by Joyce Lavene
“It’s probably not how close you trimmed them.” Peggy leaned her bike against the house, then walked around the neat wood fence that separated their yards. She ignored the little tug on her heart at the reminder that John was gone. “Give them plenty of lime and make sure they have enough water. They should do fine in a sunny place like this.”
“Thanks, Peggy!” The neighbor’s inquisitive eyes roamed over the shiny red bike. “You know, it’s not safe for a woman your age to be riding up and down the streets on that thing. When are you going to start driving again?”
“After I finish the hydrogen conversion.”
“Excuse me?” Clarice looked at her like she had two heads. “What are you talking about?”
She started to explain about her project converting her father-in-law’s 1940 Rolls-Royce from a gas-burning pig to a more polite hydrogen-fueled vehicle. A sudden commotion in the backyard stopped her. Clarice’s tiny toy poodle was barking like something was ripping him to shreds.
“Poopsie?” Clarice ran toward her dog, the effort straining her brightly flowered slacks.
Peggy ran after her. The apricot-colored poodle was dyed to match Clarice’s hair. It was no bigger than a large squirrel, but it had cornered something in the garden. It was difficult to tell what it was. Even though it was massive compared to the poodle, the other animal was balled up in fright against the side of the fence.
“What is that thing? What the hell is that?” Clarice began to scream, staying a good distance away from the fray. She reached in her pocket for her cell phone.
Peggy shooed Poopsie away from the creature. She took off her purple cape and tossed it over the animal. She wasn’t sure what her reasoning was except that it appeared to be wet and cold. Immediately, a huge square head popped up. Big brown eyes looked at her in question, and the animal let out a long, low howl.
“Yes! I need animal control! There’s something in my yard trying to kill my dog!” Clarice stuttered over the words as she tried to get help from 911.
“It’s a dog, Clarice. I think it’s a Great Dane. But it’s just a dog.”
“I don’t care what it is, Peggy. I want someone to come and shoot it and get it out of my yard.”
While Clarice waited on hold, Peggy went closer to the whimpering dog. Poopsie continued to yap and growl until she told him to hush. She wasn’t a dog lover. But she could see the creature was scared and in pain. “Easy, boy. Or girl. Whichever you are. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Clarice shrieked. “Don’t touch that thing! It could take off your whole arm. I don’t know if my homeowner’s insurance will cover you being bitten by a stray dog in my yard.”
But Peggy didn’t listen. She crept in close to the animal. He laid his head down and let her stroke his matted coat. His thin hair was tan, and his muzzle was black. His ears weren’t cropped like most Great Danes. They hung down on the sides of his head. She could count his ribs. His hip-bone protruded under his wet coat. As she touched him, a long tongue snaked out to lick her hand.
“They’re on their way.” Clarice closed the sequin-studded phone. “Will you please get away from that thing?”
“It’s just a dog. He’s scared and starving.”
“And likely to eat Poopsie! Leave him alone until the animal control people get here.”
Peggy moved away from the dog. He struggled to his feet and lurched after her.
Clarice screamed, grabbed up her dog, and ran into the house.
“You are pretty intimidating,” Peggy told the Great Dane. He was rail thin, but his shoulder came past her waist. She wasn’t sure how he had the strength to stand. “I have to go now. I’m sorry.”
She started walking back toward her house. The dog followed. She stopped and looked at him. “You don’t understand. I really don’t have time for a dog. I’m sure the animal control people will find you a good home.”
The dog whimpered and shook his head, his huge ears flapping up and down.
“I know. Those places are better at putting an animal out of its misery.” She looked into the dog’s eyes. “You must belong to someone. Maybe if I could keep you alive for a while, I could find your owner. But it’s only for a few days. I’ll ask around. If no one claims you, you’re on your own.”
Clarice rushed to meet the animal control truck as it pulled into her driveway. Between loud sobs and Poopsie’s barking, she managed to tell the driver what happened.
While she was crying and thanking him for coming, Peggy got the Great Dane to follow her. She sneaked around through her garden and into her neighbor’s yard on the opposite side. A few years back, a retired veterinarian lived two doors down. She wasn’t sure if he was still there. But if she could get the dog to him, he might be able to help her.
The dog followed her silently. Peggy glanced back at him and wondered if she’d lost her mind. What was she going to do with a dog the size of a small pony?
While the animal control man scoured the neighborhood, Peggy knocked frantically on what she hoped was the veterinarian’s door. When it opened, she shoved the dog into the house and followed quickly, slamming the door behind her.
“Can I help you?”
She looked at the man who’d answered the door. It was the man in the green Saturn. “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong house. I’m looking for Dr. Newsome, the old veterinarian. I think he used to live here. I came to one of his Christmas parties a few years back.”
