Poisoned Petals

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  “I don’t know.” She didn’t want to tell him about her excursion to the funeral home. There might be some unpleasant repercussions. Was it illegal to open a sealed coffin? Even worse, he might not believe her. It would be better to convince him to check it out on his own. “All I do know is that he knows things. He has ways of finding things out.”

  “Like what? I mean, what does he think happened?”

  “He thinks Darmus might have faked his own death.”

  Al’s thick black brows raised above skeptical dark eyes. “That’s ridiculous! You and I both know what kind of man Darmus was. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “But—”

  “And even if he would, don’t you think someone would’ve noticed? A doctor saw him at the hospital. The ME examined him at the morgue. The mortician has him now. Wouldn’t someone have noticed the dead man wasn’t Darmus Appleby?”

  “He was badly burned.”

  “They checked his dental records! The man we’re about to bury was Darmus Appleby!”

  Peggy’s forehead knitted together. “Don’t you think I’ve argued with myself about this? But there are a few things that bother me.”

  “Like what?”

  She told him what she recalled about Darmus feeling cold when she tried to move him. “And he was supposed to be buried with his wedding band. Why would Luther have it in his hand at the Community Garden when he died?”

  “Maybe he was taking it to the mortician to have it put back on Darmus. Did you ever think about that?”

  “No.” She bit her lip to keep from spilling what she found in the bronze coffin. She needed to talk to someone, in a roundabout way, and find out how the law felt about opening coffins. She wanted to find Darmus, but she didn’t want to go to jail.

  “Think about it, Peggy. You told this Internet guy those things, and he fueled that overactive imagination of yours!”

  “Thanks.” She frowned and moved to the other side of the counter, shifting seed packages and pot stickers shaped like fairies.

  “I’m sorry,” he relented. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes. You did!”

  He looked down at his shiny black shoes. “Look, Peggy. Is there any scrap of real evidence that us normal mortals can understand?”

  She started to blow him off. He wasn’t listening anyway. But she knew this might be her only chance to get more information. “I think there may be. Darmus wasn’t himself since Rebecca died.”

  “That’s true. But that doesn’t mean he ran away and pretended to die.”

  “The corpse in the house was disfigured. Anyone could make a mistake.”

  “Dental records don’t lie.”

  She couldn’t argue with that and pressed on. “Nightflyer thinks it may not have been an accident that Luther died. I don’t know, Al. I just have this feeling that he’s right, and something is wrong.”

  He closed his eyes. “I don’t want Darmus to be dead either, Peggy. But trust me, someone would’ve noticed during the long chain his body passed through. Maybe he wasn’t Elvis or someone instantly recognizable, but this kind of thing doesn’t happen. There was blood work, dental work. The dead man is Darmus Appleby, sad as that may be. We have to accept the fact.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She sighed and glanced around the familiar walls hung with old garden signs and antique farming implements. Oh God! I’m going to have to tell him the truth. Then she thought of something else. “I suppose it doesn’t make sense. But for my own peace of mind, could you get me a copy of Darmus and Luther’s death certificates?”

  “Peggy!” He rolled to his big feet as he shook his head. “I can’t get those for you. They haven’t been released for public record yet.”

  “Could you at least find out what Luther died from? Holles Harwood was Darmus’s and Luther’s assistant. He said Luther was having some heart problems. Luther didn’t say anything to me about it, but Holles saw more of him than I did.”

  He looked at his cell phone that was buzzing loudly. “I’ll check into what killed Darmus and Luther. But that’s all I’m doing.”

  “Thanks, Al.”

  “Have you thought any more about the ME’s offer to hire you on contract? I know it would only be as needed, but since you’re thinking about giving up your job at Queens, I thought you might want to consider it.”

