by Joyce Lavene
She sighed. “I’m so sorry. It’s not a joke. More like a mistake. If you could book me, and keep it under your hat, I’d appreciate it. There’s no reason for everyone to know.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Not really. The charge is only a misdemeanor. Just put me in the system, but don’t tell anyone.”
* * *
Peggy sat on a bench for about forty-five minutes as hookers and drug dealers were brought in, charged with their crimes, and dispersed to jail cells.
Why couldn’t that have happened to her?
She hadn’t been restrained again, and no one looked twice at her. They’d given her cell phone and keys back. She knew what was coming, and wished it was already over. She had a lot of pent up rage that was waiting for Harry.
Finally, a tall black man with muscular shoulders and a bulbous nose was buzzed through the door from the main part of the police station. He wore a tired expression on his middle-aged face and a golf shirt with trout on it.
Al McDonald had been John’s best friend growing up. They’d gone to college and had joined the police academy together. Al had been John’s partner for twenty years. It had been Al who’d brought news of John’s death to Peggy.
“Al—”
“Not here.” He took her arm, and they went into a small room that smelled like disinfectant. It was used for lawyers to meet with their clients. He closed the door behind them. “Take a seat, Peggy.”
She was ready to deal with Al. She’d known Don had called him as soon as he’d refused to book her. She knew what she wanted to say, and she knew how he’d take it.
What she wasn’t ready for was the door opening again to allow her husband to enter the small room too.
Steve Newsome had a dazed expression on his handsome face. His brown hair was rumpled from sleep, jeans and T-shirt hastily thrown on. They’d only been married a few years—almost still newlyweds.
She sat at the table, and fixed her eyes on Al. “You had to call Steve?”
Peggy felt like a small girl again—called on the carpet for something she’d done wrong. She didn’t like the feeling. She was a grown woman, nearly sixty, for goodness sake. She didn’t have to check with the men in her life before she made a move.
“Peggy.” Al sighed and shook his head.
“Is my father on his way too?” She knew her insolent tone would rattle these two important men in her life. She didn’t care.
“This is serious business.” Al got off his feet by sitting in one of the hardback chairs. He’d been a beat cop, as John had, for many years. Both of them had fallen arches before they’d made detective.
She rolled her expressive green eyes. “It’s barely a misdemeanor. I wasn’t even holding the bolt cutters when the police arrived.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Steve demanded. “You were trespassing and caught attempting to break into a storage unit.”
“I wasn’t trespassing. I was with someone who had a code to get in the main gate and a key for the unit. I wasn’t attempting to do anything. I was just standing there.”
“Who were you with?” Steve asked.
“I’d rather not say.” She studied her cuticles.
“We have you red-handed. The storage manager wants to press charges,” Al grunted. “I can’t even believe I’m saying this to you.”
“Everyone needs to slow down and take a deep breath.” Peggy did as she advised them to make her point. “Have the manager look at the videotape at the gate. That should make it clear that I was there with one of people who rent their units.”
“The manager says the password your friend used to get in was fake. It was thrown out of the system a month ago. The unit you were trying to break into was confiscated for not paying the bill,” Al said. “The manager also said you tried to bribe him into letting you have the contents of that same storage unit before the auction. Anything you’d like to say about that?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet, shaking back her red hair that was tinged with white. “Are you planning to waterboard me? If not, I’m not telling you what I’ve been doing. I have the right to some privacy.”
Steve nodded. “Unless you get busted—which you have. Who’s the accomplice who helped you get into the mini-storage? Why were you there tonight?”
Peggy folded her arms across her chest. “If I’m not being charged, I’m going home. It’s been a long night.”
Al sat back and rubbed his big hand across his face. “You have always been one of the most stubborn women I’ve ever known.”
She smiled. “Right up there with Mary, right?” Mary was his wife of many years.
“That’s right.” Al got up too. “And that’s who I’m going home to right now. I know when I’m being stonewalled. Goodnight, Steve. She’s all yours. I’ll see you later.”
Peggy was relieved that she wasn’t being charged, even if it would have been simple to beat the charges than to explain them to Al and Steve. “Don’t worry so much. I know what I’m doing.”
Al hugged her, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. “Yeah. That’s what worries me. You almost made poor Don have a heart attack. If you plan on getting arrested again, go to another town.”
Once Al had left, Peggy knew the worst was yet to come. Even though she was ready to go, her car was still at the storage lot. That meant she had to ride home with Steve.
“Looks like it’s just you and me now.” He turned to her. “Where do you want to talk about this?”
English Ivy
English ivy belongs to the ginseng family and can be poisonous, if consumed. English ivy has overcome many obstacles to thrive in many countries. It will choke out other plants using hairy rootlets to tightly adhere to rough surfaces. Seeds are spread by birds.
Chapter Three
Peggy decided she wanted breakfast at the Waffle House—anything not to go home yet. Besides, she was a little hungry. It had been a long night.
