On Harrow Hill

An hour later, he pulled into the busy parking lot of Snook’s Green World Nursery. Some customers were perusing the flower and vegetable seedlings on the outdoor tables, while others were making their way through the greenhouses. After a brief search, he located a potted tulip display, chose three pots with brightly colored varieties, paid for them, and secured them on the floor behind the front seat of the Outback.

He chose a route to Walnut Crossing that meandered through a succession of hills and valleys and wildflower meadows, but it wasn’t because of the views that he chose it. It was because it was less direct and would add time to the drive. He’d accepted the need to be present at the Winkler dinner, but he had no desire to arrive early.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the road-maintenance delay just outside Walnut Crossing. A pair of backhoes were deepening the drainage ditch alongside the road, and the final downhill stretch into the village that would normally take a minute to drive through took nearly twenty. It made him wonder how often lateness was a by-product of the fear of being early.

At Gerry Mirkle’s driveway, he pulled in behind an eco-looking vehicle, no doubt belonging to the Winklers. He glanced at his dashboard time display and noted with relief that it was just 7:15. Arriving a quarter of an hour late could hardly be viewed as a problem.

As he was getting out of the car, Gerry opened a screen door to the driveway. She had a drink in her hand and a grin on her face.

“Welcome, traveler, we’re just getting ready to eat.”

He followed her through the door into a brightly lit kitchen with pictures of roosters on three of the walls. The aroma of Indian spices filled the air.

The Winklers—vegan-pale and wearing matching undyed-wool sweaters—were standing in the middle of the room, each holding a small bottled water.

Madeleine was carrying a covered casserole from the oven to a counter that separated the working part of the kitchen from a homey dining area with a pine table and captain’s chairs. She set the casserole on a black-iron trivet and gestured toward the Winklers.

“You remember Deirdre and Dennis?”

Gurney walked over to Dennis with his hand extended and a smile that he hoped was sufficient to conceal his distaste for the man. “Nice to see you again.”

Dennis sniffled loudly as they shook hands. Wearing a slim-cut white linen shirt, partly tucked into designer jeans, he had the curled lip of a perpetually unsatisfied connoisseur.

Deirdre offered a pale cheek to receive a welcoming kiss, which Gurney bestowed lightly.

“Oh, my . . .” she said, drawing back in dismay. “Sorry about that. You seem to have a strong negative aura. But of course you do. You’re still doing police work, aren’t you?”

“To some extent.”

He wanted to avoid being more specific. It wasn’t just his basic cop instinct for saying as little as possible about a current case. It was the fact that his last personal involvement with the Winklers involved Dennis’s exposure to the frightening finale of the Peter Pan murders—a memory he didn’t think anyone would want to revisit.

In an attempt to change the subject, he waved his hand toward the casserole. “Hopefully a nice dinner will get rid of my negative aura.” He peered at the bottle in Dennis’s hand. “What are you drinking?”

“The only absolutely pure water in America.”

“Speaking of which,” said Gerry to Gurney with a wink, “would you care to wet your whistle with an absolutely pure gin and tonic?”

“I would. Thank you!”

He followed Gerry to the counter, where she had the drink makings and a bucket of ice. He watched as she poured a generous shot of gin into a tall glass.

“So, how goes it?” she asked in a confidential tone.

He shrugged. “It’s . . . complicated.”

She glanced over toward the Winklers, as if to be sure they weren’t overhearing her. “All I know is what Maddie told me, but it sounds horrendous and totally weird.”

“It’s all of that.”

She poured some tonic over the gin, added ice cubes and a wedge of lemon, handed him the glass, then raised her voice to a more public level. “Okay, everybody, let’s make our way to the table. Madeleine’s put together a wonderful vegetarian biryani, and the scent of that cinnamon and cardamom is making me drool!”

While the Gurneys and Winklers were seating themselves, she went back and forth to the kitchen, bringing dishes of chutney, curried potatoes, and oven-warmed chapatis to the table.

“Wonderful stuff, Gerry,” said Gurney after sampling a few items.

“Very nice,” said Dennis. His flat tone suggested he’d had nicer things.

“By the way,” said Deirdre, “have any of you been following what’s going on up in Larchfield?”

“We don’t have a TV,” said Gurney quickly, having no desire to disclose his involvement. “What are they saying about it?”

“Horrible is a mild word for it,” said Deirdre. “And the ironic thing is where it’s happening.”

“You mean Larchfield?” asked Madeleine.