by Joyce Lavene
Peggy laughed. “It’s a good thing all these women don’t know you’re gay. It might impact the yard service contracts.”
“They don’t want sex with me anyway,” he proclaimed. “They just want someone to pay attention to them. I don’t mind sitting around and eating cake after the job is done. That’s why they love me.”
“You’re lucky Selena isn’t here now. I don’t want to think what she’d have to say to that.”
“She’s a brat. Where’s Claire?”
Sam went back up front with Peggy. Claire shook his hand, her eyes gleaming and lips slightly parted. They decided to take a ride to Claire’s house and see if her soil could grow blueberries.
Peggy sat in her chair with a sigh. Her tea was cold, but the sweet roll was delicious.
Customers went in and out, most coming in because they’d received her email about the new bulb shipment. She got a few calls asking her to set some bulbs aside too. She was happy to accommodate customers she knew well with special favors. They were the rock of her business. She couldn’t compete with the big box stores around the city—but none of them could match her customer service.
She was surprised to see Al holding the door for a customer who was leaving with a bag of bulbs. When she was alone with him, she smiled. “Are you thinking about something new for your spring garden?”
Al scowled. “You know that I don’t know a tulip from a rose. I leave all that stuff to Mary. I have a note from her about some kind of flower bulbs she wants. But mostly I came by to see how you were doing. You had a rough morning.”
Peggy took the note from Al and got a bag for his wife’s bulbs. “My cheek is a little painful, but not too bad. Did you have a chance to look at my car yet?”
“I looked at it—what a mess. You’ve really made somebody angry. As far as fingerprints, I won’t know about that until tomorrow. Crime scene is all over the motel where Fletcher was killed. The car has to come after that.”
“Of course.” She put five black tulip bulbs into the brown paper bag. “What about the wheezing man?”
“We’re working on that too. So far, no one on that list you gave me has a criminal background. They all seem like good, law-abiding folks.”
“Does that mean we don’t have pictures of them?”
“That means it’s harder to find pictures of them—we’re checking with DMV, service records, and that kind of thing. I’ll let you know when we have something.”
Peggy sighed as she put the last four mixed-color iris bulbs into the bag. “Does it ever seem to you like an investigation takes a long time?”
He thought about it. “No. Not really. It takes what it takes. It’s not easy to run down files and people. We’re always shorthanded. We could do with a little help, but it has to be help we don’t pay for.”
She handed him the bag of bulbs. “I could help.”
“No, you can’t. You already have too much on your plate. Steve might not look real tough, but he’d have my head. How much do I owe you for the bulbs?”
“Nothing. Mary and I will work it out. Sometimes she makes extra casseroles and freezes them for me. That way she has flowers and I have food.”
“Don’t tell me about it. She cooks all the time.” He patted his broad belly. “How am I supposed to pass a physical every year when she always fattens me up like that Hansel kid in the stories?”
Peggy laughed and hugged him. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Thanks for checking in on me and for the ride over. Officer Blandiss was very polite. I hope tomorrow has better weather so I can ride my bike here.”
“Speaking of Steve, you’re not gonna make me tell him about this, right? He should know what’s going on, Peggy.”
“You don’t have to worry.” She waved her hand near her wounded cheek. “Dr. Steve did my face at lunchtime. He knows.”
“Good.” Al frowned. “Paul was snooping around the Fletcher case a little today. I suppose he knows that you might be looking for new information about John’s death too, huh?”
She thought about Paul’s calm reaction to her news. “I told him. He didn’t seem very interested, unless it was part of a police investigation. Maybe he changed his mind.”
“I hope not. He’s a good officer, and I’d hate for him to get involved with this goose hunt. Besides, we aren’t investigating who killed John. We’re looking for who killed Harry Fletcher—and maybe his wife. Let’s not forget that.”
Peggy agreed. He kissed her forehead carefully. “You need a ride home tonight?”
“No. Sam should be back in time. He can take me home.”
“Okay. Watch your back. I’ll talk to you later.”
Peggy got on the laptop she kept at the shop after Al was gone. Rain had started again, probably keeping any potential customers from paying her a visit until it cleared. She mostly used the laptop to order supplies and check catalogs. She had a large email list of her customers who frequently used that medium to contact her.
Today she thought she might try to get in touch with Nightflyer again. It had been weeks since she’d heard from him. If he didn’t already know about Harry, she could inform him. He might have some suggestions on where she could go from here.
But there was no immediate response from her online friend. She knew he’d been on the run for a while, fearing for his life. She had no idea where he was. She knew he had enemies and could only stay in one place for a short time. It made communication very one-sided.
Maybe it was foolish to trust him, but he’d never forced her to follow up on any of his suggestions. That was all her. And his information was sound. It was because he didn’t come in and talk to the police—or the FBI—that made Steve, Paul, and Al distrust him.
Rain continued to fall as twilight settled in early. It was only four p.m. but it looked like night. Sam wasn’t back yet—though she couldn’t imagine him standing outside in this weather talking to Claire about her garden. They’d probably gone inside for that slice of cake he’d talked about. Sam was a good listener and knew more than his fair share of secrets about the women he worked for. Lucky for them, he also knew how to keep his mouth shut.
