by Joyce Lavene
“Who would be that stupid?”
“You’d be surprised. Most poisonings are mistaken for heart attacks. Poisons mimic those symptoms. Secondary events, like hitting your head on something or being struck by a car, can be mistaken for cause of death. No one wants to do an expensive autopsy if they don’t have to. In most cases the police go with what they see unless they have some plausible reason to look further into the death.”
“Can you tell what type of poison was used?” Walter stroked his chin.
Peggy shook her head. “I’m not Sherlock Holmes. It’ll take some careful analysis to determine what killed him, though I think it’s odd that he thought his wife was poisoned too.”
“I would imagine that would be uncommon.”
She tried to observe the scene for evidence, as she’d been taught during her six-weeks of forensic training. She used that training, and her degree in botany, to help out at the medical examiner’s office as a contract worker.
The crime scene wasn’t exactly part of her expertise, but she’d picked up a lot working with the police. She wasn’t really close to Harry so it was possible to be objective. She’d seen trained detectives with years of experience break down at the sight of a friend who’d been killed.
There was still shaving cream and a razor on the sink. It looked as though Harry was about to shave as he finished off his scotch. The piece of ginger she’d given him to chew on for stomach upset was still in a plastic bag.
There was no blood anywhere. No signs of a fight. He’d managed to avoid striking his head on the toilet, bathtub, or sink when he fell. It would have been an easy thing to do in that small space.
Police and emergency sirens were coming their way. Walter panicked. “Should we leave before they get here?”
“Of course not. I work with the police. I can help with the crime scene. Look around for a bottle of scotch.”
“What about the first person on the scene being accused of the crime?” Walter’s gaze darted around the room. “I’ve seen that on television.”
“A real crime scene investigation is different.” Peggy didn’t see a bottle of scotch—empty or partial—anywhere out in the open. She didn’t want to search in places where she’d have to disturb potential evidence.
“They’re here.” Walter pointed to the police car that had pulled behind his Bentley. “I guess I won’t be leaving right away. I shouldn’t have come in. What was I thinking?”
“Relax. It’s good that they’re here,” Peggy said as the police officers came into the motel room.
The investigating officer was a very nice young man named Spratt. He took a quick peek at Peggy’s credentials from the ME’s office. “I’ll still have to ask you a few questions, Dr. Lee. A detective is on his way. He might have some questions too.”
“Please pay attention to the scotch in the broken glass,” she advised. “I think Harry Fletcher may have been poisoned. There should be a bottle in here somewhere. We need to find that too.”
“Maybe you should come this way, ma’am. It might be best if you wait in the police car.” Officer Spratt took off his hat and opened the back door to the car for her and Walter. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”
“This is not good.” Walter fussed. “We’re going to be arrested.”
“Don’t be silly.” She took out her phone and called Al. “We have valuable information they’ll want for the investigation—at least I do. As soon as the detective gets here, I’m sure they’ll let you go home.”
Peggy got Al’s voicemail. She left him a message and sat back to wait.
It occurred to her that this might be one of those times that Steve wanted to hear from her. She hated to bother him since there was nothing he could do. But she’d promised to call if something unusual came up. This definitely qualified. If she already ruined their new spirit of cooperation, Steve could get difficult again.
“Hi Peggy.” he said as he answered the phone. “Is everything okay?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me or Walter, but Harry’s dead. Walter and I found him at the motel. We’re waiting for Al, or some other homicide detective, to get here.”
“I thought you were going to the shop. Where are you?”
She could hear voices talking to him. He was busy. He really didn’t have time for a long explanation. “I’ll explain later. There’s nothing you can do to help, Steve. I didn’t want to bother you, but you made me promise to call.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. You know, I do work for the medical examiner from time-to-time. I’m not a novice at this. I think Harry may have been poisoned.”
He was silent for a minute. “All right, Peggy. But keep me posted, okay? I love you.”
“I will. Thanks. Love you too.”
She smiled as she put the phone back in her bag. Steve was such a worrier. She loved that he cared what happened to her, but she could take care of herself, especially in a situation like this.
Two more police cars pulled up, followed by a plain brown Ford that needed a good wash.
“There’s Al now,” she said to Walter. “I told you it wouldn’t be long.”
“Make sure you tell him that I didn’t see a thing until after you saw it. You were the first one on the scene, so to speak.”
Al left his car and walked by where they were sitting. He did a comical double take when he saw Peggy and Walter in the backseat and opened the car door. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” She smiled. “Didn’t you get my message?”
He frowned. “You know I don’t like to check the phone too often. Someone is always sending me a text or trying to call me. Were you letting me know that you were being arrested?”
“Of course not. We’re witnesses.”
“I’m not a witness,” Walter denied. “I didn’t even know the poisoned man.”
Al’s brows went up. “We know he’s been poisoned, do we?” He waited while Peggy got out of the car. “Maybe you better walk me through this. Walter, I think you should wait here. You don’t want to be messed up in it.”
Walter complained and threatened to call his lawyer but stayed where he was.
