d murder anyone.”
    I edged my way to the door. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d enter another person’s room and search his property, but you
did. Maybe you loved Marnie and the thought of her getting close to Jacob made you furious.”
    His reaction took me by surprise. He whipped out a hand and grabbed my arm. “I never killed her. I loved her. I never would have hurt her.”
    â€œLet go of me,” I said, jerking my arm.
    Natalie spoke from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?”
    Eugene dropped his hold on me and rearranged his expression. Like a chameleon, he reverted back to his normal ingratiating self. “I’m sorry, Bretta,” he said in a contrite manner. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “I’m upset about Marnie’s death. I lost my temper when you baited me.” He turned to Natalie. “I know she’s your friend and a good customer of the greenhouse, but I’m steering clear of her when she’s in detective mode. I like the florist side better.”
    Eugene walked out of the room. Natalie stared after him and then turned back to me. “What in the world did you do to him?”
    I rubbed my arm and shook my head. “Were you looking for me?”
    Natalie studied me. When she saw I wasn’t going to tell her anything more, she said, “I’m going to Dan’s greenhouse. I thought you might like to tag along.”
    I glanced at the suitcase. I wanted another look at that picture, but after chastising Eugene for pawing around in Jacob’s belongings, I couldn’t very well do the same thing myself.
    I followed Natalie down the loading-dock steps. We crossed the employees’ parking lot, where five delivery trucks were parked as well as three vans with the Parker Greenhouse name and logo stenciled on their sides.
    Natalie opened the door to the orchid house. She led the way
into a small antechamber that contained a sink, a trash can, and a shelf stacked with white paper gowns and footies for covering our shoes. Taped to the door in front of us was a big sign.

    AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
YOU ARE ABOUT TO ENTER A STERILE ENVIRONMENT
PLEASE WASH HANDS
PLEASE COVER CLOTHING AND SHOES
PLEASE KEEP INNER DOOR CLOSED AT ALL TIMES

    With our hands freshly washed and our shoes and clothes concealed under disposable coverings, we stepped into Dan’s laboratory. The first thing I noticed was the change in temperature. The atmosphere was fresh and cool with air circulating among the plants.
    â€œThis is really nice,” I said, raising my voice so Natalie could hear me over the fans. “It doesn’t feel like other greenhouses I’ve been in.”
    â€œIt isn’t like other greenhouses because orchids need a different climate. Dan is hand-pollinating the plants so all insects and birds have to be kept out. There can’t be any unscreened openings. Intake vents pull the air from outside, filter and humidify it before releasing it in here.”
    The structure was approximately twenty by forty feet long. An open-weave cloth lay across the roof, blocking out some of the harsh August sun. The floor was cement with several drains. A wide bench ran