by Joyce Lavene
“I really can’t say. And I imagine it would be different for humans than for goldfish.”
“What about other poisons? What would be something you could use that would be fast acting and not leave any trace for the police to find?”
She frowned. The conversation was beginning to take a downward turn. “With today’s crime scene investigation, there’s no such thing. If you want to get revenge for your goldfish, I suggest you take up boxing or kung fu.”
The young man took notes and thanked her for her time. He seemed unimpressed with her suggestion not to use poison and denied he was looking for revenge. She shook her head as he left. She couldn’t be responsible for the facts. She hated to think any of her knowledge would be used the wrong way. But it was like the Internet. Just because you found out how to build a bomb on-line didn’t mean you had to build one. People had been using poison for thousands of years. Still, she scribbled down his name and E-mailed the dean in case anything came of it.
She called Mint Condition cleaning service and asked about the normal cleaning day for the shop as well as who had the key. The owner assured her they had her key in safekeeping and that her regular cleaning day was Friday, as it was for the rest of the shops in Brevard Court and Latta Arcade. Peggy thanked him, then looked up the number for the bug guy.
It was the same story with him. He only came in once a month to spray for pests. His last visit was at the beginning of November, two weeks before Mark’s death. He offered to show her the key to the shop, but Peggy assured him she believed he had it.
She crossed both names off of her list and considered the rest of the choices. It might seem like an extensive list of key holders to Mai. But to her, the rest of the people on the list were people she cared about. She didn’t want to think any of them were involved with the murder. Yet what other possible explanation could there be?
After stuffing her books and papers into her backpack, Peggy got on her bicycle and rode back to the Potting Shed. Traffic was still heavy, but the weather was nice again. Between traffic lights, she thought about Steve Newsome and his invitation to dinner. It had been a long time since she dated. She wasn’t sure she remembered how.
A car slammed on its brakes in front of her, forcing her to do the same. What was she thinking? This dinner wasn’t a date. She was taking the man out for dinner because he helped her with the dog. He’d asked her because . . . well . . . because he was probably curious about the murder. He did mention it, after all.
By the time she reached the shop, she’d convinced herself there was nothing romantic about dinner with Steve. He was a man. A younger man. She was a widow who still loved her husband. The rest was pure fantasy on her part brought on by stress and sleeplessness.
As a compelling part of this hypothesis, she reminded herself that she was assuming responsibility for a dog. A big dog. She didn’t need any other evidence to convince the jury in her mind. Obviously the stress and lack of sleep was leading to lapses in judgment.
“How did it go?” she asked Selena after a customer left the counter.
“Okay, I guess.” Selena looked furtively around the shop and whispered, “I didn’t see her.”
“We’ll just have to keep looking. She’ll probably come in again.”
Selena picked up her book bag from behind the counter. “I’m going. I have that English lit exam tonight, and I have to study for the French exam tomorrow, so I might be late in the morning. But I’ll keep my eyes open while I’m waiting for the bus. Maybe she’ll walk by.”
“What will you say if you see her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll pretend I know who she is. You know like, ‘Lucy! Is that you?’ ”
Peggy laughed. “Just be careful. She could be the one responsible for Mark’s death. She might be nervous.”
“I’ll watch out for her legs. The rest of her didn’t look all that dangerous. See you tomorrow.”
Selena had only been gone a few minutes when the woman they were looking for walked into the shop. Peggy knew Selena was going to be disappointed she wasn’t there to question her. But she couldn’t put it off in case she didn’t come back again.
She didn’t want to take Selena’s hypothetical approach and pretend to know the woman. Besides, she had the advantage of being in the shop. Thinking quickly, she took some scraps of paper and approached all of the customers who were there. “We’re having a giveaway. A beautiful Christmas wreath. Just the thing to brighten up the holidays. All I need is your name and phone number.”
A few people reminded her that they were already on her mailing list. Peggy apologized for not knowing them and took their names. She saw the brunette coming toward her. With a firm hand on her pen and a smile on her face, she greeted her.
The woman smiled. “I can’t think about that right now. I’ve had a personal loss. Maybe some other time.”
“I’m so sorry.” Peggy put away her pen and paper. “Are you here for flowers for the funeral?”
“Not exactly. We liked the courtyard and the stores here. We used to come over at lunchtime.” She spoke like she felt awkward talking about it and shifted her glance around the shop.
“That’s so romantic.” Peggy sighed. “My husband passed away two years ago. We were going to open this shop together but didn’t have the chance. He loved to garden. Did your husband enjoy plants?”
