Solve-it-yourself mystery

Detective Doran Weaver walked through the greenhouse along an earthen walkway flanked by rows of wilted tulips.

“Poisoned,” Patrick Houser moaned. “Someone broke in and scattered salt everywhere. The plants get automatic watering at night, so when the sprinklers came on, the salt crystals dissolved and poisoned the soil. See? They must have done it a couple of nights ago when I shut down early. I didn’t notice until the flowers started dying.”

“Any idea who might do such a thing?”

“I know exactly who,” Patrick snapped angrily. “Bret Conway.”

Doran thought for a moment. “The Conway Greenhouse’s Bret Conway?”

“That’s him. We’re competitors, sure, but lately, he’s been trying to buy my business; he’d do anything to get it.” Patrick’s face bloomed red. “I’d deal with him myself, only Janie suggested I talk to you first.” “Janie?” “She’s… a friend.” “Well, your friend was right,” Doran said. “Anyone other than Conway you’d suspect? Angry customers, employees?”

Patrick said no and that he got along with everyone. “That’s what worries Conway: My customers actually like me!”

The Conway Greenhouse was located off Pike Street, on a good-sized lot. The greenhouses took up the back half, with the front offering a parking lot and showroom.

Conway shook his head as Doran explained why he was there.

“Darn shame about that,” Conway said, although he didn’t exactly sound upset. “That’ll make it hard for him to do much at Spring Fest.”

Spring Fest was the local event serving as unofficial kickoff of the spring planting season. “That’ll hurt his business?” “A good Spring Fest starts off a good year,” Doran admitted.

“And his loss will help your business to kick off a great one… right?”

Conway’s voice took on a cautionary tone. “Sure, but don’t go getting any funny ideas, Detective.”

“Just looking for information. For example, where were you Friday night?”

“Look, I feel sorry for the guy,” Patrick spluttered. “I even offered to help his business by buying him out. But I didn’t do this! In fact, if you want a suspect, talk to that blonde girlfriend of his. Maybe she wants him to look at her the way he looks at his tulips… or that other gal, the mousey one he was with before the blonde came along. Maybe she wants to even things out. You know what I mean?”

Doran knew what he meant: Suspects loved to point the finger at others. But exploring every lead was a detective’s job.

The current girlfriend was Cassandra Bower. She lit up like a spring flower when Doran approached her, saying he was investigating vandalism at Patrick’s greenhouse.

“Oh no, that’s terrible!” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide with concern. She explained she had been home alone the entire evening, and didn’t see how she could help.

“Although, if I could make a suggestion…” she sighed. “That awful Conway person, he’s probably your guy. At least, that’s what Patrick says. Personally, I suspect Patrick’s ex, Janie Reed. Jealousy, you know? She could have gotten salt at the grocery store.” “Janie?” “She was his little friend before he and I met. Nothing serious, of course, but you know, girls like that…”

“And is it serious with you?” Doran asked, as Cassandra’s mouth curved into a smile.

“Perhaps,” she said coyly. “Who knows, Detective—he may even be the one. I haven’t quite decided yet.”

When Doran approached Janie, she announced emphatically, face red with shock, that she was unavailable the night of the flower-sabotage as well.

“Actually, I was out to dinner… with Patrick,” Janie revealed. Suddenly, Doran realized which suspect had a few more questions to answer.

Q: Who does Doran suspect did it? A: