Crime Scene 19.1.1 Grown from the Garden
Wednesday. 6:30pm. HOT Family Garden

The garden was just what Ellie needed. It was nothing like the carefully maintained flower garden back home, or the exotic showpiece at the Sirens’ Dream, but this suited Angie’s family. The flowers were simple native varieties that were mostly prickly leaves with flowers as small bright dots of colors.  Most of their efforts went into their vegetable and herb garden with raised beds and neat little signs indicating what was planted there. Weaving between the leaves and bushes were chickens. Fierce and fleet of foot. They were large, coming up to her knees. Ellie gave them their space.

She sat on a mushroom shaped seat in the middle of several raised planters full of thriving plants. Surrounded by leaves and sweet smells and damp earth. She often sat like this in the garden when she was younger, when she wanted some space and quiet. There was no expectations or goals among the plants. It was…nice to just be.

She read the signs around her to see what the HOTs had planted. She recognized Angie’s neat, decorative handwriting. Basil, spinach, cilantro. And she nearly fell off her perch when she saw one small, cross-shaped sign reading “RIP Bob.” She was ninety percent sure that it was either a lost pet or just part of Angie’s morbid humor. But if that was the case, why “Bob”?

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s just our little inside joke,” a gentle voice said from behind her. Ellie turned to see an older woman she recognized as Angie’s other mom, formerly Ms. Tran. She was making her way through the garden in Ellie’s direction, grinning and shaking her head. She had a plastic tub with some kind of freshly pulled bulbs in her arms. “Bob is an old doll she used to play with. It got so ragged that we threatened to throw it away. She opted to conduct a burial instead and claimed we couldn’t disturb the dead.” Seeing Ellie’s confusion, she added, “One of my partners, Charly, is Catholic and Angie went through a Sunday school phase. She even wanted to be a nun until she was told the habits only came in black and white. Anyway, we thought it was cute and harmless, so we humored her. It’s become a running gag and we refresh the sign every year and lay flowers and everything.”

Equal parts morbid and wholesome. That tracked a lot with what she knew about Angie so far. “Sounds like she definitely had a lot of creativity from early on. And I was just thinking that you have a lovely garden.”

“Oh, thanks. It took years to plant and grow everything to where it is now but now, we have fresh produce all year. Better than mass market produce and cheaper than Mars Crops. Do you do a lot of gardening? You could take some clippings. Everyone should have an herb garden. Just don’t tell the neighbors. We’re not supposed to grow this much.” She added with a conspiratorial wink.

“Not much. I only have space for a few potted plants in my apartment. We have a flower garden at home, though.” She left out the part about most of those plants being chosen partly for their blooms but mostly for their toxicity. She couldn’t recommend going grocery shopping through her family’s gardens. “What do you mean you’re not supposed to grow too much?” She glanced around the garden. Nothing in it looked even remotely illegal or dangerous.

Angie’s mom sighed. “It’s an outdated law. Something about agriculture zoning. We got a warning when one of the neighbors reported us. No one cares, of course, but you never know.”

A brown chicken stalked by in the open, its head turning in all directions like a swivel. Ellie found something it its blank, dark eyes intimidating.

“Angie mentioned you were from out of state,” Angie’s mom continued. “It must be tough, being out on your own, no familiar faces or places. We were so glad when Angie chose to study somewhere close. New experiences and spreading their wings is fine and important, but having the kids closer to home is less worrying. For both the kids and parents. I’m sure your parents agree.”

Ellie shrugged and smiled politely. She appreciated the sentiment, and it was true she did miss her family. She just wasn’t ready to spill everything to a friend’s mom. “It hasn’t been easy. I still have to learn how to cook for myself.” She smiled and tried to spin some humor into it.

Angie’s mom laughed heartily. “Don’t worry. I remember the old college days! Here, why don’t you help in the kitchen and I’ll show you a few tricks. You can cook a whole meal in a rice cooker. It saves so much time, and I know you kids never have enough time.” With sudden vigor, she shoved the dirty tub in Ellie’s hands. Ellie found herself towed behind her. Angie’s mom gathered a few more ingredients as they passed through the garden and deposited all of them into the tub.

The kitchen was already busy. Unlike the uniform, pristine kitchens of the Sirens’ Dream, the facilities at the Hernandez-Oliver-Tran house were eclectic. The colors were vivid. The style and patterns were a kaleidoscope of the personalities and tastes of what looked like every household member. There were glass pots, cast iron pans, baking tins, and silicon molds. There were three separate spice racks: one with its contents clearly labeled, one with half worn labels from its original packaging, and the third was entirely unlabeled and the herbs looked entirely homegrown or foraged. On one shelf was a rainbow selection of various cereals. They had three coffee pots going, labeled “Coffee” “Decaf” and “Gourmet.” Ellie noted that the decaf was suspiciously low. Had they been diluting the coffee she had with decaf?

It was clear they had built this kitchen to cater for a wide range of tastes. It was also built to serve three large families. There was a built-in griddle next to an unusually wide eight range stove and two ovens as well as two huge sinks. The countertops had almost every cooking appliance in existence, from blenders, to toasters, to a bedazzled air fryer, even two rice cookers. Three of the ranges was already in use, contents of two pots boiling away and a pan of something sizzling. Orchestrating this was an older woman that Angie had called Auntie Miranda. She was fairly tall, but moved with easy agility and coordination throughout the kitchen. To Ellie’s surprise, Angie’s mom wove in between Miranda’s movements without missing a beat, passing behind her and pulling Ellie along to the sink. “Here, why don’t you help wash these and I’ll show you how to use the rice cooker.” Ellie just nodded and got to work.

She washed the herbs they collected. And then was told to wash them again. After that, she was handed half a dozen potatoes to wash and peel. “What’s the fork for?”

Miranda demonstrated by suddenly and violently stabbing the fork into the potato. “Helps you hold it in place while you skin it.” She smiled and handed the forked potato over to Ellie with a peeler. So that was where Angie got her dark side.

They were quickly joined by more of the family. Each of them greeted each other warmly before starting on their own tasks as if they just knew what to do. They probably did this every day, at almost every meal. Ellie simply focused on her task and listened to their chatter on the background. Though she didn’t know who they were talking about, it was still comforting to hear their easy jokes and gossip. Though Ellie’s family didn’t spend much time in the kitchen, this did remind her of the times in the garden with her mom or in the office or various warehouses with her dad. Some things couldn’t be replicated through online calls.

Eventually, Ellie was called over to learn how to cook with a rice cooker. Apparently, even the basic ones had several settings to cook more than just rice.