Death in the Secret Garden Read Free

such an extent that they were able to survive their grief.
    Their home was located on a high saucer-shaped promontory above the Connecticut River. Anyone who approached the reconstructed building on the long driveway leading up from the secondary highway first saw the widow’s walk, which stretched the length of the gambrel roof, and then the solid square lines of the house.
    Lyon opened the front door to find Jamie Martin slouched against the wall. The youthful-looking patrolman straightened when he saw Lyon. ‘I didn’t hear you drive up,’ Lyon said.
    â€˜I came through the woods from the state land,’ Martin said as he smiled at the tall man in the doorway.
    Lyon Wentworth was a slender six feet. He had a shock of brown-greying hair that protruded over his forehead. He often brushed the forelock back with an unconscious gesture. He had an infectious smile, which often transmitted a fey quality. His usual dress was boat shoes without socks, khaki work pants and a loose sport shirt. His ensemble was not necessarily color-coordinated.
    â€˜We got a shooting in the woods. The chief wants to know if you heard or saw anything about three hours ago,’ Jamie continued.
    â€˜I thought I heard a pistol shot about then,’ Lyon answered. ‘That’s not unusual around here. People are always going to the state forest to plink or try out a weapon.’ Jamie made meticulous notes with large letters in a small pad. ‘Who was injured?’
    â€˜Injured, hell! She’s deader’n a baited squirrel. Young kid who works down at the supermarket, name of Boots Anderson.’
    Lyon felt that small jolt people experience when they meet the unexpected. ‘I know her. She graduated from Murphysville High School last year. I gave a talk on children’s literature to her English class last May.’
    â€˜She learned more than English this year. Word at Sarge’s bar is that Boots was getting her bones jumped by Eddy Rashish.’
    â€˜Eddy of Rashish Motors? He’s old enough to be her father.’
    â€˜Well, Eddy’s old lady sure ain’t Boots’ mother.’
    â€˜Is Rocco interviewing Eddy?’
    â€˜I don’t know if he knows that Eddy and Boots were playing house. Don’t matter none, Mr. Wentworth. Spook is the one who killed her.’
    â€˜Spook hasn’t been sober since the Viet Nam war.’
    â€˜I found a First Cav patch clutched in Boots’ hand. And you know how Spook is about the First Cav. You want to come over to the woods and talk to Chief Herbert?’
    â€˜No way, Jamie. The last thing I need is to get involved in another murder investigation. Besides, from what you say, it would seem that Spook has finally crossed the line.’
    â€˜I don’t know what line you mean. It sure ain’t no lunch line. He’s been out to lunch for years, but this time he’s grazing in never-never land. I’ll tell the chief about the shot. Did you see anything?’
    â€˜No. Tell Rocco that I heard one round of small arms fire about three hours ago. That’s all I know.’
    â€˜Gotcha. Is Senator Wentworth home? I got to interview her, too.’
    â€˜The State Senate’s in session today. Bea’s in Hartford. My wife wasn’t home when I heard the shot.’
    Jamie gave him a casual salute and turned to jog toward the faint path that led through the woods.
    As Lyon looked after the retreating police officer, last spring’s high school English class materialized in Nutmeg Hill’s side yard.
    Boots Anderson sat in the first row directly in front of Lyon’s podium. Her short skirt was barely within the allowable limits of the school dress code. Her exploratory seductive gaze was disconcerting. At the end of his presentation she had raised her hand with a slight squirming motion to the rest of her body.
    â€˜Mr. Wentworth, about those Wobblies you write about, are they a boy and a girl or