Al ignored him. He and Peggy walked into the motel room together. “Who is the man in the motel?”
“His name is Harry Fletcher. He works as a private investigator.”
“Those guys are always trouble,” Al mumbled. “Tell me how you happened to find him in this dump. Does it relate to you trying to break into the storage facility last night?”
Of course that meant telling him all about their investigation into John’s death—things she hadn’t wanted to share until she had some concrete evidence. She should’ve known it would all come out before she was ready.
“So Harry Fletcher, our dead man, told you he knew something we—as in the police and FBI—didn’t know about John’s death.” Al summed up. “And you followed his lead to figure out what it was. That was damn stupid, Peggy. I know you know better than that. If there was anything else to know about John’s death, don’t you think I would’ve told you? I’m not holding anything back from you and Paul. You know what I know.”
“Al, you said yourself that you didn’t know John was working with the FBI at that time. There could be other things you didn’t know. Harry said he knew some of those things. Wouldn’t you have wanted to know too?”
He didn’t answer that loaded question, and instead took a look at Harry’s body. He had Officer Spratt call for the medical examiner. “I guess whatever this man knew, he took to his grave. You really think this was a poisoning?”
“I am. We’ll have to check for various toxins. I told Officer Spratt to make sure he looked for a bottle of scotch.”
Spratt shook his head. “So far, we haven’t found any kind of bottle.”
“Make sure you check the trashcans outside,” Al said. “And send someone to talk to the motel manager.”
“I had someone get a sample of the scotch on the floor,” Spratt told him. “I’ll give it to the medical examiner when she gets here.”
“Good work.” Al turned to Peggy. “Do you want to wait for Dorothy? You can fill her in on all of it.”
“There’s nothing more I can do here.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to be somewhere else. Can you tell Dorothy what I told you? I’ll talk to her later.”
“You’ll have to fill out some paperwork later too.”
“I know. I’ll take Walter with me.”
“Good idea.” He nodded. “I haven’t forgotten about the break-in at the mini-storage. What were you and Harry Fletcher trying to find there?”
Peggy had to answer. “I’m going to the auction later. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear. Don’t get further involved in this until you talk it over with me,” Al called out to her retreating form. “You hear me, Peggy?”
Crocus
There has been human cultivation of the crocus for more than 3,500 years. From China, to the Greeks and Romans, this colorful little flower has been valued through history. Stories say that Cleopatra of Egypt bathed in its essence before going to her lover. Saffron was used in teas and salves, to dye clothes and spice foods. The history of this little plant is the history of the human race as it has grown and thrived.
Chapter Six
“Where to now?” Walter asked. “Please tell me it isn’t someplace rat and criminal-infested where we’ll find another crime scene.”
“There was once a murder at The Potting Shed,” Peggy told him. “But it’s more likely we’ll find Sam unloading a truck filled with fall bulbs than a corpse.”
“You never told me there was a murder at The Potting Shed. Was that a recent thing?”
“No. It was years ago, before Steve and I were married. In fact, I met Steve at around the same time. The murder was tragic. It involved poison—from the anemone bulb. I was scared half to death, but I got through it.”
“You always do, don’t you?” Walter turned on Church Street. “I’d like a sneak peek at those fall bulbs, since they’ve just arrived. There’s a small area behind my house that would be perfect for spring flowers. I was thinking of some crocus, perhaps.”
“You’re welcome to check them out—if you want to help unload them. I might even give you a discount.”
“I could be persuaded, if there’s a big cup of tea from Emil’s shop across the courtyard.”
“I think that could happen.”
Walter parked behind The Potting Shed, next to the large truck that was delivering supplies. Sam was driving their forklift in and out of the trailer as he moved bags of bulbs, potting soil, and fertilizer. He waved to Peggy and Walter before disappearing into the truck again.
“Come up this way.” Peggy got out of the Bentley and took her handbag with her. She led Walter up a short flight of cracked concrete stairs to the back door of the shop.
“If I’m going inside the maw of the beast, do you have an apron or something I can put over my clothes?”
“I have gloves and aprons inside.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for helping out.”
“No. Thank you for doing anything to take my mind off that wretched dead man. I can’t believe you choose to do this kind of thing. You’re a refined, intelligent woman in most instances. Perhaps you should take up needlepoint or knitting as a hobby.”
Peggy left him near the back door without replying to his taunts. She called Emil Balducci at the Kozy Kettle to order tea for them, and coffee for Sam. She had an apron, rubber boots, and gloves for herself. It paid to be prepared in the garden business.
“Morning, Peggy,” Selena Rogers called from the front counter. “I was wondering if you were going to make it in today.”
Selena was a student at Queens University—a former botany student of Peggy’s. She’d accidentally taken her class—Peggy was still teaching at the time—and had fallen in love with plants. Her long black hair was pinned up on her head, emphasizing her cocoa-colored skin and golden eyes. She was tall and thin, a runner, though she’d given up track at school.
