The Gardener

"You'll want to hire a gardener, of course." Adrianne Randall was the epitome of gracious superiority. "Mr. Potsworth did his best, I'm sure, rest his soul, but you know how these do-it-yourselfers are. A tree here, a shrub there, a bed of annuals in the corner, and they call it landscaping." She took another sip of her tea and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from her linen blouse. Marian Gibbs murmured assent and tried not to think about the mountain of boxes she should be unpacking.

"It looks like he put a lot of work into the place," she observed, perhaps a bit defensively.

"Work, yes, but my dear, there's no style, no art, no flair! It's just, well, plants! Now Mr. Horuki, well, he's just a little genius. He'll turn this little terrace of yours into a corner of old Japan."

"Assuming that's what we want."

"But of course it is! It's all the rage, my dear. Here." Adrianne reached into her miniscule handbag. "I brought you his card. I just knew you'd want to call him. He's just the dearest little thing. You'll adore him, everyone in South Cape does."

"He must be a very busy man," Marian smiled.

"Well, he has help, of course. He's almost a corporation, I always tell him. He'll work wonders, you'll see, and so reasonable, too."

"What was that all about?" Ted asked when Adrianne was finally gone.

"She wants us to hire her gardener. Such a dear little man, she says"

"Naturally you told her we'd be doing our own yard work."

"I didn't want her to think we can't afford to hire someone."

"Well, we can't. We can barely afford the mortgage and utilities, let alone a gardener, for heaven's sake."

"She doesn't need to know that," Marian pouted.

"How are you planning to keep it a secret with her living right next door?"

"There's the high board fence all around, and with that row of cypress trees between us, they can't see who's doing the work. I'll just tell her we've hired someone else."

It took several weeks to unpack and get settled in, but with the help of a gardening guide, some sample layouts, and half a dozen mail-order catalogues, the yard eventually began to take shape. Adrianne was of course disappointed that the Gibbs hadn't hired "that dear Mr. Horuki", but she grudgingly admitted that this Friedrich Schuller's work was adequate, if not exactly inspired. Privately, though, she had her doubts.

"The very idea, hiring someone who just showed up at her door, with no references, or even an answering service," she sniffed to her more genteel friends. "It just isn't done. Why, he could be a burglar, or a rapist, or even a mass murderer, for all we know. Besides, who ever heard of a German gardener!"

She also found it strange that no matter what hour of which day she happened to drop by, he was never there. Marian explained that he worked a relief shift for a delivery service, taking other drivers' shifts on their days off or when they were sick, so he never had the same schedule from one week to the next. Logical enough, but still rather odd.

A year went by, then two. Marian was getting dressed for her Tuesday morning dance class when the police knocked at the door. There had been a burglary at the Randall residence. Some jewelry had been taken, a silver tea service, and a small amount of cash.

"Have you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary in the last few days?" they wondered. "Any strange cars cruising around?"

"Not that I've noticed," she replied.

"How about service trucks or salespeople in the area?"

"Sorry, no."

"Mrs. Randall tells us you have a gardener who keeps unusual hours. Is he here today?"

Marian shook her head. "No, but he couldn't possibly be involved in anything like this."

"I'm sure he isn't," the officer responded, "but we'll need a description just the same."

She hadn't thought of that. To admit to these earnest young men that she'd been putting up a front for her neighbors would be too humiliating. She had to tell them something. Suddenly she remembered an old movie actor she'd seen on the late show a few days before. He'd been dead for years, so that should be safe enough. She took a deep breath and described him in detail, from his wavy blonde hair and the cleft in his chin, to the slight limp when he walked. The officers thanked her and left.

It was Friday afternoon when Ted came home from work with the news.

"The police came by the office today," he grinned. "It seems they've arrested your gardener."

"That's impossible!" Marian protested. "There is no such person."

"Well, he fits your description to a T, or so they said."

"Then they've got the wrong man." She reached for the phone. "I have to call them and tell them the truth." Ted took the receiver from her hand.

"He's the right man, alright. They picked him up at the pawn shop trying to sell Adrianne's jade necklace. They searched his place and found the rest of the stuff. Besides that, he has several priors for burglary. He was using the name Fred Shepard, but that's probably just an alias."

"I don't believe it." Marian sat down heavily on the kitchen chair. "I just don't believe it. It's just not possible."

Later that evening she tried to call Adrianne and explain the incredible coincidence, but the housekeeper was adamant. Mrs. Randall did not wish to speak to her, and requested that she not call again.

It was almost a relief when Ted was transferred to the West Coast the following spring. Much as Marian hated moving, it was obvious they had no future in South Cape, at least not socially. Anyway, there was a sizable salary increase, and the promise of a promotion just down the line.

When it finally came through, they went house-hunting again. A vice-president in charge of marketing needed a larger place with room for entertaining, and a yard big enough for guests to roam around and be comfortable.

"Go ahead and hire a housekeeper," Ted told Marian, "and a gardener, too. We can afford it now, and you deserve to take things easy for a change. You've earned it." A couple of days later the agency called.

"I don't have a housekeeper for you just yet, but I think I've got a gardener lined up. He says he's worked for you before."

"Obviously he's mistaken me for someone else," Marian surmised. "What's his name?"

"Schuller. Friedrich Schuller. Shall I send him over? .... Mrs. Gibbs, are you still there? .... Hello?"


The End
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