The Walled Garden
Gordon James hadn’t been waiting at the massive wrought iron gates for long when the delivery van appeared over a small rise on the road that led from Birdwood Manor. He spat what remained of his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe before backing into some bushes. As the sound of the car engine got louder, another sound joined it—the squeaking and squealing of the huge metal gates as they opened.
He waited until the car had turned onto the long driveway before he took his chance. As the gates swung shut again he darted through, catching his elbow on one of them, though he didn’t let the sharp burst of pain stop him from running as fast as could toward the wall that hid O’Leary’s famous garden. It was the reason his editor had sent him the