  Peggy wasn’t sure what to say. The unexpected job offer to work as a contract forensic botanist for the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department was still rolling around in her head. “I’m still thinking about it. But right now, the Potting Shed is pretty busy. I have to keep up with it. And I’m not sure if I like the idea of working with dead bodies. It seems a little strange for a botanist who deals with life to help the police sort out facts about dead people.”

  Al looked skeptical. “You seem to like to do that fairly well on your own! Anyway, think about it. I’ll talk to you later. Say hello to your parents for me.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll let you know when I find out what the ME listed as COD for both brothers.”

  “I appreciate it. Are you going to Darmus’s memorial service?”

  He hugged her in his massive arms. “I wouldn’t miss it. Want to drive over with me and Mary?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “And Peggy? Stay out of trouble, huh?”

  When Al was gone, Peggy walked through the store, straightening shelves that didn’t need straightening, wondering where Steve was with her parents. She’d expected them to be back sooner. She was reluctant to call him and find out. Instead she pictured all kinds of things going wrong, like her mother walking down Concord Mills Boulevard with a bag of Off Broadway shoes under her arm because she got mad at Steve and refused to get into his car.

  She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous about her parents spending time with Steve. He was a great guy. They couldn’t find fault with him. Except he’s seven years younger than you.

  She wasn’t sure where that voice came from, but it had been with her since she was small. It made her turn herself in when she was the one who painted a mustache on the Confederate Soldier Memorial, and it kept telling her that her skirt was too short the night of her first date with John.

  She suspected her mother had it grafted to her brain when she was born to keep her on the right path. But she also thought it would have been gone by now. How old did she have to be before it faded away?

  It turned out to be fortunate for her that Steve and her parents were late when the owners of a luxury uptown condominium complex came in to discuss whether the Potting Shed could take care of their atrium and garden areas.

  These condominium dwellers, some of them living in million-dollar condos, were what kept the Potting Shed alive. They were the new lifeblood of Charlotte’s design to build up the inner city. Well-heeled businesspeople who called the banking district home from nine to five now found new, high-rise perches to entertain and view the lights of the fast-growing city around them.

  Peggy was glad to oblige the new owners. Doubtless, she’d be able to sell some plants and garden supplies to their tenants for their balconies and interiors while she was at it. Every week, there were new signs that went up around Charlotte announcing. ANOTHER POTTING SHED PROJECT and marking another spot they were maintaining and beautifying.

  The new projects should have made her more confident about the idea of leaving her job at Queens. And sometimes they did. Still, it was hard to know what to do.

  It was the same thing with Darmus. She wanted to come right out and tell Al that the man in the coffin wasn’t Darmus. And she’d do that before she let the poor stranger be buried as someone else. There were so many things to take into consideration.

  But it was easy to know what to do with the new condominium contract. She had the deal signed and sold the men on a new fountain for their atrium before Steve called to tell her they would be on their way back from the mall soon. She wished everything in her life was so simple.

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nbsp; She glanced at her watch. It was almost six thirty. Traffic was always slow this time of day. It was easy to start brooding. She couldn’t imagine a worse time for her relatives to visit her. The store was busy. She had questions about Luther’s death. Darmus was alive somewhere. She had to find him before the police started looking for him.

  She needed some time and space to think about whether or not she should give up her place at Queens. But time would be at a premium for the next two weeks. After Italian food tonight, it would be an all-night gabfest with Paul. Every day and night was filled for the time her parents were there. She’d wanted to be sure they were entertained. There was no way to know all this would be going on when she made her plans.

  The phone rang a little after seven. It was Al calling her with information about Darmus and Luther. “I’m looking at Darmus’s death certificate. The official cause of death was liver failure, Peggy. The ME says he had advanced liver disease. There was no smoke in his lungs. He was probably dead before the explosion. Maybe even for an hour or two, and that’s why he felt cold to you. There’s no mystery.”

  “Except for the explosion. If he was dead for an hour or two, how could he have been the one to cause it?”

