Mazed by J L Wilson

Author:J L Wilson [Wilson, J L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: baby boomer; cozy mystery; beauty & the beast; gardening; mazes
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Published: 2020-07-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“Wow. Look at those guns.” Pop stared out the kitchen window at the workers in the backyard.

“Guns?” I dropped the ice cube tray in the sink and raced to his side. Swanny had come and gone, and I was preparing for the five members of the Showcase committee to evaluate my preparations for Saturday’s judging. Holy God, I couldn’t have guns sitting around when the committee walked through. “Guns? Where?”

“Those guys. Dillan said they played football and you can tell. Man, those biceps. That guy must bench press three hundred.”

I sagged against him in relief. “I thought you meant guns. You know, guns. Dillan carries a gun.”

“Yeah, I figured he did.”

“But—Pop, he carries a gun!”

“He knows how to use it, so what’s the problem?” Pop glanced at the clock. “Your committee’s due to arrive. You’d better get out front.”

I hastily put the finishing touches on the cooler of lemonade I was making, adding lemon slices and more ice. “Tell the guys to break for lunch,” I said over my shoulder. “They need to get out of the sun. They’ve been working hard.”

“Will do. I’ll have ’em store the serviceberry in the garage so it doesn’t take the heat of the day.” Pop headed to the back yard, where the ‘crew’ had worked all morning, digging out the serviceberry for transplanting.

I lugged the cooler to the front porch in time to see three ladies and two men trudge up my steps. As I expected, they were dressed in what I thought of as “summer togs,” a description I remembered from my Nancy Drew reading days. The women were in designer capris with matching tops, the men in lightweight trousers and crisp short-sleeved shirts. All were carrying clipboards and wearing fancy sunglasses.

“Miss Griffen?” A tall, imposing woman with blunt-cut gray hair extended her hand. “I believe this is the first time you’ve been entered in the competition. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I shook hands with her, something I normally didn’t do because it was painful, especially with someone like her, who had a firm grip. I forestalled the others by offering a glass of lemonade and we stood on the porch for a few minutes while they sipped and evaluated the front garden.

“The steps are a challenge,” one of the men said.

“We’ll have accessibility via the driveway.” I gestured to my left. “We’ll move our cars for the day, so people can park in the garage if needed.”

“Good.” The man ticked off something on his clipboard.

“Why don’t you show us the tour?” the woman suggested. “We’ll make notes as we go. If you’d like a member of your grounds crew to join us, that would be fine.”

My grounds crew? “They’re busy at the moment. We’re doing some last-minute transplanting.” As I spoke, Mason rounded the corner of the garage, tucking in one of Pop’s T-shirts—a clean blue one, which strained across his chest.

“Sorry, Boss. I lost track of time.” Mason hurried to my side, smiling at the committee members. “Sorry, folks.

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