Poison, Perennials, and a Poltergeist (The Petal Pushers Mystery Series)

by Hayes, Tina D. C.

  “Well, since you asked,” Darci said, her face darkening, “not the best. We’re still getting plenty of customers, that’s not the problem.”

  “Spill it,” Charlotte insisted. “What’s wrong, Darce?”

  “The Smith-Jacobson wedding canceled, after all the out-of-season stuff I special ordered came in.” Never one to complain, Darci felt the load on her shoulders lighten just a bit as she spoke. “Their deposit covered part of it, but unless I find somebody just rearing to buy a butt load of Dutch tulips, I don’t know how I’m gonna make my money back on them.”

  “That sucks,” Charlotte said. “But knowing you, I bet you’ll think of some gimmick to sell at least part of ‘em.”

  “Oh, but it gets worse.” Darci consoled herself by nuzzling the baby’s cheek against her own. “The stupid transmission went out on the delivery van. After replacing that and putting new tires on the thing, I had to shell out almost five thousand bucks. Money I did not have in the budget.”

  “Here, eat another donut.” Charlotte slid the box toward her. “Maybe that’ll help.

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Okay, that does suck really bad, but it’s not the end of the world. You lost money this month, but business is booming, and you’re still alive and kickin’. Hey, you’re usually Miss Optimistic, so cheer up.”

  “You’re right,” Darci said through a mouthful of jelly-filled pastry. “I just need to focus on the positive. Surely we’ll come through this just fine. I hope.”

  Petal Pushers’ Plant of the Month for August is

  Chrysanthemum

  Chrysanthemum spp.

  Perennial

  Common name: Mums

  Brief description: Mums always bring autumn to mind, since they are the most abundant flower of the season. They grow from one to three feet tall and come in colors ranging from pink, red, yellow, purple, orange, and white. Celia Kemp has the prettiest mum display in her front yard, so slow down and take a look if you’re driving past her house.

  Symbolism: wealth, abundance, a long life, and rest.

  Trivia: People who’re into Feng Shui think these flowers bring happiness and laughter into your home. The Japanese call the position held by the Emperor the ‘Chrysanthemum Throne’.

  Growing instructions: They need moist soil in full sun. Pinch garden mums back in early summer to make the plant bushier.

  Uses: Plant chrysanthemums in beds, borders, or containers.

  Tools & Tips: Everybody needs a good pair of garden shears. Use them to cut back plants, prune rosebushes and shrubs, and cut flowers for arrangements and bouquets. Select a pair with stainless steel blades and handles that feel comfortable in your grip. Take care of this tool by keeping the blades clean and oiling them ever so often, to prevent rust and keep them lubricated. Sharpen when they start to dull. Some people keep a separate pair just for their roses. If you trim off diseased parts, rub down the shears with alcohol to keep from spreading anything to healthy plants.

  Chapter 9. September

  Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under ‘t.

  ~ William Shakespeare

  It was around six o’clock one evening when Wade got a chance to repair the wall. Darci went home to make dinner and left him alone at Petal Pushers with only Daisy the parakeet to keep him company. He took the magazine clipping off the wall and pulled off the tape loops, trying to picture his not so sports minded wife playing an impromptu game of catch in the middle of her flower shop.

  “Tell me something, Daisy. What did Darci and Hoyt plan to use for bases?”

  The little bird hopped on her swing instead of answering him, and watched as he widened the opening. With his arm shoulder deep inside the wall, he hoped he wouldn’t come across any territorial mice while he felt around for the ball.

  His fingers brushed against something round. When he tried to grasp it, it rolled farther to the side, still in the wall’s interior. Wade reached for it, but closed his fist around something that felt like jagged bits of tile. He pulled out some rather large shards of broken china, and after a few fistfuls, he pieced them together in the shape of a plate. Black markings on the back of one fragment drew his attention. The design looked like some sort of animal beside a harp in front of a lighthouse.

