Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [7]
He drove back to the sheriff’s department and parked right in front. That way if someone drove by, they would think he was there on business. For this run he was driving an old truck he had put in storage and he had rubbed mud on the license plates so it would be hard to read. Better to be cautious.
After taking the pump out of the back of the truck, he put on his gloves and sunglasses. He kept the pump hidden in the brown-paper grocery bag with just the nozzle sticking out. He walked around the side of the building and came to the front stairs.
In front of the building, next to the stairs leading up to the doors, was a big flower garden. He knew the names of all the flowers because of his mother: petunias, roses, snapdragons, pansies. Allysum encircled the others. He loved the smell of that small white flower. Intoxicatingly sweet.
He had to be careful not to breathe.
He looked at his watch: 12:07.
He took a deep breath, then held it. Seven passes over the garden, a thick mist coming out of the end of the nozzle.
There had been seven of them. He wanted no one to forget that.
CHAPTER 3
Had there been a frost last night? Debby Lowe wondered as she stared at the remains of the flower bed. For a moment she could think of no other explanation for what was in front of her eyes. She was standing outside the Pepin County office building that included the sheriff’s department, where she worked as a receptionist.
Friday afternoon, when she had left work, the flowers had looked fine—the allysum mounding up nicely, the snapdragons taller than she had ever seen, the marigolds full of bright orange flowers and many buds. She had been using Miracle-Gro and it was doing the trick. She watered them religiously, checking on them often.
Debby had planted all the flowers herself after consulting with the design person at the garden center. The sheriff had let her take on the job of planting the garden as part of her normal workload. She couldn’t believe her luck that she was going to get paid to garden. She loved it more than anything else in the world and dreamed that someday she might be able to take classes and go into landscape design.
Debby remembered her last glance at the flowers—they had filled the bed with their bright colors. This morning they looked blasted. Dried, shriveled, straw-colored growths. Had they been through some sort of small nuclear winter?
What could have happened to her flowers?
Had someone done something to them? Sprayed them with weed killer? Why would anyone do such a mean thing? She felt like sitting down on the sidewalk and howling; then she got mad.
She ran up the steps with determination. She would not let someone get away with this awful act of vandalism. The deputy sheriffs weren’t the only ones who could solve a crime.
She walked up to her desk and stopped only long enough to drop her purse on top of all her work. Judy gave her a look, but Debby didn’t want to talk to her. She was going to take it right to the top. She strode through the department and knocked on the door to the sheriff’s office.
His voice boomed through the door, “Come on in.”
When she pushed into the room, she was surprised to see four faces turn her way: the sheriff’s, two deputies, and an older man she had seen before around town, but whose name she didn’t remember.
Debby felt her lips quiver. She wasn’t accustomed to all this attention. But the flower bed was her responsibility. Gathering herself together, she thought of what her bed of flowers looked like now—not even good enough for compost. All her work for the last two months destroyed.
“Debby?” The sheriff rose from behind his desk as he said her name. His face was full of concern for her. Everyone in the room seemed to be staring at her.
She tried to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. They were all waiting for her to speak.