Food Fair Frenzy Read online

  Miss Vivee interjected. “Can we see the gardens?”

  “Oh sure,” he said. “Let me get a golf cart. I’ll take you over to Mrs. Wagner. She’s over at the greenhouses right now.” He checked his watch. “She’ll give you the red carpet tour.”

  “Can’t we drive over?” Miss Vivee asked. “Logan always drives me around, and I feel most comfortable in her Jeep.”

  Where did that come from? She hates my jeep.

  “Oh sure,” he said. “I just wanted to help.” He scratched his arm, and ran his hand over his hair. “Here, let me help you get back in the car and I can give you some directions. It’s real easy to get where she is.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said and walked over to the driver’s side to get in.

  “It’s really something to see you here, Mrs. Pennywell. After yesterday,” he said closing her car door. “But as my grandmother always told me, it’s a small world. What a coincidence, huh?”

  “You quote your grandmother?” Miss Vivee asked. “How nice.”

  “She was smart,” Gavin said. “She knew something about everything. She raised me after my mother died.”

  “Where was your father?” Miss Vivee asked.

  She’s so nosey.

  Gavin hunched his shoulders. “He wasn’t around. Left right after I was born. Broke my mother’s heart.”

  “Aw, well a grandmother’s all one really needs anyway,” Miss Vivee said. “My grandson wouldn’t trade me for a mother or a father.”

  I shook my head. “So why were you over at the fairgrounds yesterday?” I said. I couldn’t remember if he’d told us or not.

  “I don’t think you’ve told me your name,” he said in a voice much different than the one he used with Miss Vivee. He even seemed to glare at me, I wasn’t sure because Miss Vivee got his attention and he let his eyes go to her.

  “That’s Logan,” she said.

  “I told you, Logan,” he said emphasizing my name. “It was part of my job.”

  “How was it part of your job?” Miss Vivee asked.

  I did want to know that, but I wasn’t asking any more questions.

  “Because,” he said to her, his tone returning back to a friendlier cadence. “Mr. Wagner owns Lincoln Park. He owns – well owned – all that land. They were short-handed so I was assigned to work over there for the day.”

  “I say,” Miss Vivee said.

  “Yep,” Gavin nodded. “His family has had that lot for years. They’re the ones that planted all the flowers there.”

  “I thought Mrs. Wagner was the flower person,” Miss Vivee said.

  “She is,” Gavin said. “She knows a lot, you’ll see. And her prize possession is the Poison Garden.”

  Chapter Eleven

  She was in her late fifties, her brown hair mostly hidden by a wide-brimmed, rolled straw hat. She was perched on a small three-legged stool, her turquoise garden gloved hands were deep in the dirt. A flat of flowers sat next to her.

  We had taken a winding back road around the perimeter of the gardens, and had parked in a small parking area to the side of a series of various sized greenhouses.

  Camren Wagner was in front of one of the larger structures. She was so absorbed in her work she hadn’t heard us walk up.

  “I think that the outside of a greenhouse should be just as floral as the inside,” Miss Vivee said.

  The woman tending to the flowers turned, startled to see us. “This is a private area,” she said with a distinct Southern twang. “No one’s allowed back here.”

  “Hello,” Miss Vivee said. “We’re looking for the owners of the property. Is Mrs. Krieger around?”

  Miss Vivee knew that woman’s name was not Krieger.

  Mrs. Wagner dug her trowel into the ground and stood up. She glanced down at her gloved hands and slapped them one against the other, back and forth a few times shaking off the dirt. Then she pulled them off and dropped them on the ground next to her flowers.

  “I’m Camren Wagner.” She walked over to us at the end of the sidewalk. “I own the property. But as you can see, I’m busy right now.” She spoke slowly, drawing her words out so that it accentuated her accent. “And I don’t see visitors back here.” She pulled a walkie-talkie phone from a clip on the waistband of her shorts, apparently ready to get help to remove us.

  “Oooo!” Miss Vivee clutched her chest. I froze, ready for anything because I wouldn’t put it past her to fake a heart attack or something. “Isn’t that a Middlemist Red?” Miss Vivee pointed to a bright pink flower that resembled, at least to me, a rose. She walked down the sidewalk outside the greenhouse to get a better look. I followed her just in case her sudden chest pang was real. “That is probably the rarest flowering plant in the world.”