  “The ME’s theory is that he slumped over the stove while he was trying to light it. The gas was leaking. A spark ignited it. It could have been a hundred different things that caused that spark. Anyway, Darmus’s death was from natural causes. He died because it was his time to die.”

  “I think that sounds a little lame.”

  “You’re still not convinced? You’d rather believe a stranger on the Internet than your own friends?”

  Peggy put a hand to her forehead where she felt a headache starting. She wished she could tell him the truth. But she didn’t want a citywide manhunt for Darmus to happen. She wanted to know the official results. Now she knew. “I believe you, Al. I’d just like this to make sense!”

  “Everything doesn’t always make sense, Peggy. Not the kind you’re looking for! You’re a woman of science. Science tells us Darmus died before the explosion. The ME signed off on it. So did the fire chief. They both say there are cases just like this that have happened before. I hope that helps.”

  “Thanks.” They were all going to feel ridiculous when they learned the truth, but she couldn’t help that. She didn’t want to push Al any further. At least not about Darmus. “What about Luther? What did he die from?”

  “Uh . . . looks like he had a severe asthma attack. ME says combined with Luther’s deteriorated state of health due to chemotherapy and cancer, the asthma attack did him in.”

  “I knew he had asthma.” She puzzled over her words while she stared at a new shipment of pink and white potted hyacinths she was about to add price stickers to. The hyacinth in Luther’s Feed America T-shirt pocket jumped up and down in her brain. “Al! I think I know what might have caused that attack!”

  “Something he was allergic to?” he suggested sarcastically. “I mean, really, Peggy, what triggers asthma attacks? What difference does it make? The man died of natural causes!”

  “Maybe not! Hyacinths can cause fatal asthma attacks in susceptible people. There was a hyacinth in Luther’s shirt pocket!”

  “I don’t see mention of that here.”

  “He wasn’t dead when they took him to the hospital. They probably took his clothes when they tried to revive him. An orderly gave them to me and Holles in a bag.”

  “Did you get rid of them?”

  “No. The bag is still in my closet.”

  “Not that it will exactly be in the chain of evidence it should be, but let me take a look at that, Peggy. Even if it caused his death, picking a hyacinth and putting it into his pocket might not mean anything questionable. I didn’t know a hyacinth could cause asthma attacks. Luther probably didn’t, either. If it had been Darmus, it would be different.”

  Peggy didn’t like the way that sounded. What would happen when the police learned Darmus was alive if there was a suggestion of foul play in Luther’s death? There would already be a question of how that man got into his house. Not that Darmus had any reason to hurt Luther. But then, nothing he’d done recently made sense. And if Luther knew Darmus was alive as suggested by the wedding ring in his hand . . .

  “I’m sorry, Peggy. I didn’t mean to say it that way.” Al took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll tell Captain Rimer about this thing with Luther. He might want to look into it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I don’t see how that’s going to make you feel better about all this.”

  “I want to know the truth, Al. I want to know what really happened. Maybe it’s the scientist in me.”

  “We’ll see, Peggy. I’ll stop by later for Luther’s shirt.”

  Peggy put the phone down and puttered nervously around the shop, waiting for Steve and her parents to get back. The scent of the hyacinths perfumed the air around her as she finished pricing them and set them in the wide window facing the courtyard.

  She was going to have to think of some way to find Darmus. The house fire was probably a cover so people wouldn’t look for him. Darmus was a botanist, not a detective. He probably didn’t think about things like the arson squad sifting through the ashes of what was left of his house to ID his body. He might have thought they’d just assume he was in the house because his car was outside and they couldn’t find him afterward.

  Peggy realized she was an odd part of the equation. She shouldn’t have been there to find the man in the kitchen. Darmus didn’t expect her to be there that day. The house should have burned quickly after the explosion. Instead, she was on the scene to call 911. The explosion was bad, but the fire department kept the fire from destroying the entire house and obliterating the evidence.

