The Lawn Gnome
When Kate Timmons moved in with her boyfriend, Price Whittington, she anticipated a permanent relationship even though the handsome, wealthy lawyer had been reluctant to make a commitment. She naturally assumed that Price would propose eventually, so it came as quite a shock when, after they had been living together for seven years, he announced that he had fallen in love with someone else and asked Kate to vacate his Boston brownstone as quickly as possible.
Thankfully, she had her own savings account and investment income from money she inherited from her mother. While she could not afford a place in Boston, she was able to purchase a house in Brewster Cove, a quaint little seaside village a forty-minute drive north of the city.
The house itself was what people euphemistically called a starter home: a small Cape Cod that needed a good deal of updating. But it was the property that attracted Kate. The one thing she missed living in Boston was having a yard. The house in Brewster Cove, unlike those in newer housing developments, had well-established trees. Unfortunately, the lawn had been neglected, and she would need to thin out much of the undergrowth. It would mean a lot of hard work, but with no man in her life, she would have a lot of free time on her hands.
On her first Sunday after moving into the house, Kate put on an old pair of jeans and a stained T-shirt and went out into the backyard. The first step was to mow the lawn; the second was to trim the overgrown hedges. While she was cutting back a thicket of berry bushes, she discovered a half-buried lawn gnome that looked as though it had seen its share of harsh New England weather. She pulled the gnome out of the ground, brushed off the loose dirt that clung to it and put the figure beside the back door.
Kate worked until late afternoon. Then, her muscles beginning to ache, she pulled off her gardening gloves, hung the pruning shears back on the hook and put the lawn gnome on the workbench the previous owners had installed in the garage. A washing with soap and water revealed that the gnome was in good shape with only a few nicks and dings in its plaster.
"A fresh coat of paint and you'll be as good as new," she concluded.
The following morning Kate woke up feeling sore and stiff. After all the lifting, stretching, squatting, lifting and carrying she did while moving into her house and clearing her yard, she discovered muscles she never knew existed.
Brushing her hair, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her outfit was drab: a gray skirt and a plain black blouse. What she needed was a piece of jewelry to brighten both her outfit and her spirits. She reached on top of her closet and took down her jewelry box.
"I must have a necklace I can wear."
When she opened the cherry wood box, she found a strand of pearls glistening against its blue velvet lining. Tears immediately sprang up in her eyes. The pearls belonged to Price's grandmother, and a year earlier he had asked Kate to wear them to a formal party held by his law firm. She had taken that gesture as a good omen, a sign of things to come. As she lovingly touched the perfectly shaped, matched pearls, she supposed she should send the necklace back to Price. It was a precious heirloom, and he would no doubt want to keep it in the family.
"He'll probably give it to her. I should keep it. After all, he—stop it!" Kate firmly told herself.
Dwelling on the past was no way to start a new life. She was determined not to be one of those bitter women who refused to let go. She hoped she would someday meet someone else, fall in love, marry and have a family, but even if fate decreed she remain single, she would make every attempt to live her life to the fullest.
She put the pearls back in her jewelry box, deciding that if Price wanted the necklace back, he would ask her to return it.
* * *
It was funny how, after being at her desk for only an hour, it was as though Kate had never been on vacation. Her work as a claims examiner for an insurance company was routine and unrewarding, financially and emotionally. Each claim form that crossed her desk was similar to the thousands of others that had previously crossed it.
The lunch breaks had become uncomfortable since she broke up with Price. Her female coworkers were hesitant to talk about their husbands and boyfriends around her, and they no longer inquired about her weekend plans. It was as though, as an unattached woman, she had become a social leper. Rather than put herself in such an awkward, uncomfortable situation, Kate avoided the company lunchroom and ate at her desk instead.
One day, when the other employees in the claims department headed for the elevators and stairwells, Kate took a sandwich and a can of diet soda out of a brown paper bag and spread The Boston Globe across her desk. Just as she put the last bite of the tuna sandwich in her mouth, she saw Price's engagement announcement.
That louse! she thought angrily.
For seven years, he had insisted he was not ready to marry; and yet only months after meeting Genevieve, he was engaged.
Kate felt the sudden urge to get up from her desk, get into her car and return to the peaceful sanctuary of her garden, away from her job, the city and everything that reminded her of Price Whittington. But she was far too level-headed to take such rash action. Like a martyr, she remained at her desk throughout the afternoon, reading through one claim form after another, her eyes frequently glancing at the clock on the wall.
Finally, the workday came to an end, and there was a mass exodus of employees eager to get out of the building. The traffic leaving the city proved to be worse than the incoming traffic in the morning. It was nearly half past six when Kate pulled into her driveway. A feeling of peace came over her, as though the Cape Cod was welcoming her home.
While eating her dinner of leftover Chinese takeout, she sketched a plan for her garden and made a list of the plants she wanted to purchase when she visited the nursery the following weekend. After doing the dishes, Kate thought about relaxing in her recliner with a good book and a glass of wine, but then she remembered the plaster gnome she had found buried beneath the shrubbery. She was not happy with the original colors. The black beard, black eyes and dark clothing gave the lawn ornament a somewhat menacing look.
