Pretty Poison plgm-1

by Joyce Lavene

  A huge, whooping shriek came from behind them. Clarice was about to come out and join in the conversation when she saw the Great Dane. Poopsie barked from her arms. “There it is! I knew I wasn’t imagining it. I’m going to call 911.”

  “You don’t need to call anyone.” Peggy called the dog to her, and he immediately came running, dragging Steve behind him. “This is my dog, Clarice.”

  “That’s the man who was here last night,” Clarice told Paul.

  “The dog may look puny, but he’s all muscle.” Steve gave Peggy the leash, trying to catch his breath.

  “Who are you?” Paul demanded. “Let’s see some ID.”

  Peggy put her hand on Steve’s as he started to take out his wallet. “This is my son, Paul. Paul, this is Steve Newsome. He’s a vet. He brought my dog to me. That’s all. You don’t have to harass him.”

  Paul stared at her hand on Steve’s. “A vet, huh? How much is he charging you for that flea-bitten mongrel?”

  Peggy kept her Irish temper down with an effort. “I think we should go inside and talk about this. My daddy always told me it was ill-bred to stand outside and air your dirty laundry.”

  Paul didn’t argue. He marched straight to the front door and waited for her with a mutinous look on his narrow face.

  Clarice pouted. “Peggy, that dog is too big to live here. We only have that little fence between it and my Poopsie. Unless you plan to put up a bigger fence, it will have to go.”

  “I plan for the dog to stay inside except when I walk him. I’ll talk to you later, Clarice.”

  “Maybe I should go.” Steve handed her a bill for his services. “This is for you. If it’s not high enough, I can tack on more. I’m flexible. There’s a note on there about what you should feed him, further care. Basic stuff. If you have any questions or need help walking him, let me know.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry about all this.”

  “That’s okay.” He smiled at her. “Paul looks like you, you know. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Using a combination of pushing and pulling, she managed to get the dog into the house. Then she made Paul move the squad car so Steve could back out of the drive. She hoped her son would leave, too, but he pulled back in, slammed the car door, and confronted her.

  “Let’s go inside and have some tea,” she suggested before she lost her temper.

  Paul followed her into the kitchen. He sat down at the same table where he’d eaten as child. “What’s going on, Mom? You’ve never wanted a dog. Is that dude threatening you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She put the kettle on the stove. “I met Steve by chance. And I felt sorry for the poor dog. Just look at it.”

  A loud crash made her run into the dining room. The dog was on top of the eight-foot table. A Waterford crystal bowl that had been in her family for five generations was shattered on the floor. She groaned, and the dog whined, moving close enough to lick her face. Then he jumped down and ran into the kitchen. Before she could get there, she heard another crash and Paul swearing.

  “Get this damn dog off of me!”

  The dog had made a running leap, knocking man and chair over. He was standing on top of Paul, wagging his tail and licking his face.

  Peggy grabbed the leash and pulled the dog into the large pantry. She turned on the light and closed the door as the kettle started to whistle. “There now. Let’s have some tea.”

  They sat beside each other, ignoring the dog’s plaintive whines from the pantry. Peggy sipped her orange peppermint tea and mentally tried to force her son to talk to her.

  Paul sniffed the brew. “What is this?”

  “Tea. I mixed it myself.”

  He pushed the cup away. “I’m not really thirsty, thanks anyway. Mom, you don’t realize what it’s like in the real world. You’ve got your little shop and your students. It seems safe. But that dead man in your shop should be a warning to you. There are people out there who could take advantage of you. You’re a helpless widow with some money and a big house. Lots of men would like to get their hands on you.”

  Peggy stifled her laughter. He was serious. He was always serious. “I appreciate what you’re trying to tell me. I always try to be careful.”

  “Really? Is that why Al called me from the county lockup to tell me you sneaked in to see a man accused of murder? I don’t call that trying to be careful.”

  She tried to be tolerant. She knew how hard his father’s death was on him. But she was only going to take so much. “Paul, I’ve been in this world a long time. I think I can handle myself.”

  “Mom—”

  “Drink your tea, Paul. It’s good for you.”

  He took a sip and made a face. “You can’t help your homeless friend, you know. They found all of Warner’s stuff in his backpack. He was wearing Warner’s shoes, for Christ’s sake! He stripped them off of a dead man. Case closed.”

  “All I’ve done is found him a lawyer,” she explained. “But just because he was cold doesn’t mean he killed the man. What was his motive? He can get free shoes at the shelter.”

  “I never knew you had such a soft heart.” Paul smiled and shook his head. “First a homeless man, then a dog. What’s next?”

  Peggy got up and put her arms around him. “Don’t you remember the one-legged frog we found in the backyard that summer? We took him away from a black snake who wanted him for lunch. We kept him alive by catching flies and tying strings on them so he could eat them. I’ve always had a soft heart, honey. It’s not going to change now.”

