6 A Thyme to Die

by Joyce Lavene

  A Thyme to Die

  By

  Joyce and Jim Lavene

  A Peggy Lee Garden Mystery

  Copyright 2013

  by

  Joyce and Jim Lavene

  All rights reserved

  Cover art by Emmie Anne Studios

  http://www.emmieannestudios.com

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Peggy Lee’s Garden Journal

  About the Authors

  Chapter One

  Sweet Potato

  The sweet potato belongs to the family Convolvulaceae. Its tuberous roots are a vegetable. The young leaves are also eaten. The sweet potato is barely related to the white potato, Solanum tuberosum. They are known by other names around the world: camote, kamote, goguma, man thet, ubi jalar, ubi keledek, shakarkand, satsuma imo, batata or el boniato. The U.S. Dept. of Agriculture requires sweet potatoes to be labeled as such, instead of as ‘yams’, which many people call them. Yams are a different species.

  Peggy Lee woke up and smacked her hand hard against the ‘off’ button on her alarm clock. It was early, barely five a.m. Her bedroom was still dark. She groaned as she rolled over, remembering as she did, why she was up.

  She’d had a late night getting ready for the International Flower Show. She’d worked hard to have the show brought to Charlotte, being part of the process from the beginning. It was exciting, but it was also exhausting.

  A large, wet tongue licked her face from chin to forehead. Before she could wake up enough to move away, a cold, wet nose with whiskers snuffled her cheek.

  “Shakespeare! What are you doing on the bed?”

  The one-hundred-forty-pound Great Dane thumped his tail hard. He was ready for a walk outside and breakfast.

  “Where’s Steve?” Peggy opened both her eyes. The only thing she could see on the pillow next to her was a large head with a black muzzle, a goofy grin, and floppy, unclipped ears. “I guess that means he’s not here, right? If you’re on the bed, there’s not enough room for anyone else.”

  She threw back the sheet and comforter, awake now. It was just as well. If she was going to have time to shower, dress and check on her plants before she left for the flower show, she was going to have to get up.

  Taking Shakespeare outside seemed to be the most important task at hand. He was racing around the bedroom like a dog tornado, as he always did when he needed to go out. That might be fine with a terrier, but with a Great Dane, it was a prelude to broken furniture and glass.

  Peggy put on her slippers and robe and went downstairs, making sure Shakespeare went first so he didn’t knock her down the wide, spiral stairs.

  Before she’d reached the ground floor, she heard Steve’s voice calling the dog. He was already outside with him before she could reach the kitchen door.

  “I guess this is going to be that kind of day.” She yawned and put some water in the kettle to boil. “Breakfast first, it seems.”

  Peggy usually had peach tea for breakfast. In this case, she opted for Earl Grey. There was no doubt in her mind that she needed the pick-me-up.

  She glanced over at the old wood kitchen table and saw Steve’s laptop on it. That was probably why he was up earlier than her. She sneaked a peek—there were no secret FBI files she could look at. Rats! She was curious about what he did.

  Since Steve had accepted the FBI’s director’s job for the Charlotte, North Carolina area, he’d been keeping odd hours getting the office set up.

  He’d told her he was a veterinarian when she’d first met him, which was true. It wasn’t until recently that she’d found out that he was also an FBI agent who’d been sent to keep an eye on her after her first husband, John, a homicide detective with the Charlotte PD, was killed.

  John and Steve had been working together on a case that might have caused John’s death. Steve had been worried that someone might also try to kill her.

  Peggy had thought her meeting with Steve was an accident. Now she knew he’d gone out of his way to be her friend. Later, he said, he’d fallen in love with her. By that time, she had loved him too.

  He’d explained all of it, including the need for secrecy. She understood that he couldn’t tell her the truth at the time. She trusted him.

  She probably wouldn’t have married another man in law enforcement after John’s death, but Steve was exceptional. She had no regrets. It was hard, though, worrying about him, and her son, Paul, who’d decided to follow in her husband’s footsteps and become a police officer.

  It had also made her ask uncomfortable questions about John’s death. Steve had told her that the investigation was still ‘ongoing’. Peggy was determined to find out exactly what that meant.

  Steve seemed the same since she’d found out about his real career. He was gone more, but had told her that would change when the transition was over. He’d be in Charlotte more often. The director’s job was mostly a desk position, with agents reporting to him.

  She toasted and buttered an English muffin. John had often spoken to her about his cases. Steve was secretive and didn’t seem to like talking about what he did. She didn’t like being shut out of that part of his life.

  “Good morning.” Steve removed Shakespeare’s leash before the big dog could barrel through the rest of the house. He put down a bowl of food and stood back as Shakespeare raced toward it.

  She smiled back at him. “It looks like you’ve been busy.”

  He kissed her, closed the laptop, and sat down. “Just going over some information.”

