Chapter 19 - The Cleansing of the Grove
By the following Wednesday, the quiet of Blackwood Ridge had returned, deep and restorative.
Inés sat at the small iron table under the grand lemon tree, her math homework spread across the glass, humming a soft tune while Samuel pruned the dead branches from the north row of trees. The smell of cut wood and citrus sap drifted on the warm breeze.
I stood at the kitchen sink, washing glass jars to prepare the first batch of lemon preserves of the season. The mail had arrived an hour earlier: a formal notice of foreclosure on Daniel and Vanessa’s five-thousand-square-foot estate in Windermere, a letter from the school district confirming Inés’s enrollment in the local middle school, and a certified check from the court clerk for the legal fees Daniel had been forced to reimburse.
The front gate buzzer chimed softly.
I walked to the intercom on the kitchen wall. "Yes?"
"Mrs. Carmen," Samuel’s voice came through, but he was calling from his mobile phone. "There’s a commercial flatbed truck down at the main road. Two men from the county sheriff’s department are with them. They’re looking for Daniel."
My brow furrowed. "Daniel isn't here, Samuel. You know that."
"I told them that, ma'am," Samuel replied, his tone lowering into caution. "But the deputy says Vanessa left the Windermere house yesterday afternoon with two moving vans, cleaned out the joint checking accounts, and fled across state lines to Georgia. Daniel’s car was found abandoned at the marina boat ramp three miles south of here this morning with the keys still in the ignition."
A chill ran down the back of my neck.
I walked out to the veranda. The sun was dipping toward the tree line, casting long, dark shadows across the orchard. Inés looked up from her books, smiling at me, unaware of the sudden shift in the air.
"Inés, sweetheart," I said gently, keeping my voice level. "Pack your books and go inside to the library. Help yourself to the shortbread cookies in the tin."
"Okay, Grandma," she said obediently, gathering her papers and slipping through the French doors.
I walked down the stone steps toward Samuel, who was walking up from the tool shed, wiping his grease-stained hands on a rag.
"What did the deputy say, Samuel?"
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"They found Daniel’s wallet and phone on the front seat of the sedan," Samuel said quietly, looking out toward the dark line of cypress trees bordering the creek. "Nothing taken. His watch was still on the console. But the gate to the old drainage canal—the one that borders the back three acres of the Ridge—was forced open from the water side."
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