  Familiar with antiques from the restorations he performed on some of the oldest homes in the area, he guessed this piece of china dated from the early to mid-eighteen hundreds. The wall showed signs of a previous repair, so he guessed the dish must’ve fallen in and broke when the prior damage occurred. The shards held no monetary value, but he couldn’t bring himself to toss them in the trashcan. They were pretty, and he was overcome by the notion that Darci might like to see them. Maybe she’d have some idea what to do with them, though he didn’t have a clue as to what that might be.

  He scooted the pieces to the side and focused on repairing the hole, now that he’d retrieved the missing baseball. He felt around inside the wall thoroughly before he sealed the drywall back up, just to make sure some other long forgotten treasure wasn’t hiding there. Stories about odd things-keys, spoons, coins, and old bottles-that fell behind walls of older houses like this one intrigued him and sent his imagination into action. During the Civil War and other lean times, people hid valuables under floorboards and made safe little cubbyholes anywhere that might go undetected. Wade knew that wasn’t the case here, but the thought gave him something fun to daydream about as he worked.

  With a fresh coat of plaster mud smoothed over the drywall tape, he stood back to admire the job. He’d let it dry for a few hours, then come back to sand the spot and paint the section to match the rest of Petal Pusher’s yellow walls. The siding he patched last week could probably use another coat too, when he had the brushes out. Nausea stung the back of his throat as he remembered digging the bullet out of the exterior wall, knowing it was there because Roy Nolan pulled the trigger with Darci in his crosshairs.

  Wade put his tools away, then checked the seals around the doors and windows for the umpteenth time. A cold draft had swept over him as he fished out the china pieces, which reminded him of his Honey-Do list. He still couldn’t find the source, not very surprising when he realized the temperature was warmer outside than in.

  “Huh,” he muttered when the notion Darci and Charlotte had about a ghost haunting the shop popped into his head. “That’s just ridiculous. Ghost my ass.”

  The temperature around him dropped so low that for a second, he thought he saw his own breath when he exhaled. Wade jumped back when, for no explainable reason, a book fell from a shelf behind the counter and clattered to the floor. The parakeet chirped and hopped on the bars of her cage the same way she did when Darci stood talking to her.

  The hair rose on the back of Wade’s neck, then he realized he was holding the hammer-which he didn’t even remember reaching for-in the same manner a person preparing to stab someone held a knife, clenched in his fist, cocked back, ready to deliver a blow. What the hell was that weird shadow beside the wall he’d just fixed? He combed his hand through his thick blonde hair, then gathered up his stuff and left as quickly as he could, short of running.

  The paint job could wait for a sunny afternoon when he wasn’t the only person in the shop. No way in hell did he intend to tell his wife what just happened, not after the ribbing he gave her and Charlotte when they told him Petal Pushers was haunted. Darci’s ‘I told you so’ was not a pleasant thing to hear.

  He caught sight of his own nervous smirk reflected in the rearview mirror as he drove home. Still shaking in his work boots, he remembered the girls weren’t scared of a ghost whose sole purpose seemed to be curing half-dead plants and sending Daisy into a tweeting frenzy. Well, that and causing the sort of cold spots he’d heard of on documentaries about ghost hunters. He always laughed at those programs, thinking they were one hundred percent pure bullshit. Although he sat behind his steering wheel grinning at the irony of the situation, he didn’t think he’d be laughing
about ghost stories anytime in the near future.

  There was one other very important reason he wouldn’t mention the episode to Darci. He sure didn’t want to make her worry that Roy was back lurking around, a thought that briefly flitted through Wade’s mind when the book fell. What he wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone with that son of a bitch. Just himself, Roy, and his solid maple Louisville Slugger.

  Lord have mercy, that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in I don’t know how long! I guess I ought to be plum ashamed of myself for scarin’ him so bad, especially after he got those pieces out for me, but heaven help us, I couldn’t stop myself. The look on his face, the way he grabbed a hold of that hammer, then ran out of here like a scared bunny rabbit. That’ll teach him not to poke fun at my girls.

