Pretty Poison plgm-1

by Joyce Lavene

  She wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything. The crime scene team either didn’t see it or overlooked it as being part of the decor. After all, it was a garden shop. A random flower head that didn’t belong on her floor was hardly something that would spark police interest. And it wouldn’t clear Mr. Cheever. Still, she didn’t plan to throw it away. It might be a piece of the puzzle.

  Sam moved the rocking chair back into position. “It doesn’t look the same without Gus, does it?”

  She smiled. “Getting a new scarecrow is the least of our worries. In some ways, all this publicity will be good for business. It should certainly bring in some new people. And that’s good. Except for people who want to come and look at this stain on the floor.”

  He agreed. “There’s that rug place in the Arcade. Would you like me to run down there and get something to cover it?”

  “That would be great, Sam. Thanks. Take the checkbook.”

  The Potting Shed was always busy on Friday with gardeners stocking up for the weekend. The weather was supposed to be nice. Peggy urged everyone who came in during the week to take advantage of it. It wouldn’t be long before winter set in, and they’d all be dreaming of spring.

  True to her expectations, a steady stream of customers flowed into the shop as soon as they opened. Some were familiar faces there to pick up plant orders or buy potting soil. Some were strangers who walked slowly through, looking at the floor. All of them wanted to know about the murder they’d seen on Channel 9 news.

  Everyone had an opinion. Most of the women felt Warner deserved to die for his much-rumored infidelity and was probably killed by some former lover. Most of the men were certain the homeless man was responsible and wanted to know when the city was going to clean up its act.

  They all wanted to know Peggy’s opinion. When she claimed not to have one, they looked embarrassed or disappointed and continued walking around the shop. Most handled a few garden implements or picked up a pack of bulbs. Few bought anything.

  Around ten, the press came in and asked to talk to Peggy while they took pictures of the shop. She declined, even though the free publicity appealed to her. The Potting Shed was notorious enough.

  Sam came back with a rainbow-colored rag rug. They moved the rocking chair and the wicker baskets out of the way and laid the rug over the bloodstain.

  There was sudden silence in the shop, despite the twenty-five or so customers. It was followed by an audible sigh of disappointment. Several people put away their cameras and left. Peggy shrugged and rearranged the display on the rug. She didn’t need gawkers there anyway.

  She finally had to leave Keeley and Sam. She wanted to tell them about the columbine she found, but it seemed too vague. She certainly couldn’t call it a clue. But on her way to her freshman botany class, she suddenly decided to make a quick stop at the downtown precinct. Maybe Mai would have more information. And maybe Peggy would tell her about the columbine.

  There were several squad cars and the white crime scene van outside the redbrick building. It was strange being there after two years. How many times did she bring John’s supper up there and wait for him in the parking lot? She only did it to spend an extra few minutes with him. Their lives were too hectic sometimes with his job, her teaching, and their varied outside interests. She wished now they’d taken the last vacation they had postponed.

  She walked inside, and the memories continued to haunt her. In some ways, it was like nothing had changed. The badly painted walls and scuffed floors, the smell of strong disinfectant and day-old coffee. John’s office had been in the back of the precinct. She hadn’t been there since the day she cleaned out his desk. Who was sitting there now?

  Several ragged men waited on an inside bench near the door. Peggy wondered if they were being questioned about Mark’s death. All of them fit her general description of Mr. Cheever, but he wasn’t in the group. She was glad they hadn’t found him yet, even though he might be safer here. There was also the worry that he’d become a convenient fall guy.

  She was distracted by a ficus as she waited to speak to the desk sergeant. Poor thing was shedding leaves faster than a poplar in autumn! She stuck her finger into the soil where the roots were showing. It was as dry as last week’s casserole.

  “What can I do for you?” the sergeant finally asked her.

  He was new. She didn’t recognize him. It was surprising how much the building stayed the same while the people came and went. Like they didn’t have any effect on their surroundings. “I’d like to see—” she took out the business card and showed him, “Mai Sato. She’s with forensics.”

  “I’ll give her a call. Your name?”

  “Peggy Lee.”

  He grinned at her. “Are you Paul’s mother by any chance?”

  “Yes, I am. Is he here?”

  “Not right now. They’ve got everybody out on the street bringing in homeless men. He might be back soon.” He picked up the phone and called Mai.

  When he put down the receiver, she said, “You’re killing that lovely ficus by keeping it too close to the door. Every blast of cold air is like a deathblow to it. It needs watering, too, and more dirt to cover the roots.”

  “I don’t take care of the plants, Mrs. Lee.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Who does?”

  “I don’t know. Whoever’s handy, I guess.”

