ROSES AND THE GRIM REAPER

The sun was casting a long shadow across the grove of trees in the backyard.  I strategically placed the computer right in front of the large window in the family room for inspiration.  Unfortunately, winter still held a tight grasp.  Instead of exhilarating blooms, all there was to look at were naked trees and grayish grass.  The deadline on the latest addition to the Grim Reaper serial was tomorrow and the field of ideas was a bare as the garden.

I sat twirling my  long red hair for a few more moments and then gave up, moving to my second favorite pastime.  Writing was my lifelong love, but it went hand in hand with the other, people watching.  Putting aside the dreary exterior, the empty foliage had a huge plus.  It allowed me to see directly across the yard and into our neighbor's windows.  Now, I'm not a busybody.  It's research.  However, my husband, Sean, may disagree with that definition.  He thinks I am just nosey.  He is misinformed.

Involving yourself in the affairs of other, unobtrusively of course, is a writer's prerogative and I am Rebecca Goodman, the author of the widely popular Tiffany Tisch detective novels.  Therefore, my nosiness is allowed.  Some of my best plot ideas have come from peeking into the lives of others and who am I to disappoint my fans?  

People just can't seem to get enough of the crime-solving hooker with the heart of gold and believe me I am happy to oblige.  It sure beats the steady stream of rejection notices that used to come streaming in.  Grinding out the weekly Grim Reaper column wasn't necessary anymore, but that morbid piece holds a great deal of sentimental value.  There is also a superstitious part of me that feels that if I give up writing it, Tiffany's golden touch will turn into a big fat nothing.

It was still a little early in the evening and our new neighbors weren't home yet, so I gave up yet again.  This day was not turning out like I planned.  Rising, I walked into the kitchen and started to get things in order for dinner.  I loved standing at the sink and watching the sparkling roses blow in the breeze.  Now, they were just bare sticks, covered in a blanket to weather the winter's wrath.  

In addition to being a front runner in this year's Silver Dagger awards, I was also an avid gardener.  My prize winning roses had come in second four years in a row behind Arthur Moore, our previous neighbor.  With him out of the picture, this year's competition was in the bag.  Just in case, I pumped him for some of his secrets before her left.  He wasn't selling.

Arthur and Martha, his wife of fifty years, were about as much inspiration in the mystery department as the current dead blooms.  However, the new ones were a source of much gossip around our tiny village by the sea.  There was much speculation regarding the young couple who had moved in six weeks ago.  So when the light snapped on across the way, my attention did as well.  Usually, the lamps didn't come on over there until at least nine o'clock.  My eyes watched while my hands worked, cleaning the ingredients for tonight's salad.

There were definitely two of them, one male and one female.  At least that was one rumor that could be put to rest.  The woman was blond with a short styled bob.  I think.  It was difficult to make out features from this distance.  The man was tall and dark.  It was tempting to get the binoculars.  However, Sean was due home any minute and he drew the line at binoculars.  Mouths were wagging.  They appeared to be having quite a heated argument.

"Rebecca!  The water is about to spill out of the sink!  What are you doing?"

I almost jumped out of my skin.  Sean always had the worst timing.  "Shh, something is going on across the way.  I can't hear!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, as if you could hear anyway," Sean said, reaching across me to shut off the faucet.  "Come away from the window before they see you."

"They can't see me."  The discussion was really getting going now, theirs not ours.  They were nose to nose in front of the window.  You could almost see the steam.  The man reached his hand up over her head.  There was something in his hand.  Sean reached up as well.  He slammed the blinds down.

"If you can see them, they can see you!"  That was my husband, handsome, practical, and infuriating.

***

 I wanted to call the police, but of course mister high and mighty would not let me.  He didn't want the entire village to know he was married to a peeping Pam.  It wasn't like I had actually used the binoculars.  

Curiosity sent me out shortly after breakfast with my beagle, Bailey, in tow to scope out the situation.  We always took a walk in the morning so it would not look at all peculiar.  The early morning air helped me to clear my head before settling down at the computer to write.

Their brown and black Colonial with the wrap around porch looked pretty much the same as it had when Arthur and Martha lived there, except for the absence of plants.  The Moore's always had beautiful foliage adorning the porch no matter the season.  Sean and I brought our house in Spring Lake five years ago when the Tiffany books started paying off.  Otherwise, we couldn't afford a shed in this town.  With the Atlantic Ocean a mere five blocks away coupled with the breathtaking Victorian homes, the real estate in this town came with a high price tag.

The Moore's raised five children here before retiring to Florida in the fall.  Arthur explained they couldn't take another winter by the shore.  It took a while, but eventually they sold it and made a nice profit on their home.

June Road was a small street without an outlet.  It was deserted this cold morning.  People were either warm and cozy inside or at work.  There wasn't any sign of the mysterious couple.  Their driveway was empty.  Most of these old homes did not have garages which made detecting a little easier.  The side gate was hanging a bit crooked and it looked as if it might be open.

"Bailey," I said, pointing in the direction of the gate.  "Rabbit."

