them natives. The indigenous . . . their suckers come up everywhere, and most of the time I let them be, but not when they invade my flower beds.”
“You’re replanting.”
“I am.” The man seemed more relaxed.
“In July.” Walt tried to sound interested instead of accusatory.
“Mr. Boatwright wanted it done.”
“Bad timing.”
“Tell me about it. Too hot in the days to get anything decent started. The lilies were doing fine in my opinion. I’ll fill it with annuals and worry about it next spring.”
“The other beds too?”
“Who knows? You follow the NFL?”
“Baseball.”
“Well, let me tell you something, you work for Mr. Boatwright, you learn that he’s the coach and quarterback all in one. He says you go deep, you go deep, or you’re on the bench. In my case that means the unemployment line. So I go deep.”
“I hear you.” Walt considered his approach. “You ever get to meet any players?”
“You kidding? Place is like a hotel.”
“Anyone I’d know of?”
The gardener seemed proud of his insider’s position. “Head coach and a couple of assistants up here last weekend. I hear the commissioner’s coming in for the wine auction this year. You know these guys, Sheriff. Dinner parties every night. Jump in the jet. Fly back. He’s a human yo-yo, and he’s not getting any younger.”
The guy liked to talk. Walt wasn’t complaining. “Any players?”
“He interviewed a couple wide receivers back around the time of the draft. An offensive lineman, the kid that book was written about—The Blind Side—about the same time. No one too recently, at least that I know about.” Leaning on his shovel, the heavily suntanned man seemed grateful for the respite. “But you’d have to check with Mary—his executive secretary. She should be around here someplace. Her office is on the lower level of the north wing.”
“I’d probably need a map.”
“Got that right.”
“Is he a good guy to work for?”
“I actually report to Debbie, one of Mary’s three assistants. I don’t actually deal with Mr. Boatwright. Debbie’s all right. They basically give me an open budget. It’s the dream job. I’m overpaid, I get great benefits, and I’m pretty much left on my own.”
“Wanna trade?” Walt said. He won a chuckle. “Anything a sheriff should know about Mr. Boatwright that I don’t already know?”
“I told you, it’s a dream job.”
“I’m interested in a linebacker. A retired linebacker. He would have come by sometime in the past couple days. Big guy, obviously. Might have been alone. Might have been wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Name of Martel Gale.”
“The Gale Force? Shit, I’d have recognized him, I think. Loved watching that guy hit. Listen, I don’t see that many of the guests, and to tell you the truth, I don’t pay that much attention unless I happen to get a look and recognize someone. I like the sport, so I’m kind of a major fan, but I don’t know half the faces of the guys who come here. The girls, that’s different. Hard not to look at the girls, you know what I mean?”
“Girls, or women?”
“I’ve said enough. I should get back to work.”
Walt didn’t look over his shoulder immediately, but he’d seen a flicker in the man’s eyes and suspected he’d caught someone eyeing them both. Mary, perhaps, or one of the three assistants.
Walt felt tempted to ask about Caroline Vetta, but he lacked a photo and it was Boldt’s business, not his.
“You think you could check with Debbie, informal like, if Gale has been around in the past week?”
“I suppose.” He sounded surprised.
“I could do it,” Walt said, not sure that he could, “but all I’m interested in is trying to get an autograph for my nephew, trying to catch Gale while he’s still in town, and when a sheriff asks something it becomes a big production and it’s not like that, so it makes it kind of difficult.”
“I can see that.”
“I’ve already asked Vince Wynn but he’s not on such good terms with Gale.”
The gardener turned away and went back to the struggle with the root.
“I shouldn’t be loafing,” he said.
Was it the mention of Wynn? Walt wondered. Or had the man received a second signal from within the house?
“Nice talking to you,” Walt said.
“I’ll ask if I can,” the gardener told the dug-up flower bed.
“I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” Walt said, “but I was told water stops tap roots. You put the offending tree on an island and that’s the end of it.”
The gardener lifted his head and eyed the