Ghostly Garlic by Ami Diane

Author:Ami Diane [Diane, Ami]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

After grabbing a bowl of clam chowder to-go from her favorite Bayside Seafood Depot, Libby headed home. Her car climbed the steep drive up Cottage Grove Lane as the narrow road wound along the coastline. Her two-story Victorian house rested at the summit, freshly painted in a pale yellow like a lighthouse against a blue sky. The clouds had partially burned off, showing off a summer sunset.

Inside, she guzzled down the chowder while dividing her attention between Jasper and Orchid. For her own sanity and to make up for having been gone most of the day, she squirted cat gravy into Orchid’s bowl then gave Jasper extra eggs.

As it turned out, ravens were carnivores, but she couldn’t stomach feeding him mice. So, she left him to do most of the meat hunting himself outside, feeding him the occasional chicken eggs, arthropods, and seeds inside.

In the library, she opened a window for his evening flight with the gulls. The drapes fluttered in the cool ocean breeze.

When she finished washing dishes, she wandered through the library into the oblong, rarely-used sitting room to tend to her orchids. She kept more in the greenhouse, but she wanted the cheeriness to extend into the house, as well.

Most of the house was decorated with Arlene’s things and in her style—which was Grandmother Eclectic if Libby had to label it. The decor and furniture had come with the place, which suited Libby’s needs just fine since she’d brought little belongings in her hasty move.

She filled the trays beneath the orchid pots with water, creating little moats around the containers. When the water evaporated, it kept the air surrounding the plants humid. After that, she spritzed the plants with a special fertilizer spray before soaking up any moisture that had accumulated in the well of the leaves or crown.

Next, she checked the roots, noting their color. It would be time to water them in the next couple of days.

A particularly deep, royal purple phalaenopsis pulled her attention. It had been her mother’s, the woman who birthed Libby’s love of gardening and all things botany, especially her affinity for orchids.

This particular plant had been a rescue from a grocery store, planted in the wrong medium. Her mother had cut the spikes and repotted the plant in coconut husk chips. It took patience and time, but eventually, the plant grew new leaves and roots and thrived.

When it was clear the plant would survive, her mother had said, “See? All things can be made new. All things grow under the right conditions.”

By the way her mother said this, Libby knew she meant more than just plants. It was a lesson she hadn’t really taken to heart until after her mother’s death. Her brokenness had led her to Oyster Bay and a new path. With the exception of sticking her nose into murder investigations, she was thriving with a new beginning.

When she turned away from the rainbow of blooms, she ran smack into a large entertainment center—large television included—that hadn’t been there minutes before.

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