Murder by Yew (An Edna Davies Mystery #1)(3)

“How awful.” Wondering if Mary might be the type of person who over-dramatized situations, Edna nonetheless fell silent as she headed slowly back to her ladder beside the yew tree. The vision of Aleda in the back of the patrol car hung in her mind. The energy with which Edna had previously attacked her chore was gone, but she bent and picked up the shears from the ground where she’d dropped them in her haste.

“How come you’re doing the pruning?” Mary asked. “Haven’t you hired Tom to do this?” She sat on the stoop next to Benjamin, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees.

Edna stepped back and studied the yew. Scraps of green branches, twigs and needles lay scattered beneath the tree. “Tom’s busy getting the window frames and shutters painted before winter,” she said, trying to decide whether to take more off the sides, then added distractedly, “I got tired of waiting for Albert to do this.”

“Where is he? He missed all the excitement.” Mary stroked the cat as she looked up at Edna.

“Off to the airport, early. He’s going to Chicago this weekend to a three-day conference for family practitioners. They’ve asked him to be on a childbirth panel.”

“Thought he retired.”

“Me, too,” Edna said as she clipped the end of a low branch, then stood back again, gazing at Mary as she warmed to the new topic. “Especially after we moved here so as not to be constantly running into his patients.”

“But you’ve lived here only, what, two months? Maybe it’ll take him a while to get used to not doctorin’.”

Edna didn’t want Mary to get the idea she was unsympathetic. “He sold his practice over a year ago. That should be time enough to at least start letting go.” She watched Mary turn her attention to Benjamin and begin to scratch behind his ears. Thinking she might be boring the woman with her prattling, Edna returned to her task, trading the big shears for a set of hand clippers that she used to cut off some branch ends that still stuck out.

Finally satisfied, at least for the time being, she set the clippers on a rung of the ladder and began to peel off her canvas gloves. “Why did Hazel Rabichek plant these things? She says in her journal that yew tea was used in early days to end unwanted pregnancies. Apparently, a safe strength is difficult to regulate, and with no known antidote, many women inadvertently overdosed. Wouldn’t you think these trees would be a constant reminder of those poor creatures?”

Mary studied the shapely evergreen beside her. “I don’t think that old Mrs. Rabichek planted these herself. They’ve probably been here since before she was born. Yews have always been a popular tree with landscapers. Plenty of folks around here have ‘em.”

Since Mary seemed to know so much about the property, Edna asked, “What about those castor beans?” motioning toward the garden near the wall between Mary’s and the Davies’ property. “Mrs. Rabichek must have been the one to plant those.”

“Oh, sure, that was last year’s experiment. Castor bean plants are supposed to keep rabbits away from the bulbs. That’s what’s planted around the edges, you know—tulips and daffodils mostly. You’ll see in the spring.”

“Lavender discourages rabbits. Why didn’t she plant lovely, sweet-smelling lavender instead?”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe because there’s already lots of lavender over by the back wall. I know she liked to try different things and considered it a challenge to grow stuff that wasn’t supposed to survive in this climate. She wasn’t always successful, but it pleased her when she was.”

Edna thought about it, then nodded. “That makes sense, especially from what I’ve been reading in her journals.”

Mary stopped petting Benjamin and stretched, looking much like a large cat herself. She extended her legs and leaned back on the palms of her hands, lifting her face to the sun and closing her eyes. “Old Mrs. Rabichek grew lots of weird stuff. I like those bean plants, though. The big pointed leaves remind me of pictures I’ve seen of rain forests and jungles.”

“Yes,” said Edna, “they’re interesting, all right, but I don’t want them around when my grandchildren come to visit. A child can die by chewing just two beans.”

As if to distance himself from such morbid talk, Benjamin jumped up and moved off to lie in the grass at the edge of the driveway, causing Mary to open her eyes. She spotted a book that had been partially hidden by his body on the stoop and leaned to pick it up. “This looks like one of Mrs. Rabichek’s.”

“It is.” Edna gathered her tools and piled them with her gloves next to the granite slab. “She said she wouldn’t need them anymore, and her kids weren’t much interested. That’s how I’m finding out about what she planted around here.”

“She really resented it that her son made her leave this house.”

“I thought she wanted to go live with him in the old homestead. Near Salem, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Mary lowered her voice as if worried she would be overheard. “Did you know her great, great … oh, I don’t know how many greats, grandmother was accused of being a witch?”

“Our realtor mentioned something about that—after we closed, of course.” Edna laughed. “Not that it would have made any difference. This house felt right the minute I stepped inside.”