  “No,” Camren Wagner shook her head. She watched Miss Vivee from the other end of the walkway. “It’s not a Middlemist Red.”

  “It is,” Miss Vivee said with a sly grin crawling up her face. “You can’t fool me, and for it to be doing so well,” she pointed at the flower. “You must be very good at what you do. To be able to cultivate it here.” Miss Vivee batted her eyes, and it seemed like she’d developed a Southern accent of her own. “Have you ties to Britain?”

  What did that have to do with anything? I wondered.

  “No,” Camren seemed to blush.

  Then Miss Vivee pointed to the flat of flowers that Camren had had next to her when we walked up. “Land sakes alive! Are those chocolate Cosmos?” She glanced at Mrs. Wagner. “They survive only as anon fertile clones.” Miss Vivee shook her head and walked over to the rich deep red flowers. I would’ve thought they were pansies.

  “Yes, they are,” Camren nodded her head.

  Shows what I know.

  “You, my dear are a miracle worker. I can smell the vanillin from here.” Miss Vivee bent down and inhaled. “How did you get them?” Miss Vivee asked.

  Camren shook her head like she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  “Well, I could tell you how I got mine,” Miss Vivee said. “But then my husband would have to come and bail me out of jail. Again.” They both laughed and Camren clipped her walkie-talkie back on her hip.

  “Hey!” A man came around the corner, a big smile on his face, apparently not seeing us so far down the walkway. “I’ve been calling-” He stopped mid-sentence. “Sorry,” he said after rounding the corner and noticing us standing there. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

  “That’s because no one is allowed back here,” Miss Vivee said and look at him warily.

  As if she wasn’t trespassing.

  He certainly didn’t appear to work at the gardens. He wore a very expensive-looking suit, shiny brown leather loafers, and dangled a Mercedes key chain. He was fair-skinned, had an angular jaw line, goldilocks lips – not full, not thin and a cupid’s bow not rounded, not peaked – and freckles that covered practically every inch of his face.

  “Maybe we could follow you back out?” Miss Vivee said. I knew she was trying to get a reaction out of him.

  “No,” Camren said, obviously she’d rather not dispense with us than to have to explain why that man was there. She looked at Miss Vivee. “It’s alright. What is it that you need?”

  “I’m Vivienne Caspard-Whitson,” she said.

  Caspard? Where did she get that name from?

  “And this is my caregiver, Logan.” I nodded my head and stepped back, capitulating to the low status she’d just given me.

  “And you’re Mr. Wagner?” Miss Vivee walked up to the well-dressed man and held out a limp hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said.

  The man took her hand, and coughed out a “No.”

  “No. No.” Camren Wagner said, speaking up. “This is a, uhm, business associate.” She glanced at him and back at us. “Robert Bernard.” He gave his acknowledgement with a nod. “Bobby, say ‘Hello,’” Mrs. Wagner directed.

  With a hint of genuflection, hands stuffed in his pockets, Robert Bernard mumbled a “Hello.�
� to us.

  “So you were saying?” Camren Wagner turned back to Miss Vivee

  “Oh yes.” Miss Vivee shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. “My husband and I are looking to leave our land to someone when we die,” Miss Vivee said glossing over him after the introduction. “We never had children and we’ve seemed to have outlived everyone we cared about.” She hung her head appearing sad. “I heard about how people leave their land for arboretums and gardens and thought that would be a good use for our land. We’d rather give it to private owners than let the state take it over after we’re gone.”

  “Are you two gardeners?” Camren Wagner asked. “You and your husband?”

  “Oh, yes.” Miss Vivee smiled a smile that made her whole face glow. “Did you think I was just a purloiner of rare and exotic flowers?”

  “Oh no!” Camren put her hand to her face as if she was embarrassed.

  “I have a greenhouse, too. Nothing as extravagant,” Miss Vivee spread out her arm, “but very expansive.”

  “Where is your land located?” Robert Bernard seemed to take an interest in Miss Vivee’s big lie.

