Chapter 8: The Demonstration
The Garden Walk opened at four on Friday afternoon beneath a sky full of slow-moving clouds.
Mark had expected a handful of curious neighbors, but nearly forty people arrived during the first half hour.
Lucia stood beside a folding table handing out maps of the six gardens.
She insisted that visitors take pencils so they could write down questions instead of trying to remember them.
Priya gave a short introduction in the shade of Bernard’s magnolia tree.
She described June Bellweather’s work and the differences between plant breeding, propagation, and commercial naming.
“We don’t have a complete genetic history of these plants,” she told the crowd.
“We do have living plants, photographs, household memories, and records showing that a community maintained an experiment for years.”
Visitors moved slowly along the sidewalk,
stopping beside each numbered ceramic marker.
Nate demonstrated how his plant had survived a winter in a compost pile.
Elise showed an old picture of June carrying a watering can twice the size of her dog.
Bernard told the story of the first Garden Walk, when a sprinkler malfunction drenched the mayor’s shoes.
People laughed, and the gathering relaxed.
Mark watched Diane from across the street.
She stood beside her own collection without speaking, almost as if she expected everyone to turn against her.
A young woman with a stroller approached her.
“Did you really keep this plant alive for twenty years?” the visitor asked.
Diane glanced at the pot.
“Longer than that.”
“My grandmother used to grow one like it.”
“Do you remember which street she lived on?”
“Hawthorn Avenue.
”
Diane’s face brightened.
“Then she might have grown the second line.”
For ten minutes, the two women discussed soil and pruning as if no quarrel had occurred.
Mark felt a measure of hope that the afternoon might remain peaceful.
At five, a black car stopped beside his driveway.
Pike emerged with a man wearing a business suit and an expression that suggested impatience.
The man introduced himself as Adrian Lowell, Crownleaf’s regional operations director.
Pike carried a printed brochure in one hand.
“I see you’ve made quite a spectacle,” he said.
Mark stood between him and the guests.
“It’s a garden tour.”
Lowell studied the display table.
“I was told there might be defamatory material here.”
Priya approached with a copy of the handout.
“You’re welcome to inspect what we’re presenting,” she said.
“The dates and photographs are attributed, and our conclusions are limited.”
Lowell read the first page.
His expression changed slightly when he saw the note identifying Diane’s limited research agreement.
“Who prepared this?”
“The residents,” Priya answered.
“We also received technical guidance from the county extension office.”
Pike stepped forward.
“That agreement gave us access to the germplasm.”
“Access is not the same as inventing the original plant,” Priya replied.
“We haven’t claimed otherwise on this handout.”
Lowell looked at Pike.
“You told me the original neighborhood collection no longer existed.”
Pike gestured dismissively at the pots.
“These are unverified remnants.”
“They’re very much alive,” Mark said.
“And every person here can see them.”
A small crowd gathered around the visitors.
Mark resisted the urge to raise his voice.
He had spent years calming arguments between warehouse employees whose deliveries had arrived at the wrong loading bay.
Public humiliation rarely made people more accurate.
Lowell asked for a private conversation.
Mark agreed on the condition that Priya and one other homeowner could attend.
Diane volunteered before anyone else spoke.
They moved into Mark’s garage while the Garden Walk continued outside.
Lowell set the brochure on the workbench.
“Crownleaf has invested considerable resources in Scarlet Star,” he said.
“We have no intention of misrepresenting our development program.”
Diane stared at the brochure.
“Then why did Nolan tell people this street was empty?”
Pike folded his arms.
“I said the program was abandoned.”
“You told your photographer every garden had been cleared,” Mark replied.
“She misunderstood.”
Lowell turned toward Pike.
“Did you use illustrative images as if they depicted this neighborhood?”
Pike hesitated.
“The images were conceptual.”
“Did you label them as conceptual?”
“The context was clear.”
Lowell did not agree.
He removed his phone and stepped aside to make a call.
Pike watched him with the expression of a man who had been accustomed to controlling every conversation in the room.
Outside, a child shouted in delight after spotting a bright red hummingbird near Priya’s flowers.
The ordinary sound made the tension in the garage feel almost absurd.
When Lowell returned, he held the phone at his side.
“The preview will proceed tonight,” he said.
“But I am removing the neighborhood-history segment until our team reviews the claims.”
Pike’s face reddened.
“We can’t do that three hours before launch.”
“We can and we will.”
“People traveled for that story.”
“Then we’ll tell them the truth about what we know and what we don’t.”
Diane let out a long breath.
Mark thought the confrontation might be over.
Then Pike turned toward her.
“You still owe us a clean account of the material you provided,” he said.
“And I intend to get it.”
He left without waiting for Lowell.
Mark followed him as far as the sidewalk.
Pike stopped beside the twelfth red salvia, the one Mark had finally planted after the police left.
“You think you’ve won because a few neighbors like your flowers,” Pike said.
“I think you’ve been careless with the truth,” Mark replied.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Pike climbed into his car and drove toward the garden center.
Lucia watched him leave.
“He looks like somebody who just lost his favorite parking space,” she said.
Mark laughed for the first time all day.