  And I know he saw me. I’m gettin’ better at that. Only thing is, seems like I have to be around folks quite a few times before it’ll work, maybe for us to build up a feel for each other or somethin’. Guess I’ll just have to keep poppin’ up in front of people til somebody takes the hint.

  The first Sunday morning in September, Darci felt nearly as excited as Paxton about the family outing. While Wade drove the three of them to Hopkinsville, their son asked the universal ‘are we there yet’ question at least a dozen times.

  She called Max last night to make sure, again, that there was no chance of Roy Nolan being anywhere in the area. He told her to go on and have a fun day out with Paxton and Wade. Police spotted Roy in Wisconsin and had a team working to track him down.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Max had reassured her. “They should have that SOB’s ass in a sling before the week’s out.” She hoped he was right, because she was sick and tired of worrying. Darci took a deep breath and resolved to put the whole mess out of her mind for today.

  “Wait, I forgot something.” Paxton hopped back in the truck and emerged seconds later with a program the size of a catalog, thick with color photographs and details of the day’s events. “I get extra credit if somebody autographs this for me.”

  “Just remember to be polite when you ask them.” Darci didn’t know exactly what to expect, this being the first time she’d attended a Pow Wow. A speaker came to Dixon Elementary the previous week and this was the only thing Paxton had talked about since he gave her the flier. Funny thing was, no matter how many times she put it in the drawer, she kept finding the thing on top of her desk when she sat down to work.

  Their feet echoed across the short wooden bridge that stretched over a creek into the park. As they waited in line to pay the entrance fee, Paxton rehashed what he knew about the event.

  “This is one of the real stops the Cherokees made on their forced march west during eighteen thirty-eight and eighteen thirty-nine, a place where they really camped out. This is so cool! I mean, the Trail of Tears was horrible, but this is a cool way to pay tribute to them. My teacher said it was like the holo . . . hallo . . . . The thing Hitler did to Jewish people during World War Two.” His face scrunched as he searched his fourth grade vocabulary for the correct word.

  “Holocaust?” Darci suggested.

  “Yeah.” Paxton looked proud to sound so knowledgeable on a subject. “My teacher said the Indian Removal Act was like a holocaust. Soldiers yanked ‘em from their homes and made ‘em march on foot for six whole months. Hundreds of Cherokees of all ages died, especially during the cold weather. A couple of chiefs are buried over there.” Paxton pointed toward a grove of trees marked by two statues. “There’s a museum, too. Can we see it before we leave?”

  “Sure, it ought to be interesting.” Her excitement grew as they made their way down the walkway into The Trail of Tears Commemorative Park. A drumbeat urged them along, accompanied by a traditional Cherokee song. The scent of incense and fry bread hung in the air.

  “Do you hear that, Mom?” Paxton’s eyes danced as he took in the sights at the booths they passed. Hand carved wooden statues, authentic buckskin moccasins, books on Native American culture, wooden flutes, and dream catchers and medicine wheels ranging in sizes large enough to decorate a family room wall to tiny keychain versions of each. “They aren’t hollerin’, that’s how they sing.”

  “You’re right, and it sounds pretty cool.” Darci fought the urge to smile at his choice of words, but knew the last thing he wanted was for her to think his spiel was cute. Nine-year-old boys hated the word cute, especially when it applied to them.

  They found seats near the top of the metal bleachers encircling the area where the singers and emcee were set up. Darci marveled at the men beating drums, raising their voices in unison. It really was a beautiful sound, primitive, yet full of emotion, and brought goose bumps to her arms even in the ninety-degree heat. She was glad trees shaded at least part of the area.

  Paxton flipped through his program while he waited for the action to start. “It says performers come from all over the country to compete in the dance contests each year. I bet they win a ton of money.”

  The first group of dancers were the Tiny Tots, little girls who Darci judged to be seven and under. Wearing gorgeous embroidered dresses with beaded shawls, the little girls twirled and stepped in rhythm to the music. Everyone clapped and cheered when they finished.