  “Always important to double check your facts.”

  It seemed as though their conversations were like this recently. Back and forth with no discernible information exchanged. They’d managed to have a long talk when Peggy had first found out that he wasn’t just a veterinarian. Everything had seemed like it was out on the table. She wished he’d share as much now.

  “So you have that flower show today, right?” he asked.

  He kept trying. Bless his heart. Peggy stirred a little milk into her tea.

  “That’s right. And you?”

  “Still going through the transition. I’m not sure how long it’ll take. Maybe we can go away for a while when it’s over.”

  “That would be nice.” She chewed and swallowed a bite of her muffin. “So what exactly will you do when you’ve transitioned? I know agents answer to you. Will you be in the field at all?”

  “I could be supervising in the field on some cases.” He stood and poured another cup of coffee. “It shouldn’t be dangerous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Just curious. I’ve never really known an FBI agent before. At least not that I knew of.”

  He put down his coffee cup and took her in his arms. “I think we know each other pretty well. I’m the same man you married.”

  “I guess I mean what they do, as part of their job.”

  St
eve kissed her and smiled. “You’re asking me for a detailed list of duties, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “We’ll work on that,” he promised. “I have to go.”

  “I like that blue suit on you with the lighter blue shirt.” She smiled at him and picked up her tea. “I’m going upstairs to get dressed. I’ll see you later.”

  He held her in his arms for another minute. “I love you, Peggy.”

  “I love you too, Steve. Think about that list.”

  He laughed. “I will.”

  Peggy didn’t go upstairs to get dressed right away. Her projects in the basement needed her attention.

  The basement sprawled the entire length and width of the turn-of-the-century house on Queen’s Road in Charlotte. It was filled with her botanical experiments and plants she loved. She bred and modified plants for pleasure as well as for food and medicinal purposes.

  Peggy had worked recently on projects to increase the rice yield without using any genetic modifications and had created a strain of wheat that grew faster and in poorer soil. Her work as a botanist had received many awards down through the years.

  The basement wasn’t quite big enough for everything she wanted to do. In the heart of the rapidly growing city, it opened into an acre garden that she cultivated by the season.

  She wasn’t much of a lawn person. Countless corporations had asked her to help them work on creating ornamental grass that only grew to an eighth of an inch tall, and even some that glowed in the dark. That type of work didn’t interest her, though the money was good.

  Peggy had created a large grassy area that was home to a new variety of tall grass that was edible. It contained all the essential vitamins a human needed and tasted a little like lemon. The only problem was that it couldn’t withstand drought or cold temperatures. She was still working on that.

  “Hello. Good morning.” Dr. Walter Bellows, her next door neighbor, opened the sliding glass door that separated the garden from the basement. He was a short man with an ancient-looking tweed cap and matching jacket that he wore year round. Little tufts of his gray hair stuck out all over his head from under his cap. “What are we working on today?”

  Bellows had been an annoying neighbor at first, but they’d slowly discovered that they had similar interests in plants. He was also a botanist. They’d become good friends.

  “Not much. I’m on my way to the flower show. I wanted to check in on the sweet potatoes before I leave.” She walked over to the huge basket where a new variety of sweet potatoes were growing. “I think these are going to be ready next week. The university will be surprised. They weren’t expecting them until next month.”

  Walter stuck his fingers into the warm rich soil. “They’re huge! I wouldn’t have believed it except that I was here when you planted them. Imagine—sweet potatoes in two weeks!”

  “We have to find ways to grow food faster if we want to keep on feeding everyone.”

  He nodded, his pale blue eyes, showing his fascination with the project. “If you need me to water them, or anything else, I’ll be glad to.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the flower show?”

  “No, thank you! I’m not interested in daisies and roses. What you’re doing here is amazing work, Peggy. You go on. Get dressed. I’ll rummage around here for a while.”

  Peggy trusted Walter now. He knew what he was doing. She would rather have stayed in the basement all day with her projects, but she had to go to the convention center and make sure everything was set up.

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She went back upstairs, past all the nooks and crannies she loved so much in the old house. Upkeep was expensive for the rambling dwelling filled with dozens of rooms. She paid her part to live there but the house would never belong to her. Someday her husband’s nephew would take possession. Her son would never live here with his family.

  The house was set in a trust that followed the family line. Her husband, John Lee, had brought her here as a young bride. Their son, Paul, was born and raised here but wouldn’t inherit.

  The Lee family wasn’t happy that Peggy still lived there after John’s death. They were especially unhappy after she’d remarried two years ago, but really, what was the use in the house sitting empty? John’s nephew was a journalist who was always in interesting parts of the world. He didn’t have time for the place.

  Peggy planned to stay there as long as she could, until she died and they carried her out, if that was possible. Steve had sold his house a few doors down and come to live with her after the wedding.

