by Joyce Lavene
“What? What just happened?”
Their green gazes locked as he confessed. “I took everything out of Harry Fletcher’s storage shed.”
Gladiolus
Cultivated since the 1800s, Victorian gardeners, including Monet and Gertrude Jekyll, adored these flowers with their tall, spiky heads, and glorious colors. They bloom best in full sun and will multiply abundantly.
Chapter Seventeen
“What were you thinking, Paul? Why did you steal everything in there?” Peggy couldn’t believe her son had done something like this.
“I don’t know. You told me about the files you thought might have something to do with Dad. I was thinking about it. Then I came up with a plan.”
Paul wasn’t in uniform. He wore a plain UNCC T-shirt and jeans. He didn’t look like he’d slept well. His eyes were troubled.
“You’ll have to put it all back,” she decided. “The surveillance cameras weren’t working. They don’t have a picture of you.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to let them make a video with me as the star.”
“Okay. I guess you can fix the cameras too, when you take Arnie’s stuff back to the storage unit.”
“Don’t you even want to know what was in it?” he asked impatiently.
“Of course I want to know. I assume you went through Harry’s files.”
“There were two boxes of files. Most of them were dedicated to information he’d collected about his wife. There were only two folders that had information about Dad.”
Peggy sat on one of the benches. “What did you find?”
Paul sat beside her. “Not much. Harry found out that Dad was helping Steve and another FBI agent look into a series of murders in Charlotte. It looked like they believed a state senator’s death was related. It didn’t make much sense.”
“What senator? Was he murdered?”
“No, but he did die in a car wreck at around the same time. His name was Senator Richard Malcolm. I looked it up. There was no mention of Dad or any kind of conspiracy.”
Peggy took a deep breath, trying to dispel the pain that ached in her chest. “I don’t see what the link would be between them.”
“Me either—not yet anyway. But Mom, this private detective knew all about this while we were kept in the dark all this time. That’s not right. I think we should talk to Steve and Al about it. There might be more that they’re not telling us.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she disagreed. “I’m sure they’ve told us all they could.”
Paul wasn’t convinced. “I want to ask them.”
“All right.” Peggy watched three pretty young girls in flowered, summer dresses walk by them. “Do you need help taking the stuff back to the storage shed?”
“No. I’ve got this. Do you want me to make copies of the information about Harry’s wife?”
“You don’t have to. I’m sure Arnie will share it with me—if he can find it.”
“I’m sorry about this. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
She smiled and patted his hand. “I thought you were a little too calm when we talked about it. I should’ve known something was up.”
“Yeah. Dad’s death is one thing I can’t be calm about. All these years—I believed something was up with him dying that way. Al kept telling me it was okay. I never believed him. I was right. I guess he lied to me.”
“I don’t think Al knew anything about this other stuff with the FBI. He told me he didn’t even know John was working with them. I believe him.”
“I don’t know what I believe now.” His eyes focused on hers. “What about Steve? I feel kind of weird knowing he was working with Dad when he was killed, and then suddenly he marries you. Don’t you think that’s kind of strange?”
Steve had told Peggy after they were married that he’d been keeping an eye on her after John was killed. The FBI was worried that she might be a target too. He’d told her that he’d fallen in love with her—despite the almost ten-year age gap between them.
She believed him, and she trusted him. She knew it was hard to convey trust between two people to a third party like Paul. “The whole thing sounds odd, but I think it makes sense. I know Steve. And it wasn’t as if the day after your father died he came knocking at my door looking for a date. Let’s give him some credit.”
Paul ran his hand through his spikey red hair. “I know you’re right. Steve is a good guy. I know he wasn’t involved in Dad’s death, except as his contact with the Bureau. Al told me he’s worked with the FBI before too. It happens in local cases.”
He got to his feet. “I made copies of all the papers Harry had about Dad. I didn’t want to take a chance on losing them, even though they don’t really make any difference as far as I can tell. I just want them, you know?”
She got up and hugged him. “I know. I’m sure I’ll get the originals after you put everything else back in the storage unit.”
“Yeah. I’ll take care of that tonight. I don’t know how you’ll play this with Arnie. You’ll have to convince him to look at it again without giving anything away.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. In the meantime, please give up your cat burglar tendencies.”
“I’ve sworn off. Mai would kill me if she found out.”
They were about to go their separate ways when Peggy thought to ask about what else was in the storage shed.
“More files. I didn’t read all of them. Some personal things like clothes and books. They looked like they belonged to Harry’s wife. You know, there were some books on plants and poisons that you’d probably like. She must’ve been a gardener too.”
“Really?” Peggy thought about Ann’s unusual death. “If I have a chance, I’ll look at them. Thanks, Paul. Be careful.”
Peggy went back to her car, thinking about the idea that Ann could have been responsible for her own death. People read about herbs and plants that could be used for medicine without realizing that the tinctures and formulas had to be followed as closely for home remedies as with drugs.