  “Thanks.” She made a mental note to talk to Al about it after this was over. It might be another job for the Potting Shed.

  While she was waiting for Mai, she looked at the little ficus again. When the sergeant was talking with another man, she moved it closer to his desk, away from the door. It would be protected from the worst of the weather anyway.

  The battered hall door opened. “Dr. Lee! What brings you down here?”

  “Hello, Mai! I wanted to check and see what was going on. Have my people come in to be fingerprinted?”

  “Come on back. It’s freezing out here. You know, it occurred to me after we talked yesterday that you could be Paul Lee’s mother.”

  “Guilty as charged. You know Paul?”

  Mai grimaced but didn’t answer.

  Peggy followed her down the hall that smelled like antiseptic cleaner, wondering what her son did to alienate the young woman. They turned into a dismal, windowless office. A desk was shoved into one corner, and a worktable took up the rest of the closetlike space. Stark fluorescent lighting made everything look surreal.

  Mai shuffled the stacks of papers on her desk. Colored tabs and folders neatly organized each stack. “No one’s come in yet. I hope you impressed on them how important this is. I’m sure none of them want to be mistaken for a suspect.”

  “I’m sure they don’t. But all of them are students. You know what that’s like. I’ll call them again. Can you tell me anything more about Mark Warner’s death?”

  “Have a seat. I heard about your husband. I’m sorry for your loss. Since your son and your husband were on the job, I suppose I could give you a few details. It did happen in your shop.”

  “Exactly. Thank you.” Peggy sat down carefully on a rickety ladder-back chair.

  “Most of the tests aren’t done yet. There are a lot of samples to go through. But we know there were no defensive wounds. The ME thinks he was standing with his back to the killer, not suspecting anything until he was attacked. The shovel damaged the brain stem enough that death occurred.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Yeah. The killer probably knocked him down, then stood over him to use the shovel with maximum effect.” Mai demonstrated with a pen. “They found his car yesterday. It was parked in the deck behind the Bank of America building. It was in his space. There was nothing irregular about it. We think he left work and walked over to your shop.”

  “Which would support my theory that he was going to meet someone there secretly,” Peggy added.

  “Someone like who? Was he friends with someone who works there?”

  Peggy told her about the br
unette she’d seen with him.

  Mai nodded. “That could explain a lot. But why pick your shop? There are a dozen hotels closer.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was somewhere familiar. Somewhere they felt safe.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Mai agreed, “in a weird way.”

  “But it doesn’t explain how they got into my shop.”

  “True. Could he have had a key?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Maybe you should write down the names of all the people who have keys.” Mai passed her a piece of paper. “A detective is bound to ask you at some point anyway.”

  Peggy considered carefully. “All my assistants have keys. Full time, that’s Selena, Keeley, and Sam. There are two others who come in part time, Brenda and Dawn. They’re all students. That’s five. Emil has one. I have one. The pest control man has one. The cleaning service has one. That’s all I can think of.”

  “You don’t leave one anywhere, do you? Under a mat or taped somewhere on a window ledge?”

  “No, nothing like that! My husband would turn over in his grave if I were that careless!”

  Mai shrugged. “It’s not unusual. Have you asked your assistants about that night?”

  “The last two were there around eight-thirty. Selena works days. She left with me. The pest control man comes in once a month. It wasn’t time for him. I don’t know if Emil has ever used his key. Mint Condition, the cleaning service, comes in once a week. But that wasn’t their night to clean.”

  “Well, that didn’t help.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Mai glanced through the paperwork from the case. “Someone else is checking out Mr. Warner’s clothes. We never found his shoes. So far the only unusual thing we found was a piece of some kind of flower petal in his pocket.”

  “Columbine?”

  “Is that a flower?”

  “I found this on the floor in the shop this morning.” Peggy pulled out the flower head. “It might match what you found. We don’t carry columbines this time of year.”

  Mai used tweezers to take the flower. She sealed it into a plastic bag. “How did we miss this?” She carefully labeled the sample.

  “It’s a flower in a garden shop. It doesn’t really look like evidence.”

  “And it might not be,” Mai told her. “But thanks for bringing it in. I’ll let you know if it’s anything.”

  The door to the office burst open. “Mom? I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

  Peggy glanced up at her son. “Hello Paul! I know how to get to see you now. Have a murder at my shop.”

  Paul Lee was tall and slender like his father. But his red hair and freckles came from his mother. He had her green eyes and delicate nose. He smiled less often, especially since his father’s death. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Hogwash! Give me a hug.” She caught him close to her. He squirmed away almost as soon as she hugged him. “I managed to see your father, even though he walked a beat.”