  “Are you a gardener?” Miss Vivee asked him.

  Didn’t know how she’d answer his question about her land, probably why she side-stepped it. The only land she owned was the plot that the Maypop sat atop of.

  “No,” he said, and noticed Miss Vivee’s instant frown. “But I’m a land developer,” he continued. “I have investments all over Georgia.”

  “Do say?” Miss Vivee tilted her head. “And what exactly does a land developer do?”

  It was easy to see that Robert Bernard was proud of what he did. He stood up straighter, took his hand out of his pockets, and gave what seemed like a well-rehearsed, almost textbook narration of his work. “I procure land and decide the best use for it – how to develop it appropriately,” he said. “And then I ensure the land is developed not only to how I see fit, but so it’s in compliance with zoning ordinances – local, federal laws and what not. And I am usually the one to oversee every inch of the construction of it, be it residential, commercial or industrial structures.”

  “You do all of that on your own?”

  “Well, no. But I do have my own business.” He cleared his throat. “And I work with other companies.”

  “And how can you be sure what the best use of a land is?” Miss Vivee asked tilting her head the other way.

  “Well,” he gesticulated with his hands. “I make projections that assess potential profitability.”

  “That sounds hard,” Miss Vivee said. “Deciding what to build where.”

  “It can be difficult. But if you know what you’re doing,” he said, “it isn’t as hard as it may sound. It’s based on research proposition. I conduct studies on population growth, traffic patterns, local taxes then I know what’s best.”

  “That’s a lot of big words, Mr. Bernard,” Miss Vivee said. She looked at Camren Wagner. “We’re just simple folk. We’ve got a few thousand acres of land left to my grandfather in a land grant for his service in the military during the Civil War. Maybe you’ve heard of him, Capt. Albert Caspard?”

  Oh that’s where the name Caspard came from. I wonder if he was even a real person.

  I was tempted to pull out my phone and Google him.

  “A couple of thousand?” Robert Bernard swallowed hard and swiped a hand through his gelled auburn hair.

  “We were out for a drive, and saw your beautiful land.” Miss Vivee kept up with her con and ignored Robert Bernard. “It is much more than I could have ever imagine for our land. Your place is truly wonderful. Delightful,” she said nodding her head.

  “Thank you,” Camren Wagner said, her face flushed and a gleam in her eye.

  Boy was Miss Vivee winning her over.

  “That’s why.” Miss Vivee cozied up to Camren Wagner as if she were her new best friend. “We’d rather chose you and your husband over an implacable land baron.”

  Miss Vivee flashed a big ole smile, and I could tell by Robert Bernard’s face – pleased then confused – that he wasn’t sure if Miss Vivee’s remark was meant as a jeer at him or not.

  “That’s very generous of you, Mrs. Whitson,” Camren Wagner said.

  “It’s Caspard-Whitson, but you can call me Vivienne.”

  “You never did say where that land was located,” Robert Bernard said.

  “In the Black Belt.” Miss Vivee raised an eyebrow. “That’s why we’ve got to be careful what’s done with it.” Miss Vivee cut her eyes at Mr. Bernard. Her glare made his face redden so much that all of his freckles seemed to merge.

  And what is the Black Belt? I wondered. Probably more of her lies.

  Miss Vivee looked over at me. “You know, Logan, I think I want Mr. and Mrs. Wagner to have our land.” She put her hand on Camren’s arm. “I think that the two of us are kindred spirits.”

  “Like I said, Vivienne, that is very generous of you.” Camren Wagner smiled genuinely at her. “I don’t know if we . . . If I could. You see there is no Mr. Wagner. Not anymore.”

  “Oh no!” Miss Vivee feigned surprise. “Are you divorced?”

  “No,” she said. “Widowed. Just yesterday.”

  “Was it a heart attack?” Miss Vivee asked innocently.

  “Why yes. Yes it was,” Widow Wagner confirmed the story she’d told at the fair.

  “Oh honey,” Miss Vivee said, acting as if she was all choked up. I could have sworn I even saw her eyes get misty. “No wonder you’re out here with all of these beauties. They take away all the pain, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do,” she said and hung her head.

