A Corpse for Yew

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  “Maybe one of the other ladies took it out there.”

  He shrugged. “It’s possible. But why would they do that?”

  “Why do you think Lois would do it?” she questioned. “Does that make more sense?”

  Jonathon glanced around again, but the other ladies were yards in front of them. “There was a connection between Lois’s family and that ring. At least that’s what she said. I don’t have all the details. I don’t dare ask now. Maybe she took it from the museum because she planned to keep it. Or maybe she planned to sell it to Snook Holt.”

  “Are you two coming or what?” Geneva demanded from the top of the hill. “We don’t have all day to do this!”

  As Peggy and Jonathon hurried up the hill to reach the rest of the group, she considered his accusations. No wonder he didn’t want to voice them to the group or the museum board of directors. It was unlikely to bring him anything except a pink slip.

  Still, what he’d said about Lois having some connection to the ring was curious. She tended to agree with him that Lois had taken the ring from the museum. But why take it out to the lake? That part didn’t make any sense. The idea that one of these ladies would sell an important family heirloom that would set her up a few more rungs on the historical ladder seemed ludicrous. There had to be a better explanation.

  “We already found the cemetery, thanks to my GPS,” Dorothy told them.

  “Yes, but my wand will help locate the graves that may have sunk since they were placed there,” Annabelle said.

  Peggy looked across a pretty meadow that had thousands of red salvias, which were barely holding their heads up after the rain. Normally they would’ve been gone in September, but the drought had helped them linger into fall. And sure enough, there were at least a hundred cows munching grass in the pasture. Somehow the fence had come down near the hill, but the cows seemed to ignore that.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Geneva said. “I’ll take photos of the site. Peggy, you get the shaving cream for the upright headstones. I’ll put you in charge of the rubbings as well, but call me when you can read the tombstone. The rest of you know what to do.”

  “Good thing I was out for my constitutional,” a man’s gravelly voice interrupted them. “I don’t take with no trespassers on my property. Law says I have a right to shoot first, and it looks like I might have to do just that.”

  17

  Heartleaf Philodendron

  Botanical: Philodendron scandens

  In 1793, Captain William Bligh—the Captain Bligh of Mutiny on the Bounty—brought this vine from the West Indies to the Royal Botanic Gardens in England. All parts are poisonous due to aroid toxins, including calcium oxalate. The roots were used as an antioxidant, preventing