“Oh. Nails?” Edgar moved out from behind the mower.
Jess pointed at his legs, his sweats tacked to his thighs and shins. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Edgar put his hands on his hips and bent, surveying the ground. He reached down, gripped one of the offending spikes with his fingernails, and pulled it out. “So they are. Yes, how strange. I wonder if whatever has been eating my flowers has also taken to nailing the grass down.”
Jess wiggled in Austin’s arms, asking to be put down. He released her, feeling her slide down his body until she was standing on her own. Uncomfortable, parts of him aching but thankfully not showing it, he stepped away and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Something is still eating your flowers?” Jess asked, looking at the ground below her feet. “Would anything that ate flowers also hammer nails into the grass? That doesn’t sound plausible.”
“Stranger things have happened around here.” Edgar looked toward his cottage, and it was anyone’s guess what he was talking about, but if it had been initiated by a person, Austin suspected that person was probably Niamh.
“Show me the newest flowers that have been eaten,” Austin said, ignoring the nails.
Jess glanced from Edgar to Austin. “Can you handle the flower situation while I go show my dad where the towels and everything are, and then we can chat about it?”
“Sure.”
She pointed at Edgar. “Are you okay? You’ve still got…nails stuck in you.”
Niamh put a fist in front of her mouth, shaking with suppressed laughter. Jess finally noticed, and a knowing gleam lit her eyes. She shook her head.
“One thing at a time,” she murmured as she turned. “I’ll be back.”
“Miss,” Mr. Tom said, hurrying after her as if seeing his window of opportunity narrow. “This is a good chance to talk to you without that woman always underfoot.”
“That’s my mom, Mr. Tom, be nice.”
“Yes, miss, I know, and she is a lovely woman…except when she is stealing the laundry out from under me. Why, she even took my laundry! She shrank my favorite pair of purple sweats.” They reached the back door, and Mr. Tom grabbed the handle and pulled it open for Jess. “Have you seen the refrigerator? Condiments everywhere! No rhyme or reason—”
The door shut behind them.
“Sounds like it’s going well,” Niamh said, her eyes teary from laughter. “That Earl could do with a little razzing, too.”
“When did you become a practical joker?” Austin asked, motioning for Edgar to lead the way. He seemed completely oblivious of the implications of what they were saying.
“Do ye need to ask? I got the promise of an action-filled life, and instead find myself looking at half-eaten flowers in the biggest swamp of daisies I’ve ever seen in my godforsaken life.” Niamh tagged along with them.
“There aren’t that many daisies. Besides, they add a nice pop of white,” Edgar said, leading them to a patch of tulips cut through with lilies and speckled with the aforementioned daisies. The garden was starting to look like his doilies.
The last row of crowded flowers did have a noticeable bare spot, the green stems ending abruptly, the buds or petals stripped away entirely. The rough breaks in flora bespoke teeth, the cuts not even and the ends smashed. The missing flowers were clustered together, as though an animal had been grazing.
“The basajaun made a much bigger mess,” Austin said, bending to sniff. The flowers were so plentiful that they overwhelmed his senses, any other scents completely washed out. He coughed with the onslaught, then sneezed three times in quick succession, his eyes watering.
Edgar put a hand on his heart and bowed his head. “I do, of course, believe Jessie when she says it is not likely that basajaun. I do not doubt her for a moment. She is not the type of person to lie…”
“But?” Austin asked.
“Well.” Edgar grasped his hands in front of him. “It’s just that the basajaun did only eat the flowers, not the stems. He made an awful mess when he was permitted to eat the flowers, but at the moment he does not have permission, so maybe he is showing restraint. I can’t think of anyone else that could sneak onto these lands without anyone knowing. Ivy House would alert us if it were anyone dangerous, though her lax treatment of flower theft is a dereliction of duty, in my opinion, even if it was deer. Which it still could be, even though deer poop gets all over. I haven’t seen any poop.”
“All animals poop,” Austin said, trying to step lightly through the flowers. A calla lily crunched under his boot. Edgar drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t see any tracks.”
“Correct. No hooves. Deer leave hoofprints—”
“We get it,” Niamh said. “You don’t think it’s a deer.”
“The basajaun didn’t leave any tracks when he ransacked my flowers the first time,” Edgar said. “Their magic keeps them from being detected in that way. No poop, and no tracks.”