“I always try to be here for the start of a new gardening season.” Peggy fed the large koi that lived in her indoor pond. “No matter how long I do this, it’s always exciting.”
“Yeah.” Selena rolled her expressive eyes. “Sam was really excited about emptying that truck this morning. He had to send Tucker out on a job by himself.”
“I’m sure Tucker can handle it. He’s been working with Sam for a while. Sometimes we have to let the little birds leave the nest.” Peggy tied her apron over her dress, and sat down in her rocking chair to replace her shoes with her boots.
“You know how Sam is—everything has to be perfect. He’s so picky.”
“That’s what makes him good at his job.”
“And a pain in the butt,” Selena muttered.
“If there’s no one here, you can come in back and help unload too. We can hear the door chime if anyone comes in.”
“Sure. I’ll be glad to do that. Just let me get the register set up. I hope it doesn’t take too long. I’d hate to miss all that excitement.”
“More hands make the job go faster,” Peggy quoted. “Don’t take too long.”
Peggy smiled with pleasure as she walked through The Potting Shed. She loved the heart-of-pine floors that squeaked when she walked on them. The shop had plenty to offer the novice gardener as well as the experienced one. She was always searching for new products to tempt her customers who stopped by during their lunch breaks from banks and other offices nearby.
The Potting Shed was located in Brevard Court, at the doorway to Latta Arcade. The mini-mall was built in the early 1900s and preserved to perfection for shoppers. Outside the garden shop was a cobblestone courtyard with café-style tables and chairs for those who wanted to stroll between shops and eat lunch. Peggy and Sam maintained the plants in the courtyard so that each season held a different display with their shop’s name on it.
She walked through the shop to the warehouse space in the back where they were able to store large items such as shovels, wheelbarrows, and bulk purchases of mulch and other items.
Walter was looking through the bags of new bulbs with all the eagerness of a cat stalking a mouse. He’d taken off his tweed hat and put on a green Potting Shed ball cap.
“Find anything interesting?” she asked.
He jumped. “I was about to give Sam a hand. I didn’t want to get in his way.”
“That’s okay. Let’s see what we can do to make this finish faster.”
Sam brought several pallets of mulch off the truck with the forklift. He paused when he saw Peggy and Walter. “I was wondering if anyone was going to show up this morning,” he yelled above the sound of the engine.
“Sorry,” Peggy said. “I was detained.”
“At a murder scene,” Walter added. “The man was poisoned.”
Sam raised his blond brows. He was a big man with large hands that loved digging in the dirt. His family had important plans for him when he was in school. Sam had thrown them all aside to become Peggy’s partner in The Potting Shed. He was responsible for the growing landscape business.
“Sounds like fun. I can’t wait to hear about it.”
“How much more is coming off the truck?” Peggy asked him.
“This is the last big load. I need you two to get the smaller things while I get all of this stored away. I’ll come help you in a minute.”
Walter sized up Sam’s broad shoulders and big chest, emphasized by his tight-fitting green T-shirt. “Perhaps I would be better at organization so that you could lift what’s left in the truck.”
Peggy grabbed Walter’s arm. “Sorry. Sam knows how he wants everything back there. You’re stuck with the grunt work like me. Don’t forget—bulbs and tea when this is over.”
“Yes. Of course.” Walter sighed, tied on his apron, and followed her across th
e shaky ramp into the back of the truck.
“Those must be ours.” Peggy pointed to pond supplies and boxes of seed. “Let’s take those out.”
They passed Selena on the ramp, and Peggy told her what to get. Sam checked off the supplies on his list as they were put in place. In about thirty minutes, they were pulling up the ramp, and the truck was leaving.
“I got you a coffee.” Peggy smiled at Sam as they closed the loading doors.
“I hope it includes something to eat,” he said. “I’m starving.”
“You got him coffee?” Selena demanded. “No one ever gets me coffee.”
“If you ever did any hard work,” Sam replied, “She’d get you coffee too.”
“I thought you’d already had coffee,” Peggy said. “Of course I’ll get you something too.”
The two sniped at each other like brother and sister all the time, but Peggy couldn’t imagine trying to run the shop without them. She called Emil and ordered croissants for everyone—plus another coffee for Selena.
While they waited for Emil and Sofia to bring the food from the Kozy Kettle Tea and Coffee Emporium, they sat outside on the edge of the loading dock. The morning was still cool, though afternoon temperatures were forecast to be in the high nineties.
“So you found another dead guy.” Sam’s blue eyes narrowed against the morning sun in his tanned face.
“He wasn’t a stranger.” Peggy filled him in on what had been going on with Harry Fletcher.
Selena took a quick breath. “Are you a suspect now?”
“No. Of course not.” Peggy watched the after-rush-hour traffic flow by on Church Street. “I’ll probably help with the investigation. I’d like to know what happened to him.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Sam asked.
“I’ll ask to work the case with the ME’s office.” She shrugged. “I’ll try not to put anything extra on you and Selena.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said. “We can handle it, especially now that Tucker is out on his own.”