Too Mulch to Handle (English Cottage Garden Mysteries ~ Book 6) by H.Y. Hanna

Author:H.Y. Hanna [Hanna, H.Y.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: H.Y. Hanna
Published: 2022-06-24T16:00:00+00:00

STOP DIGGING IN GARDENS THAT ARE NOT YOUR CONCERN.

CATS AREN’T THE ONLY THING KILLED BY CURIOSITY.

Underneath was a crude drawing showing a spade next to a rectangular mound of earth, with a headstone at one end and a bunch of flowers growing at the other. Poppy caught her breath. It was a threat, a warning—there was no doubt about it. Someone was warning her that if she continued to dig for information, she could be digging her own grave as well.

She looked up quickly and leaned over the front gate, peering up and down the lane outside. It was empty. Whoever had dropped off this note was long gone. She hesitated for a moment, then turned and began walking back up the path, towards the cottage—still staring down at the paper she held in her hand. Her mind raced as she wondered who could have put it in her letterbox. It was obviously someone who didn’t want her asking questions about Thales’s murder—yes, although it hadn’t been specifically mentioned, she was sure she was being warned off the murder investigation into his death.

She had just rounded the corner of the cottage and was heading towards the rear door, which led back into the attached greenhouse, when she heard a sound behind her. She stiffened and paused, listening. Had it been a creak? Like the sound of a gate opening?

Poppy whirled around and peered back up the path, her heart suddenly thumping. She was around the side of the house now and so the view of the front gate was obscured by the corner of the building. Had someone come in through the front gate? Maybe whoever had put the note in the letterbox hadn’t left after all? Maybe they were here in the gardens with her now—hiding behind the bushes, lurking in the shadows, watching her, waiting to catch her unawares…

She swallowed, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that was rapidly turning into a surge of fear. Nell was away, Bertie was in Oxford, and from what she could see of Nick’s house beyond the wall at the edge of the garden, it seemed empty, the windows dark and shuttered. The crime writer seemed to be out as well. So she was all alone here at the cottage, which was at the edge of the village, down a lonely cul-de-sac…

Don’t be silly, she admonished herself. Loads of women live alone and it’s not like you’re in the middle of an inner-city slum. You’re in a sleepy little village in the English countryside—what could happen to you here?

Still, she wished suddenly that she hadn’t taken Einstein back to Bertie’s house when she had returned from Miss Finch’s place earlier. She would have felt a lot safer having the feisty little terrier with her. Glancing down, she caught sight of a galvanised-metal watering can sitting by the edge of the path, where she had left it earlier. Bending slightly, she groped with one hand until she could feel the handle. The can was still half filled with water, which sloshed gently as she lifted it up.

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