  “I guess you’re right. And I’m sorry. I’m overreacting because I feel guilty leaving you here all alone. I want things to be different between us from now on.”

  “Because I can’t take care of myself?”

  He kissed her cheek. “No. Because I love you.”

  “I love you, too. You know this will always be your home, too.”

  “I can’t move back in, Mom. Thanks for offering. I might be seeing someone. I’d like you to meet her, if things work out.”

  Peggy took a deep breath. That was close! “I’d love to. Just let me know when.”

  She watched Paul leave, waving to him from the doorway. This was a good thing. She didn’t want him to live with her again, but she wanted their relationship to be closer. She heard a loud thump from the pantry and ran back into the kitchen.

  The dog managed to knock down a ten-pound bag of white flour. He was covered in it. She looked up at the shelf. It was a good five feet off the floor. It seemed impossible that he could reach it. But the proof was standing in front of her, a ghost dog with a large, dopey grin and a wagging tail.

  “I really didn’t want to live with you either,” she scolded him. “But we’re stuck with each other until I find your owner.”

  The dog barked and wagged his tail even harder, showering everything in the pantry with flour. Peggy sighed and dragged him to the big sink in the laundry room. Getting him into it was a whole other thing. By the time she was finished with him, she was covered in flour and only half of the dog was really clean.

  Deciding they both needed some exercise, Peggy put on her gardening clothes and gloves. She found a rope, attached it to the dog’s collar, then tied it to the porch. He bounced around on the grass until he came to the end of his tether. Then he whined and stared at her as she started in on separating her wood crocus bulbs.

  While her backyard was an experimental garden, her front yard was as normal as any of her neighbors’. There was a huge circular bulb bed set to bloom according to the various seasons. The little wood crocuses were always the first in spring. Their purple heads peeked shyly from under the brown dirt while there was still ice on the ground. It only took a few days of sun and warm temperatures to bring them back.

  After that, the tulips and hyacinths argued for space in March and April. May brought the irises, followed by the cannas in June and July. The dinner plate asters filled the garden in August. Mums began flowering in September and stayed around until
November. The bulb bed was always busy.

  “What are you still doing here?” Peggy found a small pink rose blooming beside a large piece of white quartz. The poor little thing was leggy and almost brown with frost, but it held its head high. A small azalea bush sheltered it from most of the cold temperatures. She gave it a dose of water and fertilizer, then continued separating her bulbs.

  She separated and replanted about half the bulbs in the bed. Then she covered the whole thing with peat to protect it over the winter.

  She turned her gaze on a small area near a stone bench. It had been one of John’s favorite places to sit. A leafless Japanese cherry tree draped its branches across one side. A brass sundial kept pace with the day. It was a gift from Paul for John’s birthday the year he died.

  Peggy knew the tree needed pruning. She didn’t know if she had the heart to do it. She could still remember John bringing it home one afternoon. He’d been so proud of it.

  She took out her pruning shears and straightened her spine. Memories or not, the tree needed a good trim. Her cell phone rang as she approached the tree. She let out a sigh of relief, even as she chastised herself for being a coward.

  “Hi Peggy.” Keeley’s voice sounded distant on the phone. “I got your message. What’s up?”

  “I was calling to see if you lost your key for the shop.” Peggy came right to the point. “Sam found one in the back by the loading dock, and it doesn’t seem to belong to anyone else.”

  For a long moment, there was no reply. Peggy thought her signal might be bad.

  Keeley finally said, “Maybe. I’ll check. I never seem to need it, since Sam’s always there.”

  “Is something wrong?” Peggy wished she could talk to her in person. “You sound strange.”

  “You know me. I’m always strange. Anything else?”

  “The police arrested Mr. Cheever for killing Mark Warner. I went to see him. He told me he saw a woman run out of the shop that night.”

  “That’s terrible. I hope he has a good lawyer.”

  Peggy told her about Sam’s sister. “She’s quite a character. I think you’d like her. How would you like to come over for a brainstorming session later? Maybe we could come up with something to help Mr. Cheever.”

  “I’d love to, but I have to study. Maybe later?”

  “Sure, Keeley. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Something was definitely wrong. She sounded preoccupied and nervous. Peggy put away her cell phone and was about to start on the tree again when a cardinal flew by, swooping down close to the dog. The Great Dane jumped up and missed the bird, but he kept jumping at it anyway. The nylon rope that said it could be used to tow a car snapped. The dog ran off, following the bird.

  “Oh, no!” Peggy heard a scream from Clarice’s backyard followed by Poopsie’s frantic barking, and ran next door.

  Both Poopsie and his larger counterpart were standing on top of Peggy’s neighbor. Covered with mud and screaming, Clarice was trying to push the dogs off of her. With the cardinal resting in a large crape myrtle above her head, the Great Dane wasn’t moving. His booming bark sounded around the enclosed garden like a fog horn.

