One dozen black roses lay scattered on the oriental Kashmar carpet. Mingled with tightly woven wool of red, blue, ivory, peach, and green, the petals had once been lovely—as lovely as the elegant but lifeless woman lying face down among them. With no evidence of a struggle, nothing taken, and no sign of forced entry, Vivian Greer’s cause of death might have been ruled a heart attack. But it was the third such death among the mature members of Diligent Gardeners and like the others Vivian had no prior history of coronary problems. What she did have was air bubbles in her heart.
When she caught it on the noon news, Lila’s heart shattered along with the tea cup that slipped through her fingers. She instinctively reached for the phone to call her friend and neighbor, NYPD police sergeant, Leigh Durham. Between hiccupping sobs she cried, “Thank goodness you’re home! Can you come over right away?”
Leigh lived directly across the street in her tiny Bronx bungalow with Bandit, her black Lab and constant companion. “You taught me that the way to the house of a friend is never long, Lila. I’ll be there by the time you hang up the phone.” She was alarmed by Lila’s emotional plea, knowing she rarely lost her composure. Now she and Bandit sat quietly in Lila’s living room, allowing her time to calm herself and convey her grief.
“Vivian was one of my very best friends in the Diligent Gardeners club,” she sobbed into a delicate lace hanky. Leigh patted her arm reassuringly and smoothed back a lock of blue-tinted hair that had fallen into her eyes. “It’s hard enough losing friends when we’ve lived out the good years God granted us, but to lose them like this! It’s just not right!” Her tone softened as she said, “Who would want to do away with harmless old ladies for no apparent reason? Just because we adore flowers and care about the environment doesn’t mean we should be eliminated.”
Leigh worried that Lila could possibly be the next victim, but covered her concern with a comforting smile. “Believe me, the death of your friends is top priority at the precinct, Lila. No matter their age, we won’t stand for women in the Bronx becoming senseless homicide victims, or anywhere else in the city for that matter.”
“I know that, Leigh…I know that.” Her eyes looked bleak. It’s just that I can’t stand losing another dear friend. And,” she squeezed Leigh’s hand tightly, “I have this terrible suspicion that the killer is one of us!”
“Lila, no! Why would an elderly woman, one of your own club members for heaven’s sake, commit such terrible crimes? It makes no sense!”
“About as much sense as choosing helpless elderly women as victims, Leigh?” She drew a pensive breath and said pleadingly, “I know you have a lot on your mind, child, with all the cases you’re dealing with, but I’m going to ask a favor. I want you to go undercover as a member of Diligent Gardeners.” Before Leigh could voice an objection, Lila hurried on. “There’s no age restriction and I want you to come with me to the meetings. Once you get to know all the ladies, I’m certain you’ll ferret out which one is committing these horrendous acts.”
“But Lila, I don’t know anything about flowers!””
“Welcome to the club,” Lila smiled beatifically
~ ~ ~
Although in her mid-seventies, the meticulously dressed woman moved with the quick light step of a girl, closing the distance between her and Mable Kraft, her unsuspecting quarry. Catching sight of the empty syringe, the alarmed victim looked at it in surprise. Too late, she tried to pull away, her surprise turning to shock when the needle sank into her neck. “What are you doing?” she shrieked. Pushing down the plunger, the elderly executioner delivered a deadly air bubble into the woman’s jugular, sending it directly into her bloodstream and from there to her heart.
“Why I know exactly what I’m doing, my dear Mable, and now so shall you. You’ll find that as little as half a milliliter of air injected into a major vein will cause instant death—your death, I’m afraid.” Mable’s eyes widened in disbelief, then keening with excruciating pain, she grasped her chest and collapsed to the floor. The killer stood triumphantly over the lifeless body. “It was you I wanted all along. The others were merely a distraction to send the police off in a useless pursuit. But I believe I should do away with a few others to add to the confusion. An even dozen would be nice, don’t you think?” Receiving no reply, she took that as Mable’s assent.
Stepping outside, the woman retrieved the long-stemmed black roses she’d left lying in a bundle at the side of the door and carried them to the parlor. Mable’s sightless eyes stared at the assassin from the beautifully carpeted floor while she scattered the petals. Stepping back to relish her handiwork, she spoke with hatred edging her words. “I wouldn’t worry about this, Mable. After all, ‘our bit of time on earth is caught up in God’s eternity.’ Isn’t that what you said when you took Henry from me all those long years ago? You thought to console me with those empty words! You imagined I would simply go on about my life and not harbor ill-will toward you and the choice you forced him to make.”
The killer gloried in her accomplishment. She’d practiced endlessly on a large, anatomically correct doll coming at it from all possible angles. Now she had the art of jugular penetration down to a deadly science. I do believe our lovely Lila shall be next, she told herself. She felt an exhilarating rush of adrenalin. The newspapers had declared her work to be malicious homicides. So I am a malicious murderess the woman marveled, and found it not at all objectionable.