Wanting something more whimsical in her garden, she repainted the figure, giving it a red conical hat, a matching shirt and a long white beard. Once finished, the redecorated gnome looked more like a jolly Christmas elf and less like a sinister fairy tale character. It was a definite improvement over its former macabre appearance.
Leaving the plaster figure on the workbench to dry, she went back into the house to take a hot, relaxing bubble bath and get ready for bed.
* * *
After quickly cleaning her house on Saturday morning, Kate drove to the nursery where she chose a selection of annuals and perennials in a variety of colors, as well as several flats of ground cover plants. As she was heading for the check-out counter, she spied a collection of lawn decorations: colored glass spheres, wooden windmills, plastic pink flamingoes and plaster deer, rabbits, squirrels and skunks. On impulse, she bought another gnome, one that resembled a leprechaun with red hair and beard and dressed in a green suit. Unlike her other lawn gnome that carried a lantern, this one had a pickaxe in its hand.
When she returned home from the nursery, she immediately began planting. Leaving a space in the center of a clearing for the birdbath, Kate made two symmetrical groups of flowers, putting taller plants in the back and shorter ones in the front. Between the two groups was a walkway, lined with paver stones. Once the plants were all in the ground, she placed the red-clad gnome, which she nicknamed Kringle, on the left side of the clearing and Seamus, his green-suited counterpart, on the right.
"So, how do you like your new home, boys?"
Kate knew people frequently talked to their plants. Some gardeners even claimed doing so made them grow faster. But did anyone talk to their lawn gnomes? For all she knew, she might be the first one. She saw nothing odd in talking to a plaster figure since she often verbally coaxed her car, television and computer into working properly.
"The day I hear the two of you answer me back is when I'll worry about my sanity."
After giving the plants a good watering, she rolled the hose up, put away her gardening tools and threw the trash in her garbage can. Once the birdbath was put in its place of honor, the yard would look worthy of a mention in Better Homes and Gardens magazine.
The following morning Kate walked into her backyard and gazed appreciatively at her domain. She was wondering if she ought to put a wooden bench near the garden when she saw the shattered remains of Seamus, the green gnome. Someone not only broke him but also took the time to crush the pieces.
"Damned delinquents," she swore, assuming local teenagers were behind the vandalism.
She went into the garage and got out a shovel. As she gathered up the pieces of the green-clad gnome, she noticed its metal pickaxe was missing.
"I hope the kid who took it has enough sense not to hurt anyone or anything with it."
* * *
Spring passed, and with the arrival of summer, Kate's garden was in full bloom. The two-tiered fountain birdbath, in addition to attracting birds, provided the soothing sound of falling water.
Every morning Kate drank her coffee on her back porch where she could enjoy the beauty of her garden. She considered the move to Brewster Cove to be one of the best decisions she ever made. She had even grown used to the commute to Boston—thanks to the audiobooks she played on her car stereo. Listening to a Dan Brown novel or a Stephen King thriller took her mind off the heavy traffic.
Price Whittington, meanwhile, was going ahead with his plans to marry Genevieve. One day, as the bride-to-be was looking at wedding gowns, her fiancé remembered the strand of pearls he had lent to his former girlfriend. Although he wanted his future wife to have the necklace, Price did not want to ask Kate to return it. He was afraid she might make a scene, and he had never been good at dealing with emotional women. Of course, he could always have someone else ask her, but again he was not sure how Kate would react. The last thing he wanted was for the situation to get ugly. He decided it would be easier to go up to Brewster Cove, sneak into her house and get the pearls himself.
Most people would never resort to such drastic measures, but Price was wealthy and considered himself above the law. Even in the unlikely event that he was caught, he had the legal connections and financial resources to get himself out of trouble.
It was not difficult to track Kate down and learn her schedule since she had always been a nine-to-five working girl. Early on a Wednesday morning, just as she was exiting I-95 and entering Boston, Price boarded an MBTA train at North Station and headed toward Brewster Cove. As he walked from the train station to Kate's house, he kept his head down, so no one passing by him would see his face beneath the brim of the Red Sox cap. With his peripheral vision, he caught glimpses of colonial houses, green lawns and flower gardens. He could not wait to get out of the boring little village, return to the city and take off the jeans, T-shirt and ball cap he had purchased from Walmart.
Ten minutes after arriving in Brewster Cove, Price found Kate's house. He stopped and looked around. There was no one in sight, so he sprinted past the side of the house to the backyard. He smiled when he saw that the kitchen window was not only large enough for him to squeeze through, but it was also low enough to the ground that he would not need to stand on a trashcan to get inside.
This is going to be a piece of cake, the lawyer thought smugly as he put on a pair of sturdy work gloves.
Then he walked to the edge of her garden to look for a heavy rock with which he could break the window.
This ought to get the job done, he concluded, picking up a paver stone that was slightly larger than his fist.
