Page 95 of Death on Riddle Road
A sound came from behind me.I turned.
“And it clunks, like Mamie said.”If she’d had more breath, Clara might have sounded triumphant.
I stopped.She was right.
She sat on the bench.
I didn’t.Restarting would be too hard against the drag of inertia.
“Why here?”I muttered.
“Not really a cliff to throw himself off or anything.”
True.He could have tried to roll down the steep hillside in any direction except to our left, but he wouldn’t get far before being caught by the close-ranked trunks.
I turned and green caught my eye where the ground fell away on both sides before the path turned toward the remaining rise.
I looked closer and saw the low rosettes of leaves of another invasive enemy — garlic mustard weed.Green, even in this weather, if a little beat up.It didn’t grow as big as Japanese honeysuckle, but it had several nasty tricks.
First, its roots alter soil chemistry in ways that inhibit other plants, along with messing with fungi that benefit those other plants — a double whammy.
Second, it has a two-year cycle.So, no matter how much you pull one year, that won’t help you the next year.
When warm weather arrived, these rosettes from last summer would bolt — up to waist high in my yard — with perky white flowers and profuse seeds.If you pull them and leave them in a pile, many of the plants will continue to grow, flower, and seed.
Ask me how I know.
Or not so perky white flowers right now in the clump I’d spotted down the slope.More like grubby.
“Wait a second,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Garlic mustard weed doesn’t bloom this time of year.Green, yes.But not white flowers.”
“Are you complaining about weeds again?”
I moved toward the suspect bloom.“Just because you bought a house from someone who’d been a great gardener and you don’t have to deal with them...Some of us weren’t that lucky.We—”
“What are you doing?Be careful.You’ll fall.”
I grasped a trunk as I scooched down for a better look.I stretched my free hand out.
Clara jumped up from the bench and hurried toward me.“Stop.What are you doing?”
I backed up.“You’re right.What was I thinking?”
“Thank heavens.Now, get back here.”
“No need.I have something in my pocket I can use.”
“Use for what?No, don’t tell me, just get back up here.”
“So I don’t get fingerprints on it.”I pulled out the flyer in my jacket pocket about New Year’s Eve at Haines Tavern.I folded it from one narrow end to the middle, then the other end to the middle.Then folded in twice from each long end, twisting the ends a bit to create a sort of pouch in the middle.
I positioned it in the hand that would also grasp the sapling.
“Fingerprints?On a weed?”