Peggy decided to call Steve and see if he could pick her up at five.
As she got out her phone, the door opened from the courtyard where the stones ran in deep streams of rain from Latta Arcade to Church Street. A tall, large man wearing a hooded poncho stepped into the shop.
The wheezing man looked up at Peggy, and used his inhaler.
Agastache
Commonly known as anise hyssop, the coarse leaves of this plant release their licorice/citrus aroma when they are crushed. Leaves of this plant are used as a food seasoning and for making tea. The flowers are edible and delicious. This is a good plant for the back of your perennial garden with its tall, upright, blue flower heads.
Chapter Thirteen
Peggy wished she had something more than a few garden tools to defend herself when she saw him. As he closed the door, she started to dial 911.
“My name is Arnie Houck,” the wheezing man introduced himself. “I know you were working with Harry Fletcher before he died.”
“Yes.” Her heart was beating fast, and her voice sounded slightly strangled. “How did you find me?”
“I saw your sign-in at the auction this morning. I hope you don’t mind that I looked you up.”
She was ready to push call on her phone, but held off for a moment. He didn’t sound threatening. He hadn’t actually done anything besides outbidding her. Maybe he was at the storage lot when she and Harry were there, but she wasn’t even sure of that.
“Why were you looking for me?”
“I wasn’t—until I heard about Harry’s death—and your name was mentioned. I was hoping you could bring me up to speed on what Harry was doing in Charlotte.”
“What do you know about Harry? Why did you bid on the contents of his storage unit?”
“Because Harry was my brother-in-law. He killed my sister.�
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That statement astounded Peggy. She put the phone down and studied Arnie Houck. He looked to be in his mid to late sixties. His brown hair was thinning above his sallow face. He used his inhaler again, his breathing issues probably affected by the damp weather. He didn’t look particularly dangerous.
Was it possible that Harry had murdered his wife?
Sam chose that moment to get back from Claire Drummond’s house. “She bought the whole deal, Peggy. It will take me months to get everything set up the way she wants it and then start on her yard service maintenance.”
He stopped when he saw her visitor. “Hi. I’m Sam Ollson.” He stepped forward to shake Arnie’s hand.
“Arnie Houck. You were at the auction this morning too.”
Sam glanced at Peggy, eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “That’s right. Anything we can do for you?”
Peggy shook her head. “Mr. Houck was explaining to me that he was Harry’s brother-in-law.”
“Really?” Sam’s blue gaze swung to the older man. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Arnie snorted. “Loss? The world is a better place without that deadbeat.”
“Mr. Houck believes Harry killed his sister,” Peggy said.
“I don’t mean that in a literal sense,” Arnie explained. “The police said my sister’s death was an accident, but I’m sure it was brought on by years of worrying about Harry. He was always in and out of trouble. Ann was left to fend for herself more times than I care to think about. Maybe he didn’t shoot her with a gun—but Harry was still responsible for her death.”
“Why were you willing to spend so much money to get Harry’s personal items?” Peggy asked.
“I don’t know.” Arnie sighed. “I guess I was hoping some of my sister’s things would be in there too. I was away when she died. When I got back, he’d cleaned out everything that belonged to her. It was just the two of us, me and Ann. Our parents died when we were very young.”
“Have you looked inside the unit yet?” Sam knew how much Peggy wanted Harry’s files.
“I haven’t had a chance to go through things,” Arnie said. “I had some business in town, and then I heard about Harry. You knew he was dead when you were at the auction, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Peggy put her hands on the counter. “Harry said he had some information about my husband. He was going to give it to me in exchange for working with him on Ann’s death. He believed she was murdered.”
“Murdered? That’s crazy. I checked with the police when I got here twenty years ago. That was the first thing I thought when I heard she was dead. They said her death was an accident.”
“There may be some inconsistencies in that theory,” Peggy said. “I don’t have all the details yet, but the police are taking another look at Ann’s death while they investigate Harry’s.”
Arnie sat down hard on a ladder-back chair that was near the door. “You mean all these years I’ve accused Harry of killing my sister—and he really did?”
“I don’t think so. Harry wanted me to help him prove Ann’s death wasn’t an accident. That hardly seems to be something you’d do if you’d murdered someone.”
“If you don’t need me up here,” Sam said. “I’ll be in the back, Peggy.”
There was a question in his voice—are you okay?
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Sam left them, but Peggy knew he wouldn’t go far. He’d be listening.
Arnie shook his head. “And you think there’s evidence in his storage unit that proves Ann was murdered?”
“I don’t know.” She was reluctant to tell him anything else until she knew more about him. “Harry claimed he had more information in his papers that he kept there. I wanted to know— so I bid on the unit.”
“I’m so sorry. If I’d known, we wouldn’t have had to waste that money. We were bidding against each other for the same thing.”
Peggy thought about the man in the parking lot who’d attacked her and taken Ann’s file. “I’m sorry I made you spend so much money, but if we wouldn’t have bid on the unit, someone else might have taken it.”