“I’m Dr. Newsome, and I’m a vet.” He smiled at her. “You didn’t look at my card, did you?”
Nice smile. “No, I’m sorry. I forgot about it. You’re not as old as I remember. Or that wassail punch was stronger than I thought.”
“I’m Steve Newsome. You’re probably thinking about my uncle, Jack. He was a vet, too. He died last year.”
She felt like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry I barged in here like this. I found this dog, and I’m trying to get him away from the animal control people.”
He crouched down and patted the Great Dane’s head. “Is that what this is? He’s a mess. Maybe someone should put him out of his misery.”
“No! I’m sure he must belong to someone. He probably wandered off. I don’t want to be responsible for getting someone’s dog killed.”
“I was only joking, Peggy. I’ll take a look at him. My uncle always kept a small exam room and supplies in case of an emergency. I think this bag of bones qualifies as an emergency.”
She was surprised he knew her name until she recalled that he was at her lecture. “You were at the auditorium yesterday.”
“I’m flattered you noticed! I was there because I get so many cases of animals poisoned by plants. I’d like to learn more about the subject.”
“Well, Dr. Newsome—”
“Please call me Steve. We’ve bumped into each other so many times, I feel like I know you.”
Her heart fluttered a little, but she maintained her look of skeptical indifference. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with my face being on television and in the newspaper, would it?”
He laughed. “Not at all. Although the case has made for some interesting reading. I’m sure it was terrible for you to find that dead man in your shop.”
“I’ve had better days.” She glanced at her watch. “Can I leave him with you for a while? I have to teach a class, and I’m already late.”
“Sure. No problem.” He studied her face. “Are you always late?”
Her face turned red. Stop that! You’re blushing like a schoolgirl. Get a grip! “Oh, you mean the lecture. Actually, I’m usually very punctual. The last few days have been hectic. Now this!”
He ran his hand across the dog’s back. “Would it be a bad time to ask you out to dinner?”
“I, uh, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know about dinner with me or if it’s a bad time?”
Peggy wasn’t sure about either one. But he was going to take care of the dog for her. She supposed she could buy him dinner. Where wou
ld the harm be in that? “Dinner would be fine.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Okay. I really have to go. Thanks for your help.”
4
Pansy
Botanical: Viola tricolor
Family: N.O. Violaceae
Common Names: Johnny jumpup, wild pansy
The word pansy is traced back to the French word pensée, meaning thought or remembrance. Cultivated some time after the fourth century B.C. in Europe. Legend says the pansy was originally white but turned bright purple when it was pierced by Cupid’s arrow. It’s said that you can see a loved one in the face of a pansy.
QUEENS UNIVERSITY WAS over a hundred years old. Its campus was located in the Myers Park residential area of Charlotte. Graceful, spreading oak trees and lush lawns dominated the landscape in summer. But in November, even the gold and red leaves were gone from the skeletal boughs. Classes were in full swing with hundreds of students milling from building to building.
Peggy rushed into the science hall. She wasn’t surprised to find her freshman class sitting on their desks, talking about movies. “Sorry I’m late. Let’s get right down to business to make up the time.”
One of the students raised her hand. “Could we talk about the murder you’re involved with, Dr. Lee? What did the dead guy look like? Was it like being on CSI or one of those reality shows?”
Peggy couldn’t fight the groundswell of questions about the murder. She perched on her big desk and answered as honestly as she could. The questions weren’t so much personal as curious about the event.
Before she knew it, the hour was up. They managed to avoid discussing anything from her notes that day. “I’m assigning the next three chapters as reading material for the weekend. On Monday, there will be a test that includes a line drawing; all the parts of pistil and stamen from Rhododendron vaseyi. You should know this! If you have any questions, I’m available on E-mail. You have my address in your notes.”
Her cell phone rang as the students started groaning and packing their book bags. She checked the number on her caller ID. “Hello, Sam. Is there a problem?”
“I found something. It was out in the dirt alongside the loading dock. I think it might have something to do with the murder. Can you come back to the shop?”
Peggy paused as a student wished her a good weekend. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I WAS OUT HERE cleaning up the mess you caused when you made Keeley drop that flat of pansies. Then I saw it.” Sam walked quickly through the storage area to the loading dock, glancing suspiciously around the bags of peat moss, potting soil, and manure.
Peggy ran to keep up with him. “It what? Do you always have to be so dramatic? If you don’t tell me what it is right now, I’m going to fire you!”
“As if!” He grinned. “Hey! It’s my big moment. I have to show you.”
They walked down the stairs alongside the dock. There was still potting soil and pansy flowers littering the ground.
“I don’t see where you cleaned anything,” she said.
