The Secret Garden Of Martha Grim.
By Richard A. Lopez (c) 1992

Page 11...


Dreams of floating crossed though Quinn's mind, as he felt a coolness about his forehead. Was he still in Porters Crossing, or was this what it was like when you stepped over to the great beyond? Then it started coming back to him. The highway, Cole, the pain, the beating. Cole!
Roy sat up with a start! Just as quickly, white hot explosions of pain, like fourth of July fireworks, resounded in his head, forcing him to lie back slowly. The soft cushions a little comfort to the realization that he had just had the tar kicked out of him by that delinquent, Willie Cole. New thoughts also started to come to his mind, if this was the hospital, where was the noise? And the smell, that wasn't antiseptic he smelled. Smelled, fragrant, like rose, but heavier. He couldn't quite place it. No, this was no hospital, but where then, and who?
Someone must have seen him lying by the road, and picked him up. Taken him to their home. Again, who had done this, and had they called his office?
Dammit! He needed questions answered and he needed them answered now!

Quinn tried to open his eyes again, slowly, very slowly. His vision was blurred for a moment, but he soon focused on a huge vase holding a bouquet of the darkest red roses he'd ever seen. Another vase held some brightly colored flowers, the colors so bright, it almost hurt to look at them. For a moment, just for an instant, he could have sworn the plant moved. Almost as if it were watching him. The colors were vibrant, Quinn thought they were fake, but he noticed the vases were filled with water, so they had to be real. Still, there was something surreal about them, he could not help but stare at there beauty.
Forcing himself to look away, he took stock of his surroundings. No, this was definitely not a hospital. It looked more like a museum then a home. Everywhere you looked, there were very old furnishings, yet they looked like they had just been bought yesterday. It was an antiques dealers wet dream, he thought, this stuff had to be worth a fortune. There were also more of the flowers and plants. They were on every surface that could hold a pot or a vase. Not only that, but the vases, like the ones that held the brightly colored flowers and roses, were at least five feet tall! Free standing and made from an dark looking, opaque glass. Man, Quinn thought, those bastards must weigh a ton without the water!
He also noticed that there were no metal or plastic objects to be found, anywhere in the room, which itself, was large enough to hold a very big gathering if one were so inclined. Everything in the room was natural, either wood or plant. Even the shades covering the windows were bamboo. He wasn't sure of which there were more of, the plants or the antiques.
Quinn noticed something else as well. Atop the mantel, of what was probably the biggest stone fireplace he himself had ever seen, were photographs of seven different women. They appeared to be different, yet, but for the manor of way they were dressed,in a way they seemed to be the same person. "It may be just the beating," Quinn muttered to himself, "but I'll be damned if that isn't Martha Grim." Gingerly, Quinn rose from the couch that he'd been resting on, and carefully walked closer for a better look. His ribs were killing him, that damn Cole, when he got back to the office, he was going make his life a living hell. Willie didn't know he hadn't called the office, but as long as he thought he did, that was all Quinn needed to keep him paranoid. Quinn went to reach for one of the photos, when a voice spoke from behind him, "I see you've regained consciousness, Sheriff."
Quinn turned to find a living representative of one of the photographs standing in the doorway holding a tray. Quinn tried to hide the fact that she had just about scared the living crap out of him, coming in as she did, he hadn't even heard the door open. "Are you sure you should be standing so soon, Sheriff?" She spoke as she entered, "That was a nasty beating you took" she crossed over to a table and set the tray she was carrying, down. From what he could make out, it looked like it had tea servings. What Quinn could use right now was a good stiff drink and a phone, in that order.
She was speaking when he came back to reality, "...from what I saw that Mr.Cole should be put in jail! That was just awful!"
"Are you alright Sheriff? Maybe you should sit down?"
Quinn just stood there. She'd seen it. She witnessed the beating. Cole was dead.
He looked at her, he had seen her before, but only from a distance. Even in this dim light of the room, he could tell that she was a very striking woman. Standing there, dumbfounded, Quinn could not help but stare at this woman's beauty.
In a way, he could not blame Cole for following her.
She spoke again, "Sheriff, I must insist you sit down, that was a very nasty attack."
She came over to where he stood and lead him back to the couch.
Quinn allowed himself to be led back to the couch, never once taking his eyes off the guide, all the while, the ever present scent of roses had grown heavier and heavier.
As they sat, Quinn could feel her gaze on him, as if she were staring into his very being. He brought himself back to the present. "You witnessed what Cole did?" he asked, he was feeling a bit groggy, "Everything? But I saw him following you. That's why I stopped him. Matter of fact I thought he meant to cause you harm."
"Well Sheriff," she said, her hand still held his, "I had seen you pull him over in my rear view mirror, and seeing how he'd been harassing me as of late, I thought it might be a perfect time to lodge my complaint, but I had to find a place to turn my car around." She was stroking his hand. Her touch was oddly cool, downright cold.
"Sheriff?" she asked, "Are you sure you're alright?" This time her hand moved up to his arm.
The coldness of her touch brought Quinn back around again, "I...I'm sorry, Ms.Grim, I..I don't mean to stare, it's just." he stammered. Blinking away the fog that was clouding his thoughts, Quinn seemed to have to fight to get his thoughts in order, "How did you get me back here, Ms.Grim, surely someone must have stopped to help you?" He met her gaze, her eyes were the greenest he'd ever seen, almost too green to be real.
"Why Sheriff, when I saw Mr.Cole speeding off, and then you lying there, I had to help you. You were barely conscious." she was stroking his arm, why was she stroking his arm?
"No offense Ms.Grim, but I'm not a small guy, how did you manage to get me into the car, let alone up off the roadside?" he said, that smell was almost intoxicating.
"Well Sheriff, you were, after all, semi-conscious. All it took was a little coaching and I guided you back into my car." she said in a demure fashion.
She had gotten up to get the tea. "Really Sheriff, getting you back her was no trouble. I mean, what kind of citizen would I be, if I'd left you there, it such a state." She seemed to be floating, her gown flowing behind her on some unfelt, unseen breeze.
Shaking his head, Quinn tried hard to focus, the smell of roses was almost suffocating. "Tell me, Ms.Grim.."
"Martha, please." she interrupted, serving him his tea.
"OK, Martha," he continued, taking the tea, the cup so fragile in his hands, "Why would Cole be bothering you?"
"In all the time I've been Sheriff, I've not received one complaint about you."
"He's a brute, Sheriff. He's angry because I won't let him on my property. I keep telling him I do my own gardening, I don't need a gardener." she said as she stroked the leaves of one of her plants. The plant seemingly came to life at her touch. He must have a concussion, he thought, he was seeing things. All the plants seemed more animated, and that damned roses smell.
Something wasn't right.
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To be Continued