also loathed when I used text shorthand like BTW, IMHO, and THX. Sometimes I did it on purpose to irk him.
Peter Pan’s Girlfriend responded: Oh, no. How awful.
I continued my entry: Some of u saw me here, but the police say that’s not enuf. Sigh. I added a goggle-eyed emoji.
Fiona sat on the upper rim of the computer, her elbow perched on one leg. She wasn’t glowing. She was glowering. At me.
“What?” I asked her.
“You’re not taking care of yourself. You need to eat more.”
“Don’t mother me.”
“If I don’t, who will?”
I blew a raspberry at her. She blew one back. Hers sounded cuter than mine, more like a bee buzzing.
“Don’t torture yourself by doing this.” She jutted her hand at the computer screen. “They can’t solve the problem.”
“They can commiserate.”
“You don’t want their pity. You have to work through the clues yourself.”
“What clues?” I hissed. “We don’t have any clues.”
“Don’t snap at me.” She flew out of the room.
I stewed, then realized she was right. I typed to my friends: C U and switched off the computer. I lurched to my feet, took my plate to the sink, and walked to the backyard.
When mulling things through, my mother liked to bake. I, on the other hand, needed to get my hands dirty. Rather than make another fairy garden for the rear yard, I decided to build the one I’d promised Mrs. Hopewell. I fetched a round sixteen-inch clay pot and a lantern and went to the greenhouse.
“What’re you doing?” Fiona flew beside me.
“I’m making Mrs. Hopewell’s fairy garden. I’m thinking of creating something that looks like Monet’s Water Lilies. Mrs. Hopewell’s artistic style is like Monet’s.”
“Excellent.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
After filling the pot with soil, I fetched an arched bridge and painted it green. Every fairy garden should have a focal point, something that drew one’s eye. Often, it was the largest part of the scene, but not always. In Monet’s Water Lilies, the observer was drawn to the bridge, but the water lilies themselves were the real focal point. I sealed the bridge with a coat of lacquer and set it aside to dry. At the rear of the pot, I added a miniature fake willow tree and bolstered it with live ferns to establish the backdrop of Monet’s famous painting.
Next, I dug a trench to create the pond and filled it with white gravel. When creating the image of water with chips of blue glass, I liked to start with a base below the glass so the soil wouldn’t seep up and mar the watery expanse. After fashioning the pond, I installed smatterings of green moss interspersed with yellow lichen on top, which gave the effect of lily pads.
Fiona settled onto the rim of the pot and began to hum a fairy song I’d heard her hum before. I didn’t know the name of it. It reminded me of a melody from my youth, one Aurora had sung. The tune comforted me, so I hummed with her.
An hour later, after centering the bridge atop the water and adding a sweet bronze fairy who was reaching toward the water while balancing on a mushroom next to the pond, I watered the garden well and stood back to drink in my creation. It looked just right. Mrs. Hopewell wanted good luck for her garden. This one might do the trick, representing the bond between fairies and nature in all its glory.
“Feeling better?” Fiona asked.
“Yes. I’m ready to take on the world. After a good night’s sleep.”
“Me too.” She yawned and stretched and zoomed out of the greenhouse. “See you tomorrow,” she trilled, vanishing into the night.
I took a few photographs of the new garden and headed to bed.
* * *
Saturday morning arrived in a flash. While sipping a cup of honey lavender stress relief tea and nibbling on a poppy seed muffin slathered in butter, I quickly flipped through the mystery we would be discussing at the book club. I’d finished it weeks ago and had reviewed the reading guide the author shared on her website. Making mental notes about the victims and the suspects’ motives helped cement the story in my mind. I wasn’t going to lead the book club, but I wanted to have my facts straight in the event the book club moderator asked me a question.
Before heading to work, I carried the fairy garden I’d made, along with instructions for how to tend it, to Mrs. Hopewell’s house. She didn’t answer her doorbell, so I left the