Message in the Garden

Cross-legged in meditation, in the elaborate rooftop garden, sunlight dusting my eyelids, I could almost pretend it never happened. Almost.

“Grace Gordon?”

“Yes?”

“Sgt. Ledbetter, Pittsburgh Police.”

I sat back from the elegant planter installation at Preston Profiles Unlimited. “How can I help you, Sergeant?”

“I’m investigating the disappearance of Steven and Constance Preston. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

I removed my gloves, dusting off my knees. We sat in the spacious reception area defined by my interior landscape design.

“Mr. Preston failed to attend a critical business meeting on Monday. His assistant reports that all attempts to contact him were unsuccessful. A check of the residence confirmed they have yet to return from vacation.” He shifted uncomfortably on the slick, modern seating.

I sighed.

“How long have you known the Prestons?”

“I began working for Connie three years ago. She hired my company, Grace’s Green Thumb. As you can see, I’ve just begun working for Steven.”

He glanced at the plants scattered about in nursery containers. “I understand that you and Mrs. Preston became friends?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always befriend your clients?”

“No, but then, I rarely see residential clients. Connie was the exception. Working from home she was often there when I arrived to perform garden maintenance.”

“I’ve seen it... quite impressive. You designed it?”

“I wish I had.”

It required eight hours a week, minimally, to tend the rooftop landscape of dwarf trees, and plants that wound along a pebble-paved path. Connie’s prized Mandevillas bloomed profusely throughout, scenting the garden spring through fall. It was a haven for hummingbirds. The time I spent there was therapeutic and I was paid handsomely for my services. It doesn’t get much better than that.

“You met Steven prior to this job, right?”

I nodded. “Shortly after I began working for Connie, he’d come home early, surprising her with a new Mandevilla, in celebration of a new deal.”

“What was your first impression?”

“He obviously loved his wife. The species was rare, from South America.”

“Ever see them argue?”

“Never. They’re grounded in their love for one another.”

“You knew they were traveling to Antiga?”

“Everyone did. It was their 10th Anniversary trip.” One day for each year, they’d said.

“What would you say if I told you there was no trip?”

“I don’t understand.”

“There were no plans for the Antiga trip. No reservations. No airline bookings. Nothing.”

My head began to spin, my stomach flipped. “Where did they go?” I managed to ask.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Grace.”

The next three days were a blur, but I managed to complete the project at Steven’s office. When next I saw Sgt. Ledbetter, it was at the Prestons’ townhouse in the Mexican War Streets neighborhood. We were equally surprised to see one another.

“This is your appointment day, Grace?”

“Twice weekly, Wednesday and Friday.”

“We’re conducting a forensic investigation of their home today, I’m afraid the appointment’s canceled.”

“You haven’t found them.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve been trying to reconcile the people I knew with Tuesday’s revelations. I’m at a loss.”

The sergeant and I exchanged cards.

“You should be able to get back to it once we finish. I’ll let you know.”

I nodded numbly, turning away. The Prestons were my only Friday appointment.

My unexpectedly long weekend consisted of routine home-caring punctuated by brief attempts to relax. The weather ranged from gray to stormy, depending on the hour. Unable to bike or run, I was irritable. Climbing into bed Sunday night, I resolved to call Ledbetter in the morning.

He beat me to it.

“There was an interesting development in the Preston case this weekend, Grace. Steven’s office heard from his personal attorney. Legal documents are expected today placing the business in trust. It appears that the couple arranged to relocate, after all.”

“Relocate?”

“I don’t pretend to understand everything... It seems they’re fine, but aren’t returning anytime soon. The trust will ensure the business is ready and waiting if they change their minds.”

“Where have they gone?”

“I don’t know. Their representative believes them well and safe. Case closed.”

Case closed?

Suddenly, it mattered only that I was there... in the rooftop garden. Who knew how long I’d have access? I drove the fastest route, sprinting from my parking place down the block.

Letting myself in, taking the stairs two at a time until I hit the wrought iron spiral staircase. Slower, but with no less purpose, I ascended to the roof.

The garden was lush and verdant, drops still clinging to leaves heavy with the recent rains. I followed the path to the teak bench near the fountain.

A basketball rested near the right side of the bench as I sat. It was so wildly out of place, I wondered how it got there? I noticed a glimpse of yellow in the sodden soil beneath. On closer inspection, it was a tin box. I retrieved a trowel and pried it up.

Sitting on the bench, tin in hand, I was overcome with excitement where otherwise I might have felt shame at the thought of opening another’s buried secret. I knew why as soon as I laid eyes on the contents.

A picture of Steven and Connie waving and a note addressed to me, were tied together with a yellow ribbon, on which was threaded a brass key.

Dear Grace,

We are deeply sorry for the confusion you have endured. It was necessary. Know that we are deeply grateful.

The key opens the hidden safe, in the headboard of the master bed. There, you’ll find all the documentation required to assume ownership of 1402 Monterey Street, including the business card of our personal attorney who will expedite things. You'll also find another, more detailed, personal letter to answer many of the questions you have.

Light and Love,

Connie & Steven

My love for the place was evident after all. Hugging the box and its contents, I sat there until the last of the light faded from the sky.