Chapter 6 - What Was Buried Beneath the Lemon TreeThe men approaching the greenhouse were not police officers.
That was Grace's first relief.
Her second thought was that perhaps they were something worse.
They wore tailored suits and carried leather portfolios. One had a camera mounted on a short inspection pole.
Grace recognized Martin Shaw walking behind them.
She ducked behind the hedge bordering the cottage and watched.
Martin unlocked the greenhouse latch.
The men entered.
One began photographing the interior. Another pointed toward Lydia's lemon tree.
Grace felt her pulse quicken.
She stepped onto the gravel path.
"Excuse me!"
Martin turned.
His expression tightened.
"Grace. You shouldn't be here."
"I live here."
"You're suspended from work."
"I'm walking outside my cottage."
The oldest visitor offered a polite smile.
"We're conducting a property assessment."
"Of the greenhouse?"
"Among other structures."
Grace looked at the lemon tree.
It stood in its large blue ceramic planter beside the eastern wall. Lydia had chosen the pot herself after visiting a pottery studio in Lancaster.
One of the men reached toward it.
"Please don't move that," Grace said.
Martin folded his arms.
"This is company property."
"It was a gift from Sophie's mother."
"That doesn't change ownership."
Grace knew arguing would not help.
"What are you assessing?"
Martin answered before the visitor could.
"Structural condition. Maintenance requirements. Routine matters."
Grace looked at the camera.
"Does routine maintenance require four people in suits?"
The man holding the portfolio stopped smiling.
Martin stepped closer.
"Go back to your cottage."
Grace met his eyes.
"Did you find the missing monitoring wells yet?"
For the first time, Martin's composure broke.
Only slightly.
But Grace saw it.
He lowered his voice.
"You've misunderstood the reports."
"Then explain them."
"Your employment has been suspended. Don't make matters worse."
Grace looked toward the greenhouse again.
The oldest visitor was studying the lemon tree.
Something cold settled in her stomach.
They were searching for something.
And Martin knew exactly what.
She turned toward the cottage.
Behind her, Martin called, "Grace."
She stopped.
"Take the rest of the week to arrange alternative housing."
She turned back.
"Are you firing me?"
"Human resources will contact you."
"You can't just throw me out."
"No one is throwing anyone anywhere."
But his voice carried a warning.
Grace walked away without answering.
Inside the cottage, she called Naomi.
Naomi listened, then asked her to email photographs of the visitors if she had them.
"I didn't take any."
"That's all right. Write down what you saw while it's fresh."
"They're searching Lydia's greenhouse."
"Possibly. But we don't know that."
"They're going to move her lemon tree."
Naomi paused.
"Grace, don't enter restricted work areas or take company property. That could undermine your case."
Grace looked through the window.
"What if Lydia left something there?"
"Then we find a lawful way to preserve it."
Grace knew Naomi was right.
She hated that Naomi was right.
That evening, Daniel summoned Martin to his office.
"Why are outside consultants inspecting the greenhouse?"
Martin adjusted his tie.
"Your mother requested a condition survey."
"Why?"
"The property portfolio is being evaluated ahead of negotiations."
"The greenhouse isn't on the north parcel."
Martin paused.
"Potential buyers sometimes want comprehensive information."
Daniel leaned back.
"Who authorized them to enter?"
"Eleanor."
"She doesn't control day-to-day operations."
"She owns a significant interest."
"So do I."
Martin said nothing.
Daniel placed a folder on his desk.
"These are the June invoices."
Martin looked down.
"You requested them."
"Six monitoring wells. One hundred and eighty-four thousand dollars."
"Correct."
"An additional seventy-two thousand for environmental engineering."
"Correct."
"And another ninety-six thousand for project supervision."
"Standard costs for specialized work."
Daniel held up one invoice.
"Why does the contractor address belong to a mailbox rental service in Wilmington?"
Martin did not immediately answer.
"It may be their registered mailing address."
"What is the name of the engineer who signed the field report?"
"Daniel—"
"What's his name?"
Martin glanced at the page.
"Richard Bell."
"I called the engineering licensing board."
Martin went still.
"They couldn't find a Pennsylvania professional engineer registered under that name with the license number on this report."
The room became quiet.
Martin clasped his hands.
"There may be a clerical error."
"Three hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars is a substantial clerical error."
"I'll investigate."
"You'll provide the original contractor agreement, payment details, and supporting records to independent counsel."
Martin stared at him.
"Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm telling you the records don't make sense."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Martin rose.
"Your mother won't appreciate this."
Daniel looked toward the window.
Beyond the lawn, he could see the greenhouse roof.
"She hasn't appreciated much I've done lately."
Martin collected his portfolio.
At the doorway, he turned.
"Your father trusted Eleanor with the business for decades."
Daniel replied quietly.
"My father also created an independent trust for Sophie."
Martin's hand tightened around the door handle.
After he left, Daniel opened his computer and searched for the company listed on the invoices.
Morrow Field Services.
The website consisted of a single page.
No employees were named.
No completed projects were listed.
The phone number forwarded to a generic voicemail service.
Daniel copied the address into a search engine.
Another company used the same mailbox.
Cresswell Management LLC.
He opened its state business filing.
One of the listed authorized contacts was Martin Shaw.
Daniel stared.
Then he searched the company's prior annual reports.
A document from four years earlier listed a different authorized contact.
Eleanor Vale.
Across the estate, Grace was packing a bag when Rosa knocked softly.
"I brought you dinner."
Grace opened the door.
Rosa carried a covered casserole dish.
"You shouldn't be here," Grace said.
"Probably."
They sat at the kitchen table.
Grace told Rosa about the consultants and Lydia's lemon tree.
Rosa's expression changed.
"I remember that pot."
"Did Lydia ever tell you why she chose it?"
"She said it was special."
"Special how?"
Rosa looked toward the window.
"Grace, the greenhouse was her private place near the end. She spent hours there after treatments. Sometimes she asked me to bring her documents from Daniel's office."
Grace felt her heart beating faster.
"What documents?"
"Company statements. Trust correspondence. Invoices."
"And you brought them?"
"She was Daniel's wife. I had no reason to refuse."
Rosa hesitated.
"Once, she asked me to bring a waterproof envelope."
Grace leaned forward.
"What did she do with it?"
"I don't know. But she asked whether the lemon tree could survive being moved."
Grace looked toward the dark greenhouse.
The pot had a wide detachable base.
She remembered helping Lydia position it.
And she remembered Lydia insisting that the heavy planter remain on the far side of the greenhouse, where nobody would accidentally knock it over.
"Rosa," Grace whispered, "I think I know what they want."
Rosa reached across the table.
"Then don't let them know you know."
At that moment, headlights swept across the cottage window.
A black sedan stopped outside.
May you like
Eleanor Vale stepped out.
And in her hand was a formal letter bearing Grace's full name.
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