The expression on the woman’s face was almost comical. Her tone lowered a notch. “He wasn’t my husband. And that’s where the problem comes in with sending flowers to the funeral. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh! I understand. It happens. I could arrange to send something anonymously. That way, he’ll know you cared, but his wife won’t be suspicious.”
“I didn’t say he was married.” Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed. “But he was.”
Peggy touched her arm. “Of course he was. Or he would’ve been your husband, wouldn’t he, dear? I’m sure he was proud to be with you.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath as if to firm her resolve. “All right. I’d like to send something. You take Visa, don’t you?”
After their conversation, Peggy was certain that Ronda and Mark were having an affair. She helped the distraught woman pick out a lovely pot of cyclamen, explaining that it meant good-bye. After all, Ronda wasn’t interested in sympathizing with the widow so much as saying good-bye to her lover. Even though the transaction served her purpose, Peggy was still intent on helping her customer.
Twenty minutes later, Ronda McGee left the Potting Shed. After learning her name from her Visa, it only took Peggy two minutes to look her up on the Internet. She was married to Mark’s boss at Bank of America, Bob McGee.
She called Al right away and left him a message. She didn’t know if the information would help him. He probably already knew about Ronda. But she wasn’t going to take any chances with Mr. Cheever’s life.
Sam called in a few minutes later. “I talked to Brenda and Dawn today. Both of them have their keys. How about the cleaning and bug people?”
“They’re fine. I knew they would be. But something interesting happened.” Peggy picked up the Visa receipt. “The brunette who was in here with Mark before he died came by and ordered some flowers for his funeral.”
“Did you ask if she has a key?”
She laughed at him. “No, I didn’t. Did you take that key to Mai?”
“Yeah. She was okay. I got my fingerprints made. I saw Paul. He grunted at me and left right away.”
“That’s my son. What did Mai say about the key you found?”
“She didn’t say much of anything. The prints on it were blurred. She didn’t think they could get anything from it and didn’t seem to think it meant much. But she kept it anyway.”
“Check with Keeley tonight. You have that delivery to make to South Park Mall, don’t you?”
“More pansies, right? Yeah. I’ll be glad when autumn’s over. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. We can compare notes.”
The courtyard outside was deserted. The lights had been on for an hour already with the early fall twilight. She saw Emil and Sofia locking up for the night and hurried out to catch them.
Sofia put her heavily ringed hand to her throat as Peggy approached them. Her dark eyes widened dramatically. “You startled me! After that murder, who knows what to expect?”
“Sorry,” Peggy said. “I needed to talk to you a minute.”
“I took a precaution anyway.” Emil brought out a huge handgun and pointed the barrel in Peggy’s face.
“Stupid!” Sofia slapped his hand.
Peggy’s knees shook. It wasn’t bad enough he had the gun in her face, Sofia had to surprise him!
“What?” He put the gun away. “I was only showing her.”
“You were showing everyone else, too! You want the robbers and murderers to know you’re armed?” Sofia slapped him again. “You’re such an idiot sometimes.”
“A gun is dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Peggy managed to say in a strangled voice. “John worked a few cases where the person breaking in took the gun away from the homeowner and shot him with it.”
“It’s not loaded,” Emil assured her. “It’s just to scare the bad guys. They don’t know I won’t kill them dead.”
“If you meet one, you’ll be forced into showing him what you’ll do,” Peggy answered.
“Did you want something important?” Sofia asked her, tapping her foot impatiently.
“I was wondering if you still have the key to my shop.”
“Sure.” Emil took the key out and showed her. It was attached to a ring that held at least fifty keys, but he went to it without hesitation. “Did you lose yours?”
Peggy explained about the key they found behind the shop. Emil grumbled about people being careless and asked to see the key he gave her for his shop. Sofia complained about standing in the cold courtyard.
“Thanks anyway,” Peggy said. “I guess I’ll go and close up now.”
“You want us to wait for you?” Emil offered.
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”
Music from the French restaurant kitty-corner from the Potting Shed spilled out into the empty courtyard. The wind swept away a few sandwich wrappers left behind by careless diners. Peggy shivered in the chill and hurried back into her shop.
If the last two days weren’t enough to put her on edge, Emil’s gun in her face did the trick. She felt like going into a closet, locking the door, and cowering in the corner. She didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if the gun was loaded.
She pulled the old-fashioned shade down on the door, then turned the key in the lock and switched off the light. Her bike was in back, but she was thinking about keeping it behind the front counter in the future. The darkness waiting for her by the loading dock wasn’t very appealing, especially since one of the back lights burned out that evening.