  Geesh. No one would have guessed she had any pain when her husband was splayed out in the Judges Tent and she was playing Bob Barker.

  “Why don’t you show me around?” Miss Vivee said. “I’d love a tour. And I know that’ll cheer you up.”

  “I did need to speak to you, Camren,” Robert Bernard said.

  “Well, she’s busy now,” Miss Vivee said rudely. “And it really isn’t polite to talk business right after a death in the family.” Miss Vivee cocked her head to the side. “You weren’t raised in the South, were you?”

  “Can it wait, Bobby?” Camren asked. “I’ll give you call this afternoon. Is that alright?”

  “Bobby” squinted his eyes and blew out a huff. “I guess it’ll have to be alright.” He turned to Miss Vivee as if he wanted to say something, but instead turned on his heels and marched back out toward the parking lot.

  “I don’t think you should do business with him,” Miss Vivee said. “He seems like such a grouch.”

  Camren laughed.

  I can’t wait to see your gardens,” Miss Vivee said.

  “Well then, let me go and get a golf cart so I can show them to you. Might be too much for you to walk.”

  “That’ll be fine,” she said. “But I’m an avid golfer you know, so I’m used to walking the fairways. They didn’t have golf carts until the late 1950s, and after walking around all those years, I saw no need to hop into one.”

  “You don’t look old enough to have played golf in the ‘50s,” Camren said.

  Oh goodness, now she’s taken to lying, too.

  Miss Vivee giggled. “You get the cart. Is there enough room for Logan?”

  “Oh yes,” she glanced over at me. “I can’t wait to show you around,” Camren said.

  “Good,” Miss Vivee said. “I can’t wait to see everything. And I’ve heard you have a poison garden?”

  “Yes, we do. Our prized possession,” Camren said and smile.

  “Good,” Miss Vivee said. “I want to see that first.

  Chapter Twelve

  And the Poison Garden was the first place we went. It was set apart from the rest of the gardens, near the back, it was enclosed within an antique-looking, ornate, black wrought iron fence. The Widow Wagner walked us under the high archway that depicted birds and cherubs, and into what I would imagine the Secret Ga
rden looked like. There was a paved walkway that encircled the area and flowers everywhere in between.

  I didn’t know there were so many kinds of poisonous flowers.

  “You have a nice collection,” Miss Vivee said. “Your display choices are good.” She smiled at Camren then looked at me and shook her head. “But you have a lot missing,” Miss Vivee said to her.

  “I do?” she said. “It’s certainly not meant to be complete, but I thought I had it pretty well covered. Still there’s another piece of land we own. It’s just an open field right now, but as it’ll be all mine now-” she sucked in a breath as if she realized she said something she shouldn’t have. “I have plans on something more extensive.”

  “It’s lovely here,” Miss Vivee said and patted Camren on her arm. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

  I didn’t know what it was that Widow Wagner was worried spilling the beans about, but I took Miss Vivee’s actions and words to mean that all the flowers that were on that note weren’t there. But that didn’t stop her from taking it all in. Miss Vivee and Camren Wagner walked through the garden, at one point, arm-in-arm, and chatted about the flowers. I followed behind, not saying much. I figured a caregiver shouldn’t speak.

  “What else do you have to show me?” Miss Vivee asked as we rounded back to the gate.

  “You want to see more?” Camren asked. “You’re not tired?”

  “I may be old, but I’m fit,” she said. “But Logan,” she pointed a finger at me. “She doesn’t get much exercise.”

  Why does she always put me in her lies?

  “I’m fine,” I said. “But you two enjoy yourselves.” I figured that maybe, as part of her act, Miss Vivee wanted to be alone with Camren. I never could follow her methods, so it didn’t bother me to stay behind. “Is there somewhere I can wait?”

  “Let me show you,” Camren said and looked at Miss Vivee. “I know you said you can walk, Mrs. Caspard-”

  “Vivienne. Remember? Call me Vivienne.”

  “Okay,” Camren said and smiled. “Vivienne. I know you said you could walk, but I’m just going to drive us up to the center of the gardens. Logan can wait for us there, and then we can walk. Is that okay?”