  A Cherokee storyteller stepped up next, taking the mike from the stand so he could walk around as he spoke. “Osiyo. This looks like a sharp crowd, so I guess you all know that means hello in tsalagi, or Cherokee.” The older gentleman captivated the audience with the slow cadence of his baritone voice as he introduced himself. “I’d like to share a story that I heard as a young child, a story that’s been passed down from generation to generation.

  “A young boy went walking high up in the mountains on a vision quest, and he came upon a rattlesnake. The boy, warned by his elders never to trust a rattler under any circumstances, was wary of stopping to listen to the snake. But this conniving rattlesnake said, ‘Please pick me up and carry me down the mountain. I have been here too long and will surely freeze to death if I don’t make it down before nightfall.’ The boy’s big heart took precedence over his mind that day, so he finally gave in. After the snake promised not to bite him, the boy picked up the rattler and tucked it safely inside his shirt before walking back down the path to the foot of the mountain by a brook. Warmed from being inside the shirt, the snake said, ‘Thank you, young man. I’m very grateful for your help. Now can you put me down on a nice warm rock?’ The boy reached for the snake inside his shirt. ‘Ssssssss’, the rattles buzzed. In a flash, the boy felt the sharp fangs sink into his hand. ‘Why did you bite me, Mr. Snake? Now I will surely die,’ the boy said, hurt that the creature he’d just helped out of the goodness of his heart betrayed him with a poisonous bite. Before slithering away, leaving the boy to lie there suffering as venom coursed through his small body, the snake told him he had no choice. ‘I am a rattlesnake, and this is my nature. You knew what I was when you picked me up.’”

  Paxton clapped and cheered when the gentleman finished his story. “Wado, thank you”, the storyteller said. He waved to the crowd and made his exit.

  Darci clapped as well, thinking about the moral. “You do get the meaning of his story, don’t you Paxton? If something looks like a snake in the grass and you hear it rattling, don’t let it smooth talk you into trouble.”

  “Yeah Mom, I get it.” Paxton rolled his eyes.

  Teenage girls in the jingle dress competition entered the circle. Three hundred and sixty-five hand-sewn bugle bells jingled on each dress while the dancers twirled and stepped gracefully around the grass. Embroidered shawls draped around their shoulders flared out along extended arms as bells on their ankles tinkled above beaded moccasins.

  “They’re so beautiful,” Darci said, alternating her gaze from their dresses to their footwork. “Their toes seem to barely touch the ground.”

  The emcee called the older boys and men to the tribal circle for the liveliest dance of the day. “Their outfits are way cooler than the girls’,” Paxton exclaimed,
fascinated by the feathers and bustles on their costumes. In an awe-inspiring display, they twirled sticks with things hanging from the ends as they danced in sweeping whirls, sporadically dropping to a squat and bouncing back up without missing a drumbeat.

  “How in the world have I managed to live around here all my life and never found out about the annual Pow Wow until now? We’re gonna have to start coming every year.” Judging by the wonder spread over Wade and Paxton’s faces, Darci wouldn’t hear any objections.

  The Sheltons sat amazed as act after act held them in their seats. They’d arrived expecting a fun day, but had no idea the quality of entertainment would be this high. During intermission, they tried walking tacos from one of the booths.

  “Oh my God, this is delicious,” Darci mumbled through her first mouthful. A beef mixture similar to taco meat or chili filled the fry bread base, with cheese and onions heaped on top.

  Each carried dessert and a cold drink back to the stands after they scarfed down their lunch. Fry bread was a sweet and tasty delicacy, one Darci decided rivaled even her favorite Krispy Kreme jelly donuts. They’d watched the preparation with watering mouths. The vendor flattened out a ball of dough, then tossed it back and forth between her hands in a movement similar to a chef tossing pizza crusts. When the dough stretched to about the size of a saucer, they tossed it in hot oil to fry, flipping it over when it started to swell. The finished fry bread looked like a cross between puff pastry and a soft fluffy tortilla, topped off with either honey or powdered sugar. Indecisive as usual, Darci waffled between the two, unable to make up her mind. The vendor smiled at her dilemma and let her have both, one on each half, so she could make up her mind which she liked better as she ate.