  Peggy grabbed her dog’s collar and finally managed to pull him away. The cardinal flew off, unaware of the commotion it caused.

  Clarice staggered to her feet, refusing Peggy’s offer of help. “That animal is a menace! If I see it out of your yard again, I’m going to call animal control.”

  There wasn’t much point in assuring her that the dog wouldn’t get away again. Peggy dragged the dog as he licked her and wagged his tail. “You’re going to have to come in here while I print up some flyers to take around. My life is complicated enough without a big lug like you causing a disaster every five minutes.”

  After making sure there was nothing he could knock down, she put him in the laundry room with a pail of water to drink. Then she went upstairs to shower and change clothes.

  There were a dozen E-mails waiting for her when she turned on her computer. One of them was an invitation from Nightflyer to play chess again at eight that night. It was sent through the gaming site, so it didn’t include an E-mail address. She saved the E-mail anyway.

  She had to find out how he knew about the poisoning death in Columbia. It was too eerie to let go. There was probably a simple explanation; he worked at the hospital or something. But she planned to meet him on-line that night and ask him.

  The flyers were simple to make. She used Microsoft Word to create the document, then printed twenty copies. Surely there weren’t that many Great Danes lost on Queens Road in the last few days. Arming herself with a stapler, she checked on the dog. He was sleeping in the far corner of the laundry room on top of the furnace vent. He looked up and started to get excited when he saw her. Peggy quickly shut the door.

  She didn’t bother putting on her cape. The sun was still warm. She put the first flyer on the electric pole right outside her house. Then she stapled one on every pole as she walked down the street.

  “Looking for the owner?” Steve’s voice took her out of her world of worrying about the police stopping her for putting up signs on the street.

  “Yes.” Peggy was glad she’d changed clothes on the off chance that she might see him. People had told her that her cranberry wool slacks and matching sweater were flattering. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and dropped the stapler. So much for trying to seem elegant or sophisticated.

  He picked it up and smiled at her. “Looks like you could use some help.”

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t seem to come up with more than one word at a time. He looked even better today than she remembered. She loved the sound of his voice and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  “Which way are you going?” he finally asked after a few minutes.

  “I thought I’d go this way.” For goodness sake, he’s just a man!

  They walked together, stopping to staple a flyer on each pole. Peggy held up the paper, and Steve stapled it. Traffic moved quickly past them. Saturday afternoon shoppers and soccer moms whizzed by in SUVs and minivans.

  “Do you know how the investigation’s going on that man who was found dead in your shop?”

  Peggy explained about the police picking up Mr. Cheever and visiting the jail. “I know he didn’t do it. But the police won’t look for anyone else with him in custody.”

  Steve stapled another flyer. “That was pretty cool that you got into the jail to talk to him. It’s too bad he didn’t see what happened.”

  She didn’t elaborate on the woman Mr. Cheever saw running out of the shop. She needed a chance to sit down with Keeley before she told anyone else about that. “I wish there was something more I could do to help him.”

  “Unless you get a confession from the real killer,” Steve considered, “it doesn’t look good for him.”

  Peggy realized they’d come to an intersection. She could see the Warners’ front door from where she was standing. “I think I’ll take a flyer to a friend’s house over there. Maybe she knows something about the dog.”

  He studied the house. “Unless the pictures on the nightly news are distorted, that’s Mark Warner’s house. Doing a little investigating?”

  “Maybe. A little. I know Julie Warner. She came to the shop the other night. I thought I might stop in for a cup of tea.”

  “Maybe I should go with you. You might need someone to distract her while you look through her garbage for the murder weapon.”

  She laughed. “You watch too much TV. Besides, the police already have the murder weapon.”

  “Does that mean you’d rather I didn’t go with you?”

  “Of course not!” She took a deep breath and slowed down. “If you’d like to come along, that’s fine.”

  Julie and Mark Warner had a huge estate on a full five acres of parkland. The house had over fifty rooms. They had two children, a son and a daughter. Everything they did was the envy of every society-minded woman in town. Probably even down
to Mark’s untimely demise.

  They walked right up to the front door of the mellow redbrick Georgian-style house. It was decorated with an elaborate wreath made from magnolia and holly leaves, trimmed with acorns and pinecones. Peggy admired it, then used the heavy brass door knocker.

  A tall, thin Hispanic woman answered. “Miss Julie is out for the day. Making funeral arrangements.”

  “What a terrible thing this has been for her,” Peggy sympathized. “I hated to bother her. I thought I could ask her help, and it might take her mind off of everything for a few minutes.”

  “Maybe I could help. What is it?”

  Peggy showed the flyer to the housekeeper. “Have you heard anything about this, Emma? Your name is Emma, isn’t it? I think I remember you from the last time I was here.”