Steve didn’t seem to care where they talked. They walked out to his car that was parked in front of the station. He opened the door and held it for her. She felt like she was getting into another situation she didn’t want to be in.
In the meantime, Harry was getting away, unscathed, when he should have been taking the heat with her. She longed to yell at him about his stupid, clumsy way of doing things.
First, she had to get through this with Steve.
“Where’s your car?” He checked the area before he got in. “Impound lot?”
She raised her chin. “No. I left it at the mini-storage. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
He didn’t start the car, instead staring out the window with his hands on the steering wheel. “Am I missing something? Am I doing something wrong, Peggy?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She was about to go through the guilt wringer.
“Why didn’t you trust me with this? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on instead of going off on some hare-brained scheme where you could’ve been hurt?”
Peggy took a deep breath. She hated this part most of all. “Can’t we decide that sometimes our business and personal lives are going to be separate?”
“Is this business or personal?”
“Business, of course. This is part of something I’m looking into. You do things with the FBI that I can’t know about. Sometimes I have to do things that you don’t know about.”
“Seriously?” His anguished brown eyes pinned her. “Because I can’t see where this involves gardening, your shop, teaching, or forensic work with the medical examiner.”
She stared back—not wanting to hurt him or argue with him. But she was going to do this, whether he liked it or not. “It doesn’t involve any of those things, Steve. It involves what happened the night John was killed. You said yourself that he may have been killed because of the work he was doing with the FBI. I met a man who might know what happened. I’m doing what I can to figure it out.”
Steve was the one who’d
told her about John working with the FBI. John had been working with him as his contact. “Who is this mystery man? Why didn’t he come forward after John’s death?”
“He said he did, but no one would listen.”
“His name? I know the people involved.”
“Harry Fletcher.” In a way, telling Steve about Harry might be for the best. He might know something about Harry that could explain why he was so messed up. After last night, Peggy thought that information could be helpful in keeping her out of jail—or worse.
“The private detective?” Steve looked surprised. “How did you meet him?”
“He contacted me.” She didn’t tell him about Nightflyer. Steve disliked her online friend more than Paul did. “He wants my help trying to figure out what happened to his wife. Harry believes she was poisoned here in Charlotte about twenty years ago.”
“That’s right.” Steve collected his thoughts. “That’s why he agreed to work as an informant for us. He was trying to get some help. Didn’t the police decide it was an accident?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I can’t tell you how many times poisonings are actually murder, and the police can’t tell the difference.”
“I think I’ve read those statistics.” He frowned. “I don’t remember Harry ever having much real information. What’s he telling you that he knows about John’s death?”
“That’s why we were at the storage unit. All of his files are about to be auctioned. He said a lot of what he knows is in the files.”
“And you never thought to come to me with this information—even though you know I’m interested in finding out what happened to John too.”
Steve had a stake in what Harry said he had on the case—she agreed with him on that. The case was still open with the FBI, and she knew Steve felt at least partially responsible for John’s death.
She hadn’t told him because it felt odd discussing John’s death with him. Maybe she was just being overly sensitive, but being married to Steve and discussing her late husband’s death with him was really awkward.
Peggy compromised so that she didn’t leave Steve hanging. “I didn’t want to involve anyone else until I had some real answers. So far, all I have are promises that there are answers. That’s not much for the FBI, or the police, to get involved with.”
He reached across the seat and put his arms around her. “And you don’t want Paul to find out, right? I understand. I won’t say anything to him. But you have to promise me that you’ll be more careful. I don’t think Harry Fletcher is dangerous, but what if the storage manager had shot you instead of calling the police?”
She let him think it was all about Paul, instead of him. She wasn’t happy about Paul finding out what she was doing either, but that was different.
“Then we probably wouldn’t be going to the Waffle House.” She was flip about it because she didn’t know what to say. They probably should have a real conversation about it, but she didn’t know where to start.
“That’s for sure.” He kissed her. “You know, I have to eat at those places on the road all the time.”
“They have the best waffles.” She smiled, trying to distract them both. “I have a waffle maker somewhere in my kitchen, but you don’t want to eat a waffle I make from scratch.”
He moved away from her, and started the car. “Waffle House it is.”
* * *
The Waffle House was nearly empty. A waitress in a pink uniform with a nametag that said, ‘Candy’ on it, came up to them quickly with two cups of coffee. Peggy asked for tea, and they each ordered a waffle.
When they were alone, Steve took Peggy’s hands in his. “Would you like me to go with you to see Harry? It doesn’t have to be official. I’m your worried husband. I don’t have to be there as an FBI agent interested in the case.”
“In other words, I could head out with the full—though unofficial—weight of a large national security organization at my back?” She laughed. “That might spook him! I can handle Harry, even though I might be arrested for his murder before it’s over. He’s kind of crazy and has no idea what he’s doing.”
“I remember him that way too.”