He nodded. “Why do the police think Harry was murdered?”
“It was the manner of his death. I can’t say anything more during the investigation.”
“And you work with the police?”
“In a way. I work for the medical examiner’s office. I’m a forensic botanist. I think Harry was killed with poison.”
“Poison?” Arnie scowled. “What kind of person kills someone with poison, especially nowadays?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I guess so.”
Peggy wasn’t prepared to go into that subject any deeper either. “Did you move everything out of the storage unit?”
“No. Not at all. I’m only staying here a few days. I paid off the past due on the unit and set up an account to keep everything where it is until I can go through it. I’m not sure any of it is worth shipping back home.”
“Where’s home?” She was elated that Harry’s papers were still available.
“I’m from Columbia, South Carolina.” Arnie watched her. “Would you like to see what Harry had stored? I could take you down there. We could both get a look at Harry’s legacy.”
“Yes. I’d still like to see the files Harry was talking about. They could be a big help to the police in investigating his death as well as your sister’s.”
“Why did he know about your husband’s death? Was he involved with that too?”
“He worked on it as a private detective,” she briefly explained. “He said there was more information that he’d collected.”
“It sounds like him.” He shook his head. “Harry wasn’t exactly a fan of the police department—any police department. His dealings sometimes crossed the line.” He used the inhaler again.
“You have more than just asthma, don’t you?” she observed.
He nodded. “Emphysema. I was a firefighter for many years. I’m paying the price now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why don’t we arrange to meet at the mini-storage? I’ll wait for you at the gate, and we can see what’s there. You’re welcome to whatever you want. If Ann was murdered, I’d like to know too.”
“That sounds good.” Peggy glanced at her watch. “It’s kind of late already, and with the weather—would tomorrow morning work for you?”
“That would work. About nine?”
“All right.” She went around the counter and shook his hand. It was cool to the touch. She looked into his slightly yellowed eyes. Arnie Houck was indeed a sick man. “I’m glad you came by.”
He smiled. “I have a bad habit of looking over people’s shoulders—that’s how I saw your name and address as you signed in. It was simple to find you on the Internet. That habit has gotten me into trouble more than once, I’m afraid. Thanks for being so understanding.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I took a picture of the sign-in sheet with my phone so I could look up everyone on it as possible suspects in Harry’s death.”
“I believe you’re saying we’re both sneaky. I’ll take that as a positive.” He got to his feet, at least a foot taller than Peggy. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Peggy watched him walk through the courtyard, hunched over as he was pelted by the hard rain. She should have asked him if he was at the mini-storage last night when she and Harry were there. It didn’t seem to matter, but she’d like to know.
Maybe even more important—where was he when Harry was killed?
“He’s gone, huh?” Sam came up behind her.
“Like you haven’t been back there listening the whole time.” She accused with a smile, glad that he was there.
“I’m not apologizing for it either. He could’ve been a bad guy—still could.”
“I’ll do some research on him tonight. He’s probably okay.”
“But you think everyone is okay.” He grinned. “Need a ride home?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re a bad guy. I am naïve and trusting,” she joked.
“That’s true. You could offer to feed me dinner, and then you’d know I wasn’t taking you home out of the goodness of my heart. That way, you could trust me.”
“Go get the truck while I close up. I don’t know who’s crazier—you or Selena.”
“That’s easy. Definitely Selena.”
“I’m locking up now.”
Peggy gathered her things together, locked up the day’s receipts in the safe, and met Sam on the street in front of Brevard Court. “I should tell you that my parents said they might come by for dinner tonight.”
Sam put the old truck in gear. “Great! I love your folks, and they always bring good food.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
They drove to Peggy’s house with Sam talking constantly about the new landscaping contract with Claire Drummond. He was very excited about their plans, and the prospect of another long-term client.
“She has a great piece of property too,” he said. “Almost as good as yours. And she loves new plants. She’s wants some agastache bushes in her yard.”
“If you’re hinting that you’d like to work on my property, have at it. I’m sure it could do with a tweak here or there.”
“Claire wants a complete makeover.”
“Forget that.” Peggy smiled at him. “I’m not looking for a whole new yard.”
“Just thought I’d mention it. Your yard has been the same way for a long time.”
“And it’s basically going to stay the same as long as I live there.”
When they reached the house, all the outside lights were blazing. Steve was home. Peggy’s parents’ car was in the drive too.
“I guess we’ll be talking about the Shamrock Historical Society over dinner,” she observed. Finding artifacts from Charlotte’s history was her mother’s passion since she’d moved there.
Sam opened his door. “Not if I can get in everything I want to say about my new contract.”
“Between the two, we should have some lively conversation.”
Steve had already locked Shakespeare in their bedroom for the evening. His huge, boisterous welcomes were a little too much for Peggy’s mother. Lilla and Ranson Hughes, Peggy’s mother and father, were gathered around a large pot on the stove. Steve stood off to the side, wearing his red cooking apron that said, Kiss the Cook.