Page 102 of The Hangman's Rope

Mrs. Horowitz had been grateful to me for the suggestion and thrilled when I told her that it was all taken care of, that it wouldn’t cost her a thing.

She didn’t have to know that oleander was poisonous, and that I’d felt the need to plant something beautiful on that snake’s eternal resting place. May he rot in pieces.

I suppose in some ways, I was my father’s daughter just as much as I was my mother’s.

“There,” I said. “A year or two and it will be nice and shady here, with flowers blooming all summer long.”

“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Horowitz said.

Clapping her hands together with glee, she sat in her wheelchair, her voice trembling with an equal mix of emotion and age, and her daughter smiled at me and said, “Dad would love it, so yes, thank you so much.”

“No trouble at all,” I said, smiling.

“I can see if we don’t keep you in check, you’ll hardly be able to walk through here without stepping on or near some flowers.” Enocha, from the Bonaventure Historical Society, scrunched up her nose adorably and smiled at me. She was all for the tending I had been doing to many of the flowers and plants – thinning beds here, relocating some plants there, and generally assisting in the upkeep of the gardens to the point families were finding it less and less necessary to bring those garish artificial decorations to the cemetery.

That was a win in everyone’s book from an environmental standpoint.

“Oh, well, it’s nice to have so much open space to really indulge in this little passion of mine. I kind of love being a crazy plant lady.” I beamed back at them. “It’s in my genes. I get it from my mom,” I said to Mrs. Horowitz.

She smiled and nodded politely, and I got the impression that she’d really only heard half of what I’d said.

I gathered up my supplies and said, “I’ll let you all have a moment to yourselves, then.”

Enocha took the pot I’d brought over with the trowels and other tools in it from me, so I could struggle to my feet. I picked up the kneeling pad I’d been kneeling on and she and I wandered back in the direction of the caretaker’s shed and house.

“We’re really fortunate that you and Benjamin found each other and that you’re both so passionate about caring for the grounds here.”

“Another year and I have plans for Laurel Grove North and South if we can get permission.”

Enocha rolled her eyes and looked ecstatic. “God, yes! North is getting overgrown in parts, nothing is blooming anymore in others, and I don’t even know what you could do with South – there’s nothing in it!”

“Oh, give me time!” I said. “I’d love to get some roses started in South. Along some of the paved pathways and at every intersection. It’s a small start, but a good one, I think.”

“Sounds expensive.” Enocha made a bit of a face and I shook my head.

“My mother already has the starts going in her greenhouse in the back of her house. Plants can be expensive, but once you buy one, if you have the knowledge and the green thumb like my mother has, it’s only a matter of time. That’s why I said, give me a year or two – she’s already got starts going from all over Bonaventure to fill in some of the spots where things don’t flower anymore.”

“Color me impressed!” she declared, handing over the pot with my tools in it as we neared the caretaker’s shed. I took them from her and she looked back the way of the caretaker’s house and sighed.

“No rest for the wicked,” I said, chuckling, and Enocha shot me a look that said to tell her about it.

The bottom floor visitor’s center and giftshop run by the historical society was still being worked on and was nearing completion – but as with any historical society it was run by several alpha Karens and typically of the Boomer variety and thus getting anyone to agree on anything could and most of the time was like pulling teeth without anesthesia. Enocha wasyoung by comparison; I wouldn’t guess her age over thirty even though it was more than likely closer to her forties given with how she spoke with both wisdom and experience in several matters. Both only possibly gained from firsthand lived experience.

She was almost as much of a fixture around Bonaventure as Hangman or I which was honestly saying something considering welived here.

To be fair, Enochadidlive nearby in the surrounding neighborhoods. I was fairly certain she was close to my mother’s place. As in likely within a street or two and walking distance. I just hadn’t sussed out exactly where, yet – and that was okay. I liked the puzzle and the mystery of it.

While she and I were becoming friends, it was still very much along the lines of orderly and a businesslike arrangement. Even though I wasn’t technically employed in any official capacity by either the Historical Society or Bonaventure itself – I still treated both like they were my boss – because, after all, what they said was what went.

She said her goodbye’s and wandered in the direction of the house and I sighed and slipped gratefully out of the heat and direct sun into the shade of the caretaker’s shed which was a rather large metal outbuilding with a cement pad floor. Large enough to park the heavy equipment and several trucks out of view and with several workbenches and cabinets inside.

“Ahhh!”

I smiled but also slightly winced at the sound of utter frustration that Hangman made and jumped at the clang of a wrench against the cement as he either dropped it, or threw it.

“You okay?” I called out.

“Yeah, just the stupid fucking fuck is broken and might be beyond me to fucking fix it!” he called back.

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