Maybe it was possible Ann had accidentally killed herself. The first thing every poison expert learned is that what can kill can usually heal, and vice versa. Had Ann been treating herself for some health problem and overdone it?
Whatever answer that might bring wouldn’t work with what had happened to Harry. Ann had been dead for a long time. In Peggy’s experience, people didn’t come back from the dead to kill others.
On the other hand, Arnie might share his sister’s curiosity about poisons and plants. Even though his record was clear, it was always possible that he could have finally decided to take revenge for his sister.
If Paul could do something so irresponsible for information about John’s death, it was certainly possible that Arnie could have taken it one step further.
Peggy thoughtfully drove back to The Potting Shed. She spent as much time as she could there helping Selena with the new bulbs and talking with customers. She wasn’t looking forward to heading to the cemetery for the exhumation. She was sure that was what made the time fly by.
Before she left, she spoke with Sam about Selena.
He scoffed when she told him the girl might have feelings for him. “That’s crazy. She’s like my little annoying sister. We’ve known each other a long time, Peggy. She knows how I feel.”
“Believe it or not, women don’t care if men are gay. They believe they’ll change for them. I just have a feeling there’s something more going on with Selena right now. Maybe you could say something to her.”
Sam arched a blond brow in his tanned face. “Something like what?”
“Pretend she’s Hunter. Say something to her that you might say to your younger sister.”
“You’re really messing with my head today.” He grinned. “First you tell me Selena might feel romantic toward me, and then you tell me to talk to her like she was Hunter. That’s just so wrong.”
“You know what I mean. I know you’ll figure
it out.” She waved to him as she left the shop. “I don’t want to be late for my first exhumation.”
“Yeah. I don’t blame you,” he yelled back.
Peggy saw Arnie’s white Cadillac parked next to the maintenance crew’s vehicle before she pulled into the cemetery. A Charlotte/Mecklenburg police cruiser followed her in and parked behind her. Two men, dressed in blue coveralls, held shovels as they stood beside a yellow backhoe next to a grave.
Everyone was looking at her as she got out of her car, and started across the green grass. She wished she’d told Dorothy that she couldn’t be there. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
“You don’t have to be here,” she said to Arnie. “I don’t want to be here, and she wasn’t my sister.”
“Would you want them to dig up your husband without being there?” he countered.
“Actually, yes. I think I would. Some things are just too painful.” She hoped that never happened.
“You from the medical examiner’s office?” the police officer asked. “I have the court order. I guess we can get going.”
“Yes,” Peggy said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Pine
Pine trees have been around for millions of years. It has been found that the loblolly pine has a long genome that is more than seven times the size of the human genome. There are more than a hundred different species of pine.
Chapter Eighteen
It took about an hour to dig up Ann Fletcher’s coffin. Peggy rode back to the morgue with the dirty coffin in the medical examiner’s van. Arnie agreed to make the round trip back with his car so that Peggy could come back for hers. She had promised him information as they got it from the autopsy Dorothy would do on his sister.
Peggy sat on the narrow bench, staring at the faded, gray coffin. She hoped something good would come of this for Arnie and his sister. It also made her wish she’d had John cremated.
Dorothy was waiting at the back of the office where the bodies were taken in from the loading ramp. The two men who’d come from the morgue got the heavy coffin on a gurney and rolled it inside.
“How did it go?” Dorothy searched Peggy’s face.
“Everything went as well as it could,” Peggy responded. “Dorothy, this is Ann Fletcher’s brother, Arnie. He was out there with us. Arnie, this is the medical examiner, Dorothy Beck.”
Dorothy shook Arnie’s hand. “I’m so sorry it had to come to this. I know it’s never easy.”
“If it helps find the truth about what happened to my sister, it will be worth it.”
“He’s going to take me back to get my car,” Peggy explained. “I didn’t realize I’d have to ride back with the coffin.”
“Sure. You can’t beat protocol. I’m going to get started on the autopsy. Maybe I’ll have something when you get back.” Dorothy nodded and said goodbye to Arnie before she walked back inside the building.
“So you know for sure that Harry was killed by this poison.” Arnie held the door to the Cadillac open for Peggy.
“Yes. According to the original autopsy, there was convallatoxin in your sister’s body too. Not as much as in Harry’s, but we think the delivery method may have been different.”
“My sister was really into plants and herbs.” Arnie started the car. “She wanted to be an herbalist, or something like that. She had dozens of books on the subject.”
Peggy hoped those books were on their way back to Arnie’s storage shed. Paul might have to wait until dark to put everything back. Even though what he’d done had been stupid, she understood, and hoped he wasn’t caught setting it right.
“It’s possible she used lily of the valley on herself,” Peggy said. “Do you know if she had anything wrong with her?”
He shrugged as he kept his eyes on traffic. “Not really. We weren’t as close after she married Harry. It seems to me she might’ve used it as a sedative, if that’s possible. They had a rough life together.”
“It isn’t used frequently, but it could be something someone might play around with. It’s deadly, especially in large doses, or prolonged use.”