  “That was different.”

  There’d been a rift developing between them since John died. She opposed Paul joining the police department. He’d wanted to be an architect until his father was killed. They argued about his decision. Paul moved out on his own only a month after John’s death and then became a police officer. Peggy felt like he was looking for revenge. “Never mind. I’m glad to see you anyway.”

  He lowered his voice. “So why are you here?”

  She laughed. “I came to pump Mai for information.”

  Mai took off her heavy glasses, smiled, and shook her head.

  He glanced at her. “I didn’t notice you there.”

  “What else is new?”

  “Don’t give her a rough time, huh?” Paul demanded.

  “Grow up!” Mai growled. “I only do my job!”

  “Whatever! Can I see you out here for a minute when you’re finished, Mom?”

  Paul walked out. Peggy noticed Mai watching him. “You know him well?”

  “No! Thank goodness! I see him around from time to time, that’s all. I’m sorry, Dr. Lee, but he’s a jerk.”

  Mai wasn’t watching Paul like she thought he was a jerk. The young forensics officer seemed pretty interested in him. “Only my students call me Dr. Lee. My friends call me Peggy.”

  “Thanks.” Mai glanced at the open doorway. “Maybe he’s still grieving. Maybe that’s why he’s such a jerk.”

  “I’d like to think so. But I’m not really sure.”

  “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be talking about him that way.”

  “No, that’s all right. He’s my son, and I love him, but no one’s perfect.”

  “Has he always been so . . . ?”

  “Difficult?” Peggy queried. “Yes. I’m afraid so. Worse since his father died. He looks like me, but he has his father’s moodiness. He was devastated when John was killed.”

  “Are you finished with her yet?” Paul looked in from the doorway. “She’s answering questions voluntarily. I hope you’ve noted that.”

  “I have,” Mai answered belligerently. “And after meeting her, I don’t know what happened to you!”

  Paul’s face turned red, but he recovered quickly. “Save the sarcasm. I’m getting my mother out of here. Anything else, you’ll have to contact her attorney.”

  Peggy glanced at him. “But I don’t have an attorney, honey.”

  “Maybe you should get one,” Mai warned. “We don’t know how this is going to end up yet. And you were the one who found the body.”

  Peggy sighed and got to her feet. “We’ll see. Thanks for your help anyway.”

  “Any time.”

  “Come over here,” Paul invited his mother, closing Mai’s office door with a loud bang.

  She followed him into an unoccupied office.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” He closed the door behind them.

  “I wanted to know what they found out,” she defended. “The dead man was in my shop.”

  “Look, Mom, this is embarrassing enough without you making it worse!”

  “Embarrassing?”

  “Yes.” Paul’s pacing was hampered by the tiny room stuffed full of furniture. “What do you think it’s like with people knowing my mother found a dead man in her garden shop? Mark Warner, of all people, for God’s sake!”

  “You can hardly blame me for what other people think.”

  “I know that. And I don’t blame you. But being here only makes it worse.”

  “In what way?”

  “What do you think everyone will say when they know you were here asking Mai for details?”

  Peggy shrugged. “That I was interested?”

  “Look, Mom, stay out of it! Go home. Let everyone do their job! You were married to a detective, but that doesn’t make you one.”

  She looked at her son’s handsome face. “I’m going home. Well, actually, I’m going home after my class. For now anyway. But if I have a chance to solve even a small part of the puzzle, I will.”

  “Mom—”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Paul.”

  “Mom!”

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry so much. Come by, and I’ll make you supper one night.”

  “Dad always said you were too stubborn for your own good.”

  “I love you, too!”

  Peggy showed herself out of the station after getting some water from the drinking fountain to use on the ficus. She half expected Paul to come out screaming after her. When he didn’t, she took a deep breath and unlocked the chain on her bicycle. She glanced at her watch. It was eleven-thirty. The air was delicious with the smell of frying onions and peppers from the uptown sidewalk vendors. It made her stomach growl, reminding her that she only had tea for breakfast. She had just enough time to go home for lunch before her class.

  THE WIND WAS BRISK and cold, but she welcomed it in her face as she pedaled into her driveway past the Chinese fountain and the fros
tbitten crape myrtles. She’d come to like having the four distinct seasons in Charlotte. Growing up at the coast, there was summer and a cool month. Then it was summer again. Or at least it seemed that way to her as a child.

  “Good morning, Clarice,” she called to her neighbor.

  “Morning, Peggy!” the other woman greeted her. “I was wondering if you could tell me how close I should trim these roses? Last year, I think I trimmed too close, and they didn’t do so well. John was always such a dear to help me with them, bless his soul.”