Murder in the Secret Garden Read Online Free

Murder in the Secret Garden
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her website. The more I read, the more I disliked the woman. I also watched some video clips and they made my skin crawl. She’s as cold as the White Witch of Narnia. You should hear how gleefully she describes the manner in which certain poisonous plants affect people—she truly admires their power to injure or to kill. And one only has to watch her for a few minutes to tell that she didn’t give a fig about the fate of the poor souls who came into contact with these plants.”
    â€œMaybe it’s all for show,” Jane suggested.
    Raising her index finger, Mrs. Hubbard said, “She bears watching, Jane. Trust me.”
    Jane reached out and took Mrs. Hubbard’s hand. “After what happened here during the Romancing the Reader convention, I wouldn’t dream of ignoring your instincts. I’ll keep a close eye on her. I promise.”
    â€œThere’s something else.”
    â€œYes?” Jane asked, feeling an inexplicable sense of dread.
    Mrs. Hubbard squeezed Jane’s hand for emphasis. “Don’t let that witch within a mile of my kitchens. Or near any food, for that matter. She knows a hundred different ways to kill someone using plants. And many of those plants are now growing right outside our back door.”

TWO
    As much as Jane wanted to view Mrs. Hubbard’s behavior as purely theatrical, she didn’t dare. Ever since Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia had informed her that Edwin Alcott was a notorious book thief, Jane had started to doubt her own ability to form character judgments.
    Edwin’s secret profession wasn’t the only thing that had turned Jane into a more suspicious person. As the Guardian of Storyton Hall, she was responsible for protecting the hidden library located in the tallest tower. And if a duplicitous potential lover and an invaluable collection of books, documents, and scrolls weren’t enough to keep Jane on alert all the time, the fact that several murders had occurred at Storyton Hall since she’d become the resort’s manager certainly had.
    â€œThat’s over with now,” she told herself en route to her office. “This week is all about nature lovers. History buffs, gardeners, and foodies. What could be more peaceful than a bunch of events attended by people who spend their free time studying, growing, and using herbs?”
    And yet Jane felt compelled to visit Constance Meredith’s website. At first glance, the site was unremarkable. The moss green background and black font were easy on the eye, and there was a banner that said THE POISON PRINCESS, surrounded by delicate roses. Constance’s photograph, which revealed her to be a raven-haired beauty with pale skin and dark, impenetrable eyes, looked more like a Broadway headshot than the photograph of a renowned botanist. Jane reasoned that with Constance’s numerous television appearances, she probably saw herself as the botanical version of Dr. Oz. To capitalize on that image, she marketed herself as a celebrity professor.
    Jane clicked on a link called “Poison Plants by Zone” and was startled when the roses around the banner turned from pink to brown and the thorns grew dangerously sharp and pointy. A quote floated to the top of the screen.
    Within the infant rind of this weak flower
    Poison hath residence and medicine power.
    â€œShakespeare,” Jane said and tried to recall which play. She could picture a portly friar explaining that the flower in his hand had the power to heal or to kill. “The flower had the power to poison,” she murmured. “It foreshadowed the doom of two young lovers.
Romeo and Juliet.
”
    Scrolling farther down the page, Jane found several video clips of the Poison Princess at work. One showed her reviewing a patient’s mysterious medical symptoms with a physician. Mrs. Hubbard was right. Constance Meredith described the symptoms, some of which were quite gruesome, with ill-disguised
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