The GARDEN of EDEN

"The Garden of Eden" is an original Peter Decker/Rina Lazarus tale written specifically for this anthology. It combines my love of gardening with my love of mystery writing. I gave my protagonist, Rina, gardening as a hobby because she's a nurturing person, and planting a garden is a way to give back to Mother Earth. The story deals with the search for the almighty buck when true treasures are found in the most unexpected places.

IT BEGAN AS SOMETHING RECREATIONAL, A WAY TO pass the time pleasantly, but then, as insidious as a burrowing maggot, it turned into an addiction. By six months, every room in the house was a biological testament to Rina Decker's hobby, from the bedrooms and bathrooms to the living room and the laundry room, plants, sprouts, shoots, and cultivars crowding out space once reserved for human inhabitants. Given the dire circumstances, she knew she'd have to act, but the decision was torturous. Which ones merited the honor of being houseplants, and which ones had to be sacrificed for the good of the family?

"I feel like I'm living in the Congo," Decker complained as he sipped coffee at the breakfast table. He was about to tackle the Sunday paper, though he harbored little hope of finishing it. Something always came up.

"What's wrong with the Congo?" Rina countered. "It's foreign, it's exotic . . . Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Sucked out by the miscreants in the streets of Los Angeles, thank you very much. God and Koolaire have given us creature comforts for a reason, Rina. If I wanted to live in a tropical rain forest, I'd pick a more idyllic spot than the San Fernando Valley. The house has become unbearable—way too hot, dripping wet, and teeming with bugs."

"That's because you leave the back door open."

"I leave the back door open because I'm a big guy and I need circulation. Otherwise I drown in my own sweat."

That was true. Peter was six-four, 230 pounds, and in great shape. The bulge of his winter gut usually melted away in the more active summer months. The only hints of his age in the sixth decade were the increasing streaks of white coursing through his ginger-colored hair and mustache. Rina's husband still cut a handsome figure. She said, "I know you need circulation. That's why the ceiling fans are on all the time."

"All they do is blow around the hot air. We need air-conditioning, darlin'."

"Orchids are sensitive."

"So are husbands." The ribbing was good-natured, but there was a lot of truth in it. "Look. I can tolerate the bathrooms. Bathrooms are usually wet and hot. And so are kitchens and laundry rooms. I'll even acquiesce to the living room and den. But I put my foot down with the bedrooms. Even Hannah's complaining. She feels that you've expropriated her space."

"That's ridiculous. There's nothing in her room except a few African violets."

"Fifteen, at last count."

"They barely fill up her windowsill."

Decker took a deep breath in an attempt to harness patience. "Rina, both your daughter and I are glad you found something that taps into your instinct to nurture and that pleases your aesthetic eye."

Rina stifled a smile. "It's my calling, Peter."

"Fantastic!" Decker said wryly. "Everyone should have a passion. Unfortunately, instead of a passion, I have a job . . . a demanding job. I've got to work, which means I've got to sleep. It's either your Bletilla striata or me."

Rina saw the desperate look on her husband's face. He had reached his limit. "I'll clear the bedrooms. I think I have a millimeter's worth of space on a shelf in the laundry area."

Inwardly, Decker chided himself for his laziness. "I know I've been promising to frame the prefab greenhouse." He wanted to add, The one that's taking up most of the room in the garage so that my vintage Porsche has been relegated to the driveway under a measly cover. But years of marriage had taught him a little tact. He didn't know why he kept putting off the construction of the greenhouse. It wouldn't take more than a half-day to build it. Maybe, psychologically, he was afraid of what would happen if she had even more room for plants. "And I appreciate that you haven't nagged me to build it even though we bought it months ago."

"You work hard and put up with long, long hours. Your time should be your own." Rina was using her best self-sacrificing voice. "That's precisely why I took up gardening. To occupy my time during those long, long hours—"

"All right, all right!" Decker broke in. He covered his face with his hands, then looked at her between his fingers. "Just promise me you won't turn into a dotty old lady like what's-her-name."

"Cecily Eden."

Decker smiled. "Yeah, dotty old Cecily with the eponymous garden. Is Eden really her last name, or did she change it to match her obsession?"

"As far as I know, it's her given last name, and she's not dotty. She's very sharp—a retired microbiologist. She always jokes that she went from growing aerobes to growing Aerides." Rina laughed out loud. When Decker didn't respond, she gently nudged his shoulder and said, "A little inside garden joke."

Decker tried to remain serious but finally gave in and laughed. She was so cheerful this morning. Rina was still his twenty-six-year-old bride, though she had climbed over the forty mark a few years ago. In the past, they had been mistaken for father and daughter, even though he was only twelve years older than she was. Rina had a beautiful complexion, and her hair was still black, although he rarely saw it in its full glory. Traditional Orthodox Jewish convention dictated that married women cover their locks whenever they went out in public. Lately, she'd taken to wearing big straw sun hats and goofy sunglasses.

"You really should see Cecily's garden, Peter. It's magnificent. She has the most unusual plants. The crowning jewel in her backyard is an imported Chinese sacred tree. It's like a magnolia but has these smaller white blossoms with an intoxicating citrus aroma. It's so green and gorgeous. It's from China, it blooms in the fall, just when most plants are fading away."

"I'm sure it's a sight to behold."

Copyright © 2006 by Faye Kellerman.