Poisoned Petals

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  She was about to go downstairs when her computer beeped. She hesitated. Her parents were waiting downstairs for her. She could always check her messages when she got back.

  The computer beeped again. She walked back to it. Surely it wouldn’t take that long. She sat down in the chair at her desk and checked her email.

  It was Nightflyer. I thought you’d be back in touch with me by now for more information about your friend.

  I would. Normally. But there’s been nothing normal about the past few days.

  I can help. I have some information that might lead the police to a better suspect than Darmus.

  You can send it to me, and I’ll take it to them.

  It might be better if I try something different.

  Why? Are you afraid I might go after the killer myself?

  There’s more to it than that, Nightrose. I’d like to arrange a meeting.

  Peggy sat back in her chair. He’d refused to meet with her before. Why now? Why is this different than the other times?

  Because there are some other things you should know. I don’t want to tell you those things in an email.

  What are you talking about? Her fingers flew across the keyboard. What things should I know?

  I’ll meet you at Myers Park. Be there Tuesday night at midnight.

  Wait a minute. You can’t keep me hanging until Tuesday. And decent people don’t hang around Myers Park at night. Can’t we have lunch somewhere?

  But he was gone. She tried several times to IM him, but there was no response. Frustrated, she hit the side of the computer with the flat of her hand.

  Almost immediately, a knock on her door followed. “Are you okay in there, Margaret?” Her father’s voice sounded strangely subdued.

  She opened the door and called for Shakespeare, who was still lounging on her bed. “I’m fine. Just swatting at a fly.”

  “Are you almost ready to go? If your mother has to wait around much longer, she’s likely to want to go shopping with Aunt Mayfield instead of to the garden. I don’t think my credit card can stand that.”

  Peggy grabbed her matching peacock-blue hat and smiled at her father. Anger and frustration brewed beneath the curve of her lips, but she bit the emotions back. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Paul joined them before they could get out the front door. “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Of course not!” his grandmother exclaimed, giving him a hug. “That would be wonderful!”

  Since Aunt Mayfield and Cousin Melvin had decided to excuse themselves from the outing, the group was able to fit in Lilla and Ranson’s old Buick. They talked about the area, antiques, and animals. Peggy rode in the shotgun seat and told her father where to turn. The conversation eventually turned to Darmus and Luther and the scene at the funeral home yesterday.

  “What makes the police think your friend’s brother was killed in the first place? Sounds to me like he died of natural causes,” Ranson remarked.

  “I told them about the hyacinth I found in Luther’s pocket when I heard he died from a massive asthma attack,” Peggy answered.

  “You stirred up a hornet’s nest,” her mother said.

  “Okay,” Ranson agreed. “But did they think he might have been murdered before you told them that?”

  “I don’t think they did.”

  “I’m sure the only reason they’re considering it now are the circumstances,” Paul filled in. “Darmus and his brother faked his death. Then Luther turns up dead after a large block of money is given to Feed America. It’s pretty suspicious.”

  Peggy’s father shook his head. “Let the poor man lie in peace. He’s gone now. Seems like that’s enough.”

  “Only he didn’t want to be gone. Someone took that choice away from him,” Peggy replied. “He had whatever was left of his life in front of him. I had some disagreements with Luther, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  “I don’t see how the police will ever find out who gave him that flower,” her mother added. “It could have been anyone, couldn’t it?”

  “That’s the problem a lot of times,” Paul explained. “But they’ll keep going over the evidence until something unusual turns up. The bad guy only gets to do the crime once. But we can go over everything for as long as we want to.”

  Peggy thought about his words and about what Nightflyer said in his e-mail. She wondered what he had to say to her that required a face-to-face meeting. She definitely wouldn’t mention it to anyone else. They’d all be skulking in the shrubbery at the park.

  But she was excited at the prospect of meeting him. She was sure he wanted to help when he could. He didn’t always tell her everything, which infuriated her, but he’d helped her with other situations when she couldn’t find answers. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him exactly, but he’d never done anything to make her think he would hurt her.

  They finally reached Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden about an hour later. It would have been quicker if they weren’t constantly doing construction on the roads in and around Charlotte, but growth brought its own price.

  Peggy and John had once spent many wonderful hours at the garden doing volunteer work. She thought it was at its finest this time of year. Her longtime friend, Doug Wurner, was the head gardener. He greeted them at the entrance, and she introduced him to her little group.

  “Best put on some DEET.” Ranson handed Lilla the bottle. “Peggy told me they have some fine water gardens here, but that means plenty of mosquitoes, too. And you know how they like you, Mama.”

  While they put on sunscreen and insect repellent, Peggy talked with Doug about what had been going on in the garden. She hadn’t been there since John died, and there was always something new being planted or added.

  He told her about the work they’d done in the herb garden and the daylilies they had added. The lengthy drought had made things difficult. They compensated by watering daily, but it would take time and rain before everything recovered.

  Doug took them to see the Visitor’s Pavilion and told them the story of how the early-twentieth-century stained glass dome came to be there above their heads. The dome, crafted in 1909 by a glass company also used by Tiffany, had crowned the First Baptist Church in Canton, Ohio, for many years. One of the Stowe garden designers found it for sale, and the favorite feature of the pavilion was put in place.