  She took a deep breath, rocked back on her heels from the seed display she was working on, and thought about Luther for a moment. The purple hyacinth in his T-shirt meant sorrow. But did the perfume really kill him? Al was right. Having the flower in his pocket didn’t constitute murder. Luther could have picked it himself and put it into his pocket without realizing what it could do.

  The bell rang at the front door, announcing another customer. Peggy put down the phone and walked out of the storage area in the back of the shop. A young black woman in a drab brown dress was standing in the middle of the floor looking out the window at the courtyard.

  “Can I help you?” Peggy asked her when she didn’t appear to be browsing.

  The woman turned around quickly and flashed a small smile. Her shiny black hair was coiled against her neck, and she wore no makeup. “I’m looking for Margaret Lee.”

  “That’s me.” Peggy extended her hand to the woman. “Can I help you?”

  “I have something I’m supposed to give you if—if something h-happens.”

  Peggy had no idea what the woman was talking about, but she was obviously agitated, and close to tears. “Please sit down. I have some peppermint tea that will perk you right up.”

  For a moment, Peggy thought she was going to refuse. She clutched the large manila envelope she carried close to her chest and looked at the front door as though she wanted to run away. Then her shoulders sagged, and she dropped the envelope on the floor. She put her hands to her face and started crying, great whooping sobs that shook her thin form.

  “There now.” Peggy put her arms around her. “Whatever it is has some answer. Please let me help you. Sit down.” She pulled the old wood rocker out of the spring promotion scene. “I’ll make some tea, and you can tell me about it.”

  The woman continued to cry as Peggy put the kettle on the hot plate to boil and spooned peppermint leaves into two cups. As though it were a response to her profound sorrow, the sky outside got darker, shading the courtyard from the shadowed sun. No rain fell, but the sky grew heavy with deep clouds.

  “I-I’m sorry.” The woman finally stopped sobbing. “I feel really stupid.”

  “You don’t look a bit stupid to me. Just distressed.
What’s your name?”

  “Naomi Bates. I am—was Reverend Appleby’s assistant at the church.”

  Peggy smiled at the girl. “And Luther wanted you to give me that envelope?”

  “Yes. He said it was a matter of life and death.”

  The smell of peppermint floated in the air around them as Peggy poured hot water over the dried leaves. She handed the woman a cup with a daffodil painted on it. Naomi sounded a little melodramatic, but she was young and obviously deeply touched by Luther’s death. “I’m sure you can safely drink some tea first. How long did you work with Luther?”

  “Since I was sixteen. My parents died, and the church adopted me and my aunt. Reverend Appleby was like a father to me. I stepped in to help out when he got sick.” Naomi picked up the envelope and handed it to Peggy. “Before he came to Charlotte, he gave me instructions to give this to you if anything happened to him.”

  Peggy wanted to rip open the envelope, but she also wanted to talk to Naomi. “Why didn’t you come with him to Charlotte?”

  “I stayed behind to see to the church. I was ordained last year when I turned eighteen.”

  “Luther was very ill. I’m glad you were there to help him.”

  Naomi’s lips trembled, but she sipped her tea and didn’t start crying again. “He was very strong. Not physically, but spiritually. He believed he was doing the right thing coming here to tend to his brother’s work.”

  Peggy couldn’t wait any longer to open the envelope. “Let’s take a look at this. Luther gave it to you before he left the church?”

  “Yes. He was very specific. He gave me your name and the address of your house and shop. He told me to bring it to you as quickly as possible. I heard about his death on TV.”

  Not knowing what to expect, Peggy poured out the contents of the envelope on the counter next to her. Inside was a hodgepodge of items: a cell phone, a bank receipt for $10,000, an address, and a letter addressed to her, sealed in an envelope.

  The cell phone only had one phone number programmed into it. It had been called a few times. The bank receipt was for a cash withdrawal of $10,000. The address, hastily scrawled, was in uptown Charlotte.