“I didn’t clean anything yet. But I found this.” He pulled a key from the pocket of his blue T-shirt that said Potting Shed. “Don’t worry. I put on my gloves before I picked it up. If there are any fingerprints on it, they should still be here.”
Peggy sat down on the wood stair behind her. “Have you decided to become a detective instead of a doctor? Why is this fascinating? Do you realize how much traffic there was coming up Fourth Street?”
“Take out your shop key,” he said, still grinning.
Peggy did as he suggested, wondering if he’d been out in the sun or smelling the manure for too long. The two keys were the same. She sat up straight. “Whose key is it?”
“Maybe it belongs to whoever let Mark Warner in the shop.”
She scuffed her shoe in the dirt. “It could’ve been back here for a year, too.”
“That’s easy to find out. Let’s see who has their key and who doesn’t. I have mine. You have yours. Who else has a key?”
“Let’s find out,” she agreed. “But first, let’s put that key in a plastic bag. I can take it over to Mai to check for prints.”
“Who’s Mai?” Sam wondered. “He sounds hot.”
Peggy laughed. “She might be. You can meet her yourself when you go in to have your fingerprints made.”
“A sister, huh? Oh well.” He slapped himself in the head. “Sorry. I keep forgetting to go over there.”
“If you’re arrested for Mark’s murder because the police don’t know you work for me, you might remember.”
“Why don’t you let me take the key over there, and I can get my prints made at the same time?”
She started back into the Potting Shed. “How do I know you’re not the killer, and the evidence on this key won’t ever reach the police?”
The door closed behind her as Sam digested her words. “Hey! Wait up! Are you saying that I’m a suspect?”
Peggy was already in the front of the store by the time he caught her. They both waited for a customer to leave before asking Selena to produce her key.
“You guys look like a couple of vultures.” Selena found her key and held it up. “I didn’t kill anybody. Especially not with this key!”
“No one said you did,” Sam replied with a suspicious tone. “Do you have something to hide?”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “No! Do you?”
“We know Mark Warner was murdered by one of his lovers,” he said. “You could’ve been one of them.”
“Eeuuww! That’s gross! Do you know how old he was? He was like my grandfather!” She recovered from her disgust and glared at him. “Besides, you could’ve been one of his lovers, too.”
Sam shuddered. “Eeuuww! You’re right. That’s gross. Except he had a lot of money. I could overlook a few things for someone who could help me pay off my medical school bills.”
They both looked at Peggy to end the dispute. She took her time about it, checking the cash register receipts before she answered. “I don’t know, Sam. You offered to take a piece of evidence to the police.”
“Not because I’m guilty of killing someone!”
She laughed and squeezed his arm. “Of course not, sweetie! And neither is Selena. But once we figure out how Warner got into the shop, we might be that much closer to figuring out why. This key could be part of that.”
Sam was satisfied with that. He started a list of key holders on his Palm Pilot. Peggy gave him the names of everyone who had keys. He put checks beside his name, Selena’s, and Peggy’s. “I’ll talk to Keeley tonight. Maybe you could check with Mr. Balducci, the cleaning company, and the bug guy.”
Peggy agreed and made a note for herself.
“What about me?” Selena asked. “I had to see the dead guy. Shouldn’t I get to check something out?”
“You should,” Peggy sympathized. “I have to leave again for a couple of hours. I’ll be back to close up. In the meantime, keep an eye out for that woman we saw with Mark for the past couple weeks. See if you can find some way to get her name.”
“You mean the woman with the legs that could crack walnuts?” Selena chuckled and nudged Sam with her elbow. “Too bad you don’t want to hook up with her. She’d show you hot.”
He shuddered. “She sounds scary. If her legs can crack walnuts . . .”
“Maybe you’re right,” Selena agreed. “Maybe she killed Mark Warner.”
“Let’s find out who she is before we accuse her of murder,” Peggy suggested.
“She looked strong enough to hit somebody with a shovel,” Selena reminded her.
A group of customers came into the shop. The lunchtime crowd was gone, but late stragglers were still shopping for weekend projects.
“I have to go,” Peggy said again. “Let me know what you find out.”
THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON went quickly. Her second class was less impressed by the murder in
her shop, so they went through the process of photosynthesis.
One student stopped after class to ask about her lecture on botanical poisons. He suspected one of the people who shared his house of killing his goldfish by pouring Drano into the tank.
“Drano doesn’t qualify as being botanical,” she explained. “A botanical poison is made from plants or plant substances. I think Drano is chemical. You’ll have to do some research on the Internet.”
“Have you ever seen a Drano poisoning, Dr. Lee?” he continued. “Do you know what the symptoms would be?”