  “I wish I had time to show you through the rest of the gardens,” Doug said with a smile and a glance at his watch. “But Peggy knows them almost as well as I do.”

  He gave Peggy a quick kiss on the cheek and told her not to stay away so long again, then left them near a pretty bridge that crossed a small pond.

  Peggy suggested they start the tour with one of the theme gardens. They chose the Cottage Garden as she told them about the 110 acres surrounding them while they inhaled the sweetly scented spring air.

  “What are these?” Paul asked as they looked at some of the plants.

  “Cleome pungens,” Peggy answered with a smile. “Spider plant.”

  “Like the one in my house?” her mother asked.

  “A cousin. This one will get about five feet tall. They grow in pink, purple, and white.”

  “They reseed themselves,” her father surmised, looking at the flower head.

  “Yes. But they usually have to be resown around midsummer to replace the worn plants.”

  They followed the half-mile wildflower trail and then sat beside a fountain to cool off. The sun was hot, even though the breeze was still cool. The sweet green of the newly budded plants would soon be lost to the deeper hues of mature growth.

  “You’re quiet,” Paul remarked as they had a snack of blueberry muffins and tea. “Still thinking about Darmus?”

  “Of course.” Peggy sipped her cup of cold, sweet tea. “I can’t get him out of my mind. I feel like I’ve failed him.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t even realize he was having a problem. What kind of friend was I?”

  “I don’t think
he wanted you to know, Mom.”

  “I know. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  Paul put his arm around her shoulders. “You can’t make everything right in the world, you know. Bad things happen sometimes.”

  She smiled. “That’s a remarkably mature attitude.”

  “And that’s the reason you should never have deep conversations with your mother.” Paul kissed her cheek, then moved away. “She always reminds you that you’re a child.”

  “Are we headed toward the butterfly garden now?” Peggy’s father brushed bread crumbs from his hands.

  “Yes.” Peggy got to her feet. “I’m ready.”

  They spent another hour at the garden. By the time they got home, Lilla had to have a nap. Aunt Mayfield and Cousin Melvin were home from shopping and were making an early dinner for everyone. The smell of frying chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamy gravy filled the house.

  Peggy decided to check in at the Potting Shed rather than face one of Aunt Mayfield’s heavy dinners and questions about why she was a vegetarian. Steve had left a message while she was gone, telling her he would be back home from his sheep run late that night and would see her the next day.

  The doorbell rang as she was making her excuses to her aunt and cousin.

  Paul answered the door. “Well, well.”

  “Leave it alone,” Peggy heard Mai Sato, his ex-girlfriend, say. “I came to talk to your mother.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Peggy took pity on her son, who was standing there (red as a rose since he’d inherited her complexion) in the foyer, glaring at the only woman he had ever really cared about. He obviously had no idea how to get himself out of the corner he’d put himself in. “Who is it, Paul?”

  Before he could answer, Mai yelled out, “It’s me, Peggy. I’d come in, but this big ox is blocking my way!”

  “Come into the library,” Peggy urged the girl, nudging Paul aside a little. “Never mind him. It’s good to see you.”

  They went into the library, and Peggy closed the door behind them with a wry smile at her son, who was left staring after them.

  Peggy sat in her favorite burgundy velvet chair and urged Mai to sit down, too. It wasn’t that long ago the young assistant medical examiner was at her house every day. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “This isn’t a social call,” Mai told her. “There’s some evidence the ME would like you to have a look at.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “It involves the hyacinth you gave him from Luther Appleby’s shirt pocket. He thought you might like to consider starting on that contract work the two of you talked about.”

  Peggy felt a little thrill of excitement run through her. She was still a little uncertain about being a forensic botanist, even a part-time one. But she loved the idea of work that involved digging into the depths of what really separated one plant from another and looking at the vast array of botanical evolutions. She figured she could handle the dead bodies. “Let me get my coat.” They walked out into the foyer, where Paul and Peggy’s father were waiting. “I have to go out for a while,” she told them.

  “Now?” Both men echoed, then glanced at each other uncomfortably.

  “Jinx!” Aunt Mayfield called out. “Y’all come and eat now! The food is getting cold!”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Peggy responded, “save me some potatoes.”

  “They have lard in them,” Paul told her.

  “Never mind.” She shook her head. “I’ll get something while I’m out.”

  “I’m sorry to have to come and get you this way,” Mai apologized when they were outside in the rapidly cooling evening air.

  “Don’t be silly. This is the best way to find out if I want to do this on a part-time basis. Normally I don’t have a whole house full of people. But that’s okay.”

  Mai drove them to the ME’s office. It was only a few minutes on the nearly empty roads, but their conversation faltered. Peggy didn’t know why Mai wasn’t saying much. Usually the two of them chattered together like magpies. Maybe she was thinking about Paul.

  When they reached the office, Mai suddenly apologized for being so quiet. “I hope you don’t think I’m angry with you, Peggy. I hate it when I let Paul get to me like that.”