“But I promise to call if I need your help.”
He looked skeptical. “You didn’t call me before you went ‘undercover’ last night.”
“Well, now our organizations are working together. I promise to call you—if you promise not to overreact every time something unplanned happens. I’ve been doing this kind of thing for a long time.”
“You mean getting arrested, almost killed—that kind of thing?” His smile was doubtful.
“Exactly.”
Their waffles arrived, with Peggy’s tea, and they talked about normal things for a while. There were roofers working on their turn-of-the-century home. They’d both been surprised to wake up and find them there one morning a few days before.
The three-story, twenty-five room house in Myer’s Park didn’t belong to Peggy. She’d lived there with John, who’d inherited it, but it would never belong to Paul. Now, she and Steve were there until John’s cousin decided to take possession of it. The house was maintained as part of a trust by the Lee family.
The family wasn’t happy about Peggy living there now that John was dead, but it was pointless for the house to remain empty. John’s young cousin who’d inherited it traveled extensively as part of his job and had no plans to settle down in the near future. He’d asked Peggy to stay put so there was someone living there.
Peggy loved the old house and wanted to live there as long as she could. Her basement was filled with her plant experiments, and her foyer had a large blue spruce growing in it. It was the perfect house for her. She secretly hoped she’d die there, and they’d take her out with a sheet across her head, so she wouldn’t see herself leaving.
But being an old house, it had a lot of maintenance that had to be done. One of the problems right now was the roof. As the work was being done, the roofers had begun complaining about the English ivy growing across the old shingles.
The plant was beautiful, but it could be invasive too. Twining tendrils and roots excreted a sticky substance that made it possible for the plant to climb on anything. Trying to get it off where it was the thickest had turned out to be a difficult job that had made the roofers want to charge extra.
They were pushing to spray the roof and walls with herbicide, and kill the ivy. Peggy was totally against the practice since it would kill all the other plants in close proximity to the house. With the difference in price, John’s uncle, Dalton Lee—who was responsible for the house—wanted to do whatever the roofers wanted. It had been an ongoing battle.
“How bad could it be to use an herbicide?” Steve poured more syrup on his waffle.
“How bad?” Peggy stared at him over her cup. “Some of the rose bushes and azaleas close to the house are over a hundred years old. You can’t find those breeds anymore. They can’t be replaced. It would be devastating.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “Sorry. Just that you and Dalton are formidable foes. I don’t see either of you winning.”
“Dalton knows it would be a mistake. He doesn’t understand the value of plants, but he understands the value of the house.” She picked up her fork. “Besides, I’m going to talk to Sam about it today. I know he’s done this before. There must be something that could make the job go faster without killing everything.”
Sam Ollson was her partner at her garden shop, The Potting Shed. He took care of the landscaping end of the business.
Peggy tried calling Harry again while Steve paid for breakfast. There was still no answer.
Why bother having a phone if you never answered it?
Peony
The peony is a flowering plant native to Asia, Southern Europe, and Western North America. Most are herbaceous perennial plants, but some are the size of small trees. The peony is named after Paeon, a student of the Greek god of medicine. Zeus saved the student from the wrath of Asclepius
, his teacher, by turning him into the peony flower. Research continues into more than 262 compounds obtained from the plants.
Chapter Four
Steve drove them home after leaving the Waffle House. Neither of them thought it was a good idea to get Peggy’s car until morning. By that time, maybe things would have calmed down at the mini-storage.
Peggy hoped a different manager would be on duty.
“I have to be there for the auction tomorrow anyway.” Peggy closed the car door and walked toward the house. She could hear her Great Dane, Shakespeare, barking loudly from inside. She hoped it didn’t wake her neighbors. “I’ll have one of the kids at the shop drive me over there.”
“Or I could take you.”
“There’s no reason to upset your schedule because I made a mistake.”
“I don’t mind.”
She opened the kitchen door at the side of the house, and Shakespeare ran full-tilt into her. If he hadn’t pushed her into Steve, she would’ve fallen on the ground under his weight.
Peggy had rescued Shakespeare from an abusive owner and loved him dearly, but his joyous welcomes could be a bit much.
“You missed me, didn’t you?” She stroked his floppy, unclipped ears, and massive black muzzle. “You might need to start missing me a little less.”
Shakespeare’s big brown eyes were focused completely on her, until he saw the door close behind her, and galloped off in the other direction. He wasn’t used to his humans going in and out at all times of the day and night.
“It’s only two a.m.” Steve glanced at his watch and yawned. “I’m going back to bed. What about you?”
“I’m much too nervous and upset to sleep.” She put her handbag, and the tiny dieffenbachia in her pocket, on the kitchen table. “You go on up. I’m going to take a look at my plants.”
He put his arms around her. “Maybe we could find something else to do with all that nervous energy.” He kissed her. “And I could talk you into letting me take you to the mini-storage tomorrow.”