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polished to perfection, or at least they had been before she'd tromped around in the garden's mud.
    Dale was talking to two women and one man who looked old enough to have come over from the retirement community. Dressed like Helen for working in the garden, they were obviously upset about not being able to access their assigned plots in the corner that had been cordoned off. If Paul hadn't already planted the pea seedlings in her assigned plot, Helen might have offered it to one of the displaced gardeners. She couldn't do that now, especially not right under Paul's nose, without seeming ungrateful. He was in his assigned space at the far back of the property, doing something with a hoe and looking up occasionally to check on Dale's interaction with the three unhappy gardeners.
    Helen exchanged a waved greeting with Paul and then carried her supplies over to check on her peas. She wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do once she'd looked at them, but weeding was supposed to be a perennial chore in gardens, so she could always do a bit of that.
    Helen pulled on her gloves, placed the kneeling bench next to the pea plants, and lowered herself onto it. Five of the seedlings looked just like she remembered them, but the sixth, the one closest to the road, had been cut about a quarter inch from the ground. The top of the plant was lying on its side, like a miniature tree that had been toppled by a tiny logger.
    Who would do such a thing? A random passerby? Maybe one of the displaced and disgruntled gardeners, jealous that she was able to get an early start while they were delayed?
    Helen sat back on her feet to consider what she should do now. She couldn't see any weeds, and it was too early in the season to plant any of the seeds she had, but she'd feel foolish calling Jack to come pick her up after only two minutes in the garden.
    Perhaps she could help Paul with whatever he was doing, in return for the plants he'd given her. She was on the verge of standing up to go see his garden when he approached and knelt in the damp dirt beside her.
    "I see a cutworm got one of your plants. I had the same problem." Paul opened his hand to reveal half a dozen two-inch lengths of a plastic drinking straw. Each piece had been slit lengthwise. "Try these. Just wrap them around the stem, and push them down into the ground a bit. That way, the cutworm can't wrap itself around the plant."
    He demonstrated, and then Helen put the collars on the remainder of her plants. She had just finished when she heard shouting from somewhere near the bulldozer. Helen turned to see what the disgruntled gardeners were doing, except they weren't the ones making the commotion. They'd fallen silent to stare at a confrontation at the end of the farmhouse's driveway. A small, bright red SUV was trying to leave the property, but a hulking diesel pickup truck was noisily idling across the end of the driveway, blocking the egress. Apparently, Jack wasn't the only one who hadn't been able to find a legal parking space this morning.
    Helen recognized the driver of the SUV in the driveway as RJ Avery, the middle-aged man who lived in the farmhouse. He honked his horn, but the truck didn't budge. RJ jumped out and went over to talk to the truck's driver through the rolled-down passenger side window. Helen could make out enough of the truck driver's words to get the gist of his excuses for not moving. He was waiting for his mother who needed to see someone about when an apartment would be available for her in Wharton Meadows. She wouldn't be more than another minute or two, and he couldn't risk leaving even long enough to circle the block because his mother would be confused if he wasn't where she'd left him. RJ, on the other hand, needed to leave to get his father to a doctor's appointment.
    They seemed to be at an impasse until RJ suddenly said something Helen couldn't hear and then jogged back to his SUV. A moment later, he drove onto his lawn and waited until the