As he turned back toward the house, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He looked down and saw a red plaster lawn gnome holding a miniature pickaxe in his hand.
"What is Kate thinking, leaving something this dangerous lying around the yard?"
Price bent down and picked up the recently painted lawn ornament.
"She must really be losing it since we broke up. Why has she got a Christmas elf on her lawn in the middle of July?"
Without caring whether he broke it or not, he tossed the plaster figure into the flower bed. Moments later, he felt a second, more excruciating pain in his calf. He instinctively grabbed his lower leg as he fell to the ground.
"What the ...?"
The last thing the startled Price Whittington saw before Kringle buried the pickaxe into his chest was the vengeful, murderous face of the red-clad lawn gnome.
* * *
Thank God it's finally Friday, Kate thought as she entered the front door of her high-rise office building and noticed the crowd of people lined up in front of the elevators.
She looked at her watch and realized she had plenty of time to grab a cup of coffee and a bagel from the cafeteria. It was no Starbucks, but it would have to do.
As she was stirring the artificial sweetener into her coffee, her eyes were drawn to the wire newspaper rack at the end of the counter. Price Whittington's photograph was on the front page of The Boston Globe. The headline above it sent a shockwave through her body: MILLIONAIRE LAWYER MISSING. Her hand trembled so badly when she reached for the newspaper that she spilled her coffee.
"That'll be four fifty-nine," the elderly cashier informed her.
Kate handed over a five-dollar bill and told the woman to keep the change. Not worrying whether she made it upstairs to her desk on time, she sat at a table in the cafeteria and opened the paper. Price, she learned, had not been seen since Wednesday morning. His car was found parked near North Station, but no one at the station remembered seeing him there.
I've never known Price to take the subway, she thought. He was always one to call a cab, regardless of the expense.
* * *
After tossing and turning most of the night, Kate finally got out of bed around five o'clock, even though it was Saturday morning and she could sleep late. It was only after two cups of coffee that she went to her bedroom and got dressed. She did not bother putting on makeup or fussing with her hair. There was only a cursory attempt at cleaning her house, after which she escaped to the sanctuary of her backyard. She got out the hose and was about to water the garden when she noticed a number of her flowers were crushed and the soil beneath the trees was disturbed.
It must have been a deer, she thought, stooping down to examine the damage. Either that or the vandals have come back.
The sun reflected upon a piece of metal, and Kate was surprised to see the green lawn gnome's small pickaxe.
"Has this been here all the time?" she wondered, reaching for it. "Why didn't I see it before?"
Kate quickly dropped the pickaxe on the grass when she observed that one of the ends was covered with blood.
The crushed flowers ... the disturbed soil ... the blood. There was only one conclusion she could draw: an animal had injured itself in her garden. The poor creature might still be lying on the ground somewhere, dead or hurt.
Wary of being bitten by an injured, possibly rabid, animal, Kate used the handle of her rake to move the leaves of her plants aside and found more blood on the ground. Beneath the tree, she found a bloody navy blue baseball cap with a red "B" embroidered on it. Unless the deer or raccoon was a Boston Red Sox fan, then some human was hurt in the garden.
Her first instinct was to phone the police, but her curiosity was so great that she continued to search the ground.
Suddenly, she sensed a movement behind her. She turned and saw the lawn gnome smiling up at her. He no longer carried the lantern in his hand. Instead, his arm was raised in her direction, like a child who wanted to give a present to his mother.
Kate leaned over and picked up the watch Kringle was holding. She knew that watch, had seen it many times during the seven years she lived with Price Whittington. She did not need to turn it over to read his name engraved on the back; she knew the Rolex belonged to him.
"How did Price's watch ...?"
Comprehension then hit her with tremendous force. The lawn gnome was alive! After her panic subsided, a second realization followed on the heels of the first: the blood in her garden was not that of an animal or a trespassing teenager. It was Price's.
"What was he doing here?"
Her mind raced for an explanation, and then she remembered the pearl necklace.
"He wanted it back, and he didn't have the guts to come out and ask me for it. He wanted to steal it from me, so he could give it to Genevieve."
But the lawn gnome, believing he was protecting his territory (and Kate's property) from an intruder, killed Price with the green gnome's pickaxe and buried him in the garden.
The deep sadness she had been feeling since learning of Price's disappearance quickly vanished, and the green-eyed monster took its place. She was glad he was dead. He deserved it for the way he had treated her.
"My guess is that my garden is soon to be fertilized by the remains of a decomposing Boston lawyer."
Resembling a stop-action special effects model from a Ray Harryhausen movie, Kringle nodded his head.
"I don't suppose the police will ever find the body or be able to trace Price to my house?"
The lawn gnome slowly shook his head from side to side.
"You did me a great favor, my little plaster friend," she declared with gratitude.
Then she took the Rolex from Kringle's outstretched hand and buried it in her flower garden underneath the paving stones.
I should know better than to ask Salem to water my garden. (It's too much like work for him!)