  “I’m not upset at all. I’m sorry you and Paul couldn’t have worked things out between you.”

  “Sometimes, I am, too. But it’s okay, you know?” She pulled down her bright yellow jacket. “I’m good.”

  Peggy hugged her. “Yes, you are!”

  “Paul probably doesn’t even deserve me.”

  “He’s my son, Mai. I can’t go that far. I already had names picked out for the grandchildren.”

  “Names?”

  “Nicknames. You know. Sparky. Corky. Sooner. Wheezy. Bowtie.”

  “How many children were we supposed to have?” Mai laughed. “And why do they sound like the names of the seven dwarfs?”

  “Ladies?” Dr. Harold Ramsey, Mecklenburg County Medical Examiner, tapped his foot impatiently as he waited inside the doorway for them. “I hope I’m not cramping your style too much?”

  Peggy wasn’t impressed with his bravado. “We’re here. That’s what matters. What do you want me to look at?”

  He frowned, his thick glasses sliding down his nose as he glanced around the empty hallway and then pulled them both inside the office, closing the door behind them. “One of the churches did an audit on the Feed America program and found money missing. Captain Rimer obtained a search warrant for Professor Appleby’s office at the university. The officers found records of the missing money. And something more.”

  “Well, tell us,” Peggy scolded. “What else did they find?”

  “They found a detailed explanation of how to use Hyacinthus to cause a deadly asthma attack.”

  11

  Wisteria

  Botanical: Wisteria sinensis

  Family: Fabaceae

  Chinese wisteria and its cousin, Japanese wisteria, were introduced to the United States in the early 1800s. The pervasive vine was popular until it began to grow unchecked in many areas and began to kill hardwoods. It can be grown successfully with careful management. Both types have a wonderful scent but are poisonous.

  PEGGY WASN’T IMPRESSED. “Like Darmus would need to look up and print out a way to do that!”

  “This whole mess with your friend, Professor Appleby, has made my office look bad. The DA wants me to rethink the autopsy report on Reverend Appleby.”

  “And you want my help?”

  “Not on the autopsy itself. But I’d like your opinion about the flower, Hyacinthus orientalis. I thought this might be a good case for us to see how we collaborate together. Get the ball rolling, as it were, on the possibility of CMPD using your services as a contract forensic botanist.”

  “All right.”

  “I hope this isn’t a problem for you,” he said. “I realize you were close to both these men.”

  “That has nothing to do with it. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as the DA.”

  Harold Ramsey was a tall, stout man with thinning hair that he combed forward to cover a bald spot. He held his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “When can you get started?”

  “In the morning?”

  He glanced at the clock and took a deep breath. “I was hoping for tonight.”

  “It’s a little late.”

  “Maybe you could examine this flower and give me your opinion for now,” he suggested. “Then we could start on the fieldwork tomorrow.”

  Peggy was relieved she didn’t have to help with the autopsy of anything but a flower. She followed him to a microscope where the hyacinth was laid out. Better the hyacinth than Luther. She adjusted her eyes to the microscope, then looked at the wilting plant. “What am I looking for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  �
��What?” She looked up at him.

  “I know what killed Reverend Appleby. He died of an acute asthma attack. According to your information and what I’ve read, this plant can bring on that kind of attack. But it didn’t kill him immediately. Why didn’t he pull out his inhaler and use it?” Dr. Ramsey pointed to an inhaler in a plastic bag on the counter beside them.

  “I don’t know. I’ve wondered the same thing myself.” She pointed to the hyacinth. “May I look at it?”

  “Put these on first.” He gave her a pair of gloves.

  “Did you find any fingerprints on the stem?”

  “Only Reverend Appleby’s,” Mai responded. “There was nothing else.”

  Peggy looked at the flower closely. It didn’t appear to be any different than any other hyacinth. Then she held it to her nose, sniffed and coughed. “Oh my God!”

  “What’s wrong?” Mai and Dr. Ramsey leaned closer to inspect it.

  “It’s been doused with something extra. Probably a concentrated burst of hyacinth scent,” Peggy explained. “It smells a hundred times stronger than a normal hyacinth should smell. Luther probably didn’t have time to pull out his inhaler.”

  “Interesting.” Ramsey looked at it again. “But it could have been given to Reverend Appleby by anyone. He could have picked it himself. How are we going to prove what happened from using the flower, which is our only evidence of the crime?”

  Peggy considered the question. “There is a way to figure out where it came from. When you pick a flower, it has a distinctive pattern. It wouldn’t fit on any stalk except the one it was taken from. We should be able to find where it came from by matching the cut piece to the bottom of the plant. The edge of the stem should be an exact match with the cut part on the base.”

  “Will it show what it was cut by?”

  “It should show serration or a smoothly cut edge,” she theorized for him. “We could probably take a knife or scissors to check to see if one or the other made the cut. If it was pulled off, the edges should still match from the same plant.”

  “Excellent!” Ramsey turned away. “Let me know when you’ve discovered the base plant and its location.”

  “That’s a tall order.” Peggy glanced at Mai. “It could be anywhere.”