 Bailey's little tan and white body took off like a shot.  She easily pushed the gate wide open in anticipation of a chase.  Smiling, I followed.  The yard was smaller than I remembered.  Arthur's garden looked as sad and lonely as mine, but unkempt.  The new owners were definitely not gardeners.  While Bailey sniffed at the neglected rose bushes, my eyes landed on the lump of fresh dirt in the back corner.  A mulch pile was odd for people who were clearly not into horticulture.  Who used mulch in the dead of winter?

"For heaven's sake, Rebecca," Sean hissed from behind.  The sound of his voice made me jump once again.  "Will you get out of their yard?"

"I thought you were at the office," I said, sighing.  His timing really was awful.

"And I thought you were taking Bailey for a walk down at the beach."

"She's the one who ran in here."

"Are you blaming your nosiness on the dog now?"

Sure, why not?

***

"I invited them over for drinks tonight."

"Who," Sean, asked, taking off his coat.  I really should have waited until he got settled, but I didn't want him to think it was going to me a quiet dinner for two.

"The new neighbors," I explained.  "I want to make sure there are still two of them.  One of them might have buried the other in that mound in the back corner."

Sean sighed.  His blue eyes were less bright than usual and he stood running his hand through his sandy brown hair.  That was always a sure sign of exasperation.  We'd been married for eight years, but he had never gotten used to my darker side.  He'd never admit it out loud, but it frightened him.  He wouldn't even read the Grim Reaper.

"I left a note on their door inviting them for drinks at seven."  I glanced at the clock.  It was quarter to now.  "Do you think they'll come?"

"No," he said, walking upstairs to change.  "You spy on them from the window."

Seven o'clock came and went without a knock.  I hated it when Sean was right.  Last night's episode wasn't a total loss.  It gave me an idea for a grisly adventure for the Grim Reaper and I made my noon deadline.

*** 

The new neighbors or neighbor had invested in shades shortly after the heated argument.  Sean was right again.  They had seen me.  However, I was undeterred.  Something funny was going on over there and I was making it my business to get to the bottom of it.  Only one silhouette appeared at the window each evening.  It wasn't clear whether it was a man or a woman.  I tried a couple of more times to invite them over, but they never responded to the cards.  Obviously, they weren't Emily Post fans.

With spring less than a week away, winter had one more gasp left.  He surprised everyone by dropping two feet of snow.  Spring, not to be outdone, melted it three days later.  All the back and forth temperatures took its toll on our old wooden fence.  Half of it fell down from the weight of the snow.

"We should go and knock on their door," I said, peering out the kitchen window over my morning coffee.  "We need to deal with that fence before it falls down."

Sean barely glanced up from the newspaper.  "You will not bother them.  I already called a fence company.  They will be here at ten."  He looked up at me when I didn't answer.  "Do not use the fence as an excuse to go poking around in their yard."

I wasn't making any promises.

***

The morning went by agonizingly slow.  The workmen finally arrived right on time.  Bailey and I watched from the upstairs bedroom window.  Three of the wooded panels had fallen down and they only had one left to fix.  They dug the holes for the posts.  I could see the lump of dirt in the corner.  It seemed bigger than before.  Something had to be buried there.

"Need to go out, girl?"  The inaction was driving me crazy and Bailey had that look in her eye.  Besides, if I waited any longer I would never know.

Bailey barked and ran downstairs for the doogie door in the kitchen.  I followed, grabbing my sweater from the chair.

"Your dog is digging in the neighbor's bushes," one of the men reported to me when I got outside.  

Bad dog, she should have been digging in the lump.  "Here, Bailey!"

It took a moment, but she always answered a command and when she did come running she had something clutched tightly in her teeth.  She proudly dropped her prize at my feet.  I stared at it.  It took me a moment to realize she'd found a finger.  I petted her head, hoping she wouldn't be reprimanded for ripping if off of the owner's hand.  However, judging my the rotting appearance, it wasn't going to be missed.

***

The police came quickly.  They bagged and tagged Bailey's treasure as evidence.  Afterward, they moved on to inspecting the rest of the backyard.  The fence guys were asked to put the job on hold which was fine with me.  This way I could still see what was going on.  Unfortunately, that didn't last long once Sean got home.

I knew I shouldn't have called him, but I just had to say, "I told you so."  It was one of the little joys of marriage.  However, this time it backfired.  Sean banished us so the house, forcing me and Bailey to sulk on the couch.  It was just like a man to take over a situation.

"So," I prodded when he finally came into the house a half and hour later.  "Was it the wife or the husband?  It looked like a woman's finger, but how can you really tell?  Did the police arrest anyone yet?  Whose body was it?  Do they know?"

Sean smiled and he looked more than just a little bit smug.  It was annoying.  "The finger belonged to Martha.  They found the rest of her."  His grin widened when my jaw dropped.  "We had a genuine Grim Reaper living behind us," he continued.  "The police think there are at least five bodies buried among those prize-winning rose bushes.  They're going to have to bring in a forensic team to identify them all."

Damn!  So that was Arthur's secret.

***

ROSES AND THE GRIM REAPER was written several years ago for The First Line.  Even though it was never accepted, it has always been one of my favorites.  I hope you enjoyed it!