“But Ann has been dead for a long time. Do you think Harry poisoned her twenty years ago and then poisoned himself?”
“Not really. I think this may have been done by a third person.” She stared at the side of his face as he maneuvered the big car through the city.
He glanced at her. “You’re not thinking I did it, are you? I don’t know anything about that stuff. I sure don’t know why you wouldn’t just shoot a person rather than go through all that trouble. And I didn’t kill my own sister.”
“I frequently wonder why anyone uses poison too. It’s a lot more common than most people realize.” Peggy looked away from him. Now might not be the best time to get the truth out of him. If he had killed Harry, she’d be better off proving that with her knowledge and letting the police take over.
They reached the cemetery, and Peggy got in her car. Arnie reminded her that she’d promised updates on his sister. He pulled off, with an abrupt wave, before she was ready to go.
Probably a little put out that I sounded as though he might have killed Ann.
This was the same cemetery where John was buried, the largest in the city. She hadn’t visited his grave in a long time. Right after he’d been killed—and for the first year—she and Paul had come out here every Sunday. After a while, it just felt wrong. She was more comfortable thinking about him at home in the garden than lying here with a stone at his head.
Today, she decided to make an exception.
It was funny how some things were never forgotten. Even though it had been years since she’d been to John’s grave, she was able to walk right to it without a second thought. She remembered the old knotty pine that grew close to it. The tree was still there, squat and twisted, but beautiful. It was probably at least 100 years old.
John’s headstone had accumulated some moss but otherwise looked the same. The cemetery put plastic plants on the grave a few times a year. The plastic ivy in the red clay pot looked cheap. Maybe she’d ask them not to do that anymore. The grass was all cut to the same height on the grave and around it. She sat down on a nearby cement bench and stared at the spot.
“This is silly,” she said. “I know you aren’t in there. I’m sure if you’re anywhere, you’re at home with that big, lopsided azalea you planted. That’s why I stopped coming. I didn’t want Paul to remember you being dead. I didn’t want to either. I like to think that you’re working in some celestial garden. I’d rather think of you that way, John. I hope that’s okay.”
A warm breeze rustled through the old oaks and pines. Somewhere beyond her line of vision, a dog was barking. Cars whizzed by the cemetery on the main road, and a plane roared through the blue sky above her.
“I’m going now, John. I love you. Even though talking to you here is stupid, I can’t seem to help myself. I’ll see you at home.” She kissed her fingers and laid them on the top of his headstone.
There were a few other people walking through the large cemetery, but mostly it was empty. The majority of people probably visited on the weekend. Peggy walked quickly around the other graves, taking note of the large hole still open where they’d dug up Ann’s coffin. It was surrounded by yellow police tape and signs warning everyone to stay away.
As she approached the car, her cell phone rang. It was Dorothy.
“Peggy, you should get back here right away. There’s something you have to see.”
“I’m on my way.” She put her phone in her bag and got in the car.
* * *
Peggy parked in the morgue parking lot, reminding herself that she’d have to put her bike in the back of the car to take it home that day.
Dorothy was waiting in her office, going through some information on her computer. “I thought you’d never get back.”
“I wasn’t gone that long. How much information could you get from the body in that amount of time?”
“Come with me. You�
�ll be surprised.”
This was Peggy’s first exhumed body autopsy. She wasn’t looking forward to it. It was bad enough looking at a dead body that had recently died. She didn’t want to think about what it would be like to examine someone who’d been dead twenty years.
Both women put on masks and gloves before they entered the autopsy room. Dorothy was like a small child with a surprise, almost skipping away from her office and down the long hall.
“I planned to look for the mark on the back of the neck indicating that Mrs. Fletcher had been injected with poison,” Dorothy explained.
Peggy stared at the body, trying to look away from the desiccated form on the table. There was already the large ‘Y’ incision across the chest. No fresh marks had been made. Dorothy had only started.
“I found a mark. It’s difficult to say if it is an injection site, but a cursory examination using Mrs. Fletcher’s records told me something very important.”
“What?” Peggy shook her gaze away from the body.
“This isn’t Ann Fletcher.” Dorothy’s voice was excited.
Even though Peggy couldn’t see her grin from behind the facemask, she knew Dorothy well enough to know it was there.
“What are you talking about?”
“I had to check it twice,” Dorothy continued. “Some people don’t have anything that can separate them from other people, especially in this state of decomp. Although, she is very well preserved.”
“So you checked it twice, and what did you find?”
“No surgical change of the chest area. Ann Fletcher was born with a deformity that made her ribcage curve into her heart. She had surgery to repair that when she was twelve years old. When you look at the x-ray for this body, it never occurred. Unless her medical records are wrong, this has to be another woman.”
Peggy couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?”
“Look at the x-rays.” Dorothy pointed to the pictures on the lighted board. “I don’t have a copy of Ann’s chest x-rays yet, but I’ve already called the hospital in Columbia for it.”