Peggy wrote a note to remember to ask the maintenance people to replace the light and put it on the front counter. She wasn’t a high-strung person by nature, but surely anyone would feel a little frazzled in her place.
Footsteps on the hardwood floor caught her attention. Panicking, she realized she’d left the door unlocked while she was with the Balduccis. She glanced behind her, looking for something to defend herself with. Her gaze fell on a rake a customer forgot to take with him. With nothing else in easy reach, she held the implement in front of her and waited for the footsteps to reach the front of the shop.
“Peggy?”
It was Julie Warner. Peggy’s heart rate decreased, she put the rake down, and the words tumbled out of her mouth, “What are you doing here?” Realizing how rude the question sounded, she rephrased it as she turned the light back on. “Julie. I’m surprised to see you here.”
Always well-dressed, the widow looked chic and tiny in her elegant black suit. She wore a Jackie Kennedy pillbox-style hat with a black veil that covered her face. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I thought you saw me come in while you were outside.”
“No, I didn’t. But that’s okay. I thought the shop was empty. What can I do for you?”
Julie’s face was very pale behind the black webbing, but her tone was resolute. “I want to see where it happened.”
Peggy debated with herself. Was it an odd request? What should she say? “Mark was right here when I came in.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as awkward as she felt.
“Where exactly?”
This probably wasn’t healthy. But didn’t she walk by the spot where John was killed? “I’ll show you.”
Julie followed her soundlessly to the colorful rag rug that hid the bloodstain on the floor. Peggy didn’t plan to show her that part. “He was right here. Facedown in a basket of bulbs. The police took everything around him for evidence. This is all that was left.”
The widow didn’t move or speak. She stared at the spot like she could see through the rug to where her husband’s lifeblood had pooled. Then she took a deep breath and reached a black-gloved hand into her pocketbook.
Peggy jumped back and put her hands up in a defensive stance.
Julie looked at her strangely as she withdrew her checkbook. “Is something wrong, Peggy? I’d like to reimburse you for the damages. It wasn’t your fault this happened. You shouldn’t be hurt by it.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” She lowered her hands and felt like an idiot. But after Emil’s gun . . .
“I understand. And I apologize for getting here so late. There were so many arrangements to be made, people to call. I came as soon as I could.”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry about the expenses, Julie, please. My insurance will take care of it. I’m glad you came. I felt the same way when my husband was killed. I couldn’t be there with him when it happened. I just wanted to see the place.”
Julie put her checkbook away and smiled. “I appreciate your kindness. You know what I’ve gone through with this since it happened to you, too. The press is terrible. My children don’t understand. It’s like the world has turned upside down, and it’s all I can do to keep from falling off.”
Peggy couldn’t help herself. She hugged Julie, expensive suit, veil, and all. She might be wealthy, but that didn’t protect her from tragedy. It was like holding a child; she was so small, so fragile.
Both women were wiping tears away as they separated. Julie straightened her hat and cleared her throat. Peggy blew her nose on a tissue, then put her hands in her pockets.
“I should go.” Julie moved toward the door.
“If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Thank you. I hope you’ll come to the funeral.”
Peggy unlocked the front door. “I’ll try. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
When Julie was gone, Peggy locked the front door again. She walked through the shop, holding the rake like a weapon. But this time, she was alone. Quickly, she turned off the light and locked the back door behind her.
She was tempted to call a taxi. Her hands were shaking, and her knees felt weak. She probably needed to go across the courtyard and have a big glass of wine to steady herself. But she refused to give in to her trauma. Like everything else, fear was meant to be handled head-on. She wasn’t good at cowering.
She forced herself to get on her bike despite the eerie shadows and creaking sounds from the loading dock. Then she realized it was after seven. Steve was going to have further proof that she was always late. The thought gave her impetus to pedal faster down the busy streets.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as she rode into her driveway.
Steve got out of his car when he saw her. “That’s okay. I wasn’t about to eat the car interior or anything. You don’t drive?”
/> “I do. I mean, I have a license and a car. But I prefer using the bike to get around the city. I’m close to the school and my shop. I don’t need to contribute to the problem of global warming.”
“That’s right. You teach botany, specialize in botanical poisons, and run a garden shop. No wonder you’re always late.”
She stowed her bike in the garage. “I’m not always late. But despite you impugning my integrity, I’m willing to apologize for being late tonight by making dinner for you.”
He smiled at her. “I won’t turn down a home-cooked meal. Although I think I should point out in my own defense that I did offer to buy you dinner.”