  Shakespeare was asleep and snoring on the bed again when she got upstairs. She didn’t disturb him. She took a shower and put on a wonderful forest green suit she’d found especially for the flower show. The color was perfect, shimmering with highlights when she was in the sun. The low-heeled sandals had been a little problem, but she’d finally had a pair dyed to match.

  She’d wanted to look her best to step into her role as local chairperson for the International Flower Show. It had taken two years to convince the show’s owners to come to Charlotte. Normally they set up in Atlanta, but a coalition of city and state had enticed the owners to take a chance.

  Peggy was excited about the show. She never missed one. There were vendors and growers from around the world with exhibits that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

  Just watching all the setup it had taken for the event had been fascinating. There were houses and animals completely made out of flowers. Some growers had actually brought full-sized trees to create their exhibit. The exhibits were living art as growers found new ways to set their plants apart and entice buyers and investors.

  Many of the vendors were dedicated to growing larger flowers, smaller trees, or hemp plants that could be spun into materials that would be used for clothing and other necessities. There were some, like her friend Dr. Aris Abutto from South Africa, who’d dedicated themselves to preserving and improving orchids.

  Peggy had only met Aris in person for the first time since he’d arrived in Charlotte for the show. They’d only talked online before in the years they’d known each other. He was a delightful man.

  In short, it was her world, housed in the Charlotte Convention Center for one week. It was a perfect week for her. She felt like a sponge soaking up all the new ideas from so many gardeners, biologists and botanists.

  The taxi she’d taken from her house (she couldn’t ride her bike as she normally would have in these circumstances) dropped her off at the front gate of the center.

  “Hello, Peggy.” The guard at the gate waved her through without looking at her pass. He’d seen it almost every day for a month. “Looks like you’re gonna have fine weather for the opening day. Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you, Reggie. It’s very exciting. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so tired.”

  He laughed. “I know what you mean. Hey! I tried that salve you suggested for my dry skin. It’s great stuff. Thanks.”

  The salve was a personal favorite of hers made from oatmeal and seeds from the cotton plant.

  “Glad it helped! I’ll see you later.”

  There were no vendors there that early. Peggy opened the doors to what amounted to a cave of botanical wonders. Everyone had worked so hard to bring the show to life. Despite the time, and sometimes ridiculous problems, she was thrilled to have been a part of it.

  Her own garden shop, The Potting Shed, had a nice-sized exhibit. She’d gotten the space at a discount because of her participation. She was very proud of the work her partner, Sam Ollson, had done. It was comparable to even the biggest, most expensive exhibits in the show.

  One thing was out of place, though, as she walked into the main area of the building. She could have sworn it wasn’t there the day before.

  The exhibit beside The Potting Shed was supposed to be an older-looking farmhouse with flowers and vegetables planted everywhere. There were chickens made of carnations a
nd cows made of wood chips.

  What there wasn’t supposed to be was a large mound of black dirt in the center of the make-believe field. She shivered, thinking it almost looked like a grave.

  Just being fanciful after thinking about what Steve does for the FBI.

  Peggy walked through the area, mindful of her new shoes in the dirt and mulch. She walked right up to the side of the high mound. There was a cross, or at least it looked like a cross, fashioned out of dogwood branches at the head of it. The dirt was covered in pink thyme flowers and leaves.

  Her heart pumped a little faster as she looked at it. Something was wrong. This shouldn’t have been there. In the language of flowers, thyme was associated with the grave and with death. The plants were used on graves long ago as a memorial to the dead.

  She hoped her sick feeling of dread was misplaced as she dialed 911 on her cell phone.

  Chapter Two

  Thyme

  Thymus vulgaris is native to Europe. The word comes from the Greek thymus, meaning courage. Known usage dates back to 3,000 BC. It was used as an antiseptic by the Sumerians and an ingredient in the Egyptian mummification process. Wearing a sprig of thyme in the hair was believed to be an attractant to men. It was the home of fairies and a potent snakebite remedy. Its association with the grave may have started in Egypt but it continues to this day when thyme is still thrown into a grave for protection and purification.

  The Charlotte police responded quickly. Within five minutes, officers in uniform were looking at the unusual mound of dirt with her. There was a discussion of whether or not someone should dig up the dirt to find out if anything was inside.

  Peggy had tried calling the exhibit owner but there was no answer.

  Her son, Paul, had been sent as part of the group of responding officers. Paul had his father’s tall, lanky body and her green eyes. He wore his bright red hair short and spiky.

  Peggy hadn’t been happy when Paul had joined the police department after John had been killed. It had been hard for him and Peggy to get through those dark days. She hadn’t wanted him to give up his dream of being an architect, and she suspected that Paul was looking for revenge. John’s killer had never been found.