The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree (Berkley Prime Crime)

to do about the sign,” Ophelia told her.
    Mildred frowned at it. “We should install it. Leave it leaning against the tree like that, somebody might come along and steal it”
    “Let’s take it around to the back,” Bessie said. “That way, if we don’t get around to it today, it won’t be out in plain sight”
    With Bessie carrying the sign, they went around to the back garden and stood for a moment, surveying the scene. The iris and lilies and roses were blooming in sweet profusion, and so were the weeds, which almost smothered the flowers. The honeysuckle was about to completely overwhelm the cardinal climber, and the foot of the garden, a boggy area, was a sea of green ferns.
    “Whew. Just look at this mess.” Ophelia shook her head. “There’s certainly plenty to do back here.”
    And there was. The grass had been recently mowed, but the borders needed to be cleaned out, the dead vines pulled off the fences, the low-hanging tree branches cut back, and the shrubs pruned. Some of the work—pruning the roses and dividing the lilies and other bulbs—would have to wait for the proper season. But the clearing-out could be done now, or at least started.
    “Where do you want us to begin, Bessie?” Ophelia asked.
    “Anywhere,” Bessie said, waving her arm. “Just choose a spot, any spot. Let’s pile all the weeds and debris in the middle of the yard for now. There’s a compost pile behind the vegetable garden—when we’re finished for the morning, we can carry everything over there. Mrs. Horner, over on Mimosa, promised Lizzy that we could clean out her hen-house in return for the chicken manure. It makes a really nice hot compost”
    “Sounds good to me,” Mildred said. “That’s what we like. Plenty of hot compost.” She pulled on her garden gloves and headed for the fence to take control of the rampaging honeysuckle, while Bessie started for the perennial border. Ophelia went to work beside her, and they began yanking weeds—Johnson grass, dog fennel, henbit, and ground ivy—throwing them onto a large pile on the grass.
    After they had been working for a few minutes, Ophelia said, “What’s this I hear about the Cartwright ghost, Bessie?”
    “Ghost?” Mildred turned, her clippers poised for attack. “Somebody’s seen the Cartwright ghost?”
    “My goodness,” Bessie said, sitting back on her heels. “Where’d you hear that, Ophelia?”
    “Mrs. Adcock,” Ophelia said. “She got the news from Mrs. Sedalius at church on Sunday. She told me about it yesterday.”
    “Word gets around, doesn’t it?” Bessie chuckled. “Well, I’ll tell you, Ophelia. I’ve lived in this neighborhood since I was a girl, and I keep hearing tales about folks seeing the Cartwright ghost. Over the years, dozens have told me they’ve seen her. But I’ve never seen her myself, and I didn’t believe Mrs. Sedalius when she said she’d seen her—black cloak, spade, and all. I figured she’d had too many nips of that bootleg rum she hides under her bed.”
    Ophelia laughed. Since Mrs. Adcock only knew Mrs. Sedalius as a fellow churchgoer, she probably didn’t know about the bootleg rum. “But you changed your mind?”
    “Well, not exactly,” Bessie said. “I still don’t believe in ghosts. That’s not my style. However, I will admit to a shiver or two when I heard that spade clinking.”
    “Spade?” Mildred asked.
    Which meant that Bessie had to tell the whole story, from beginning to end. When she had finished, Mildred asked slyly, “So when you heard the ghost digging, did you jump right out of bed and come down here to see what was going on?”
    “Not in the dark, you silly goose,” Bessie replied, and they all laughed. “I waited until it was bright daylight, before church. Then I came back here and looked all around. I didn’t see a thing.”
    “No holes?” Ophelia asked. “But if you heard the sound of digging—”
    “Nary a hole,” Bessie said firmly. She glanced toward the back of the garden. “Although I didn’t go poking around down there, where Miss Rogers thinks we ought to put the bog garden. It’s damp and overgrown, and I was wearing my Sunday shoes.”
    “I’ve never been back there,” Ophelia said. “There’s a creek, Lizzy said.”
    “Well, sort of.” Bessie got to her feet. “Actually, it’s more like a seep spring, which is why Miss Rogers thinks it will be a good place for a bog garden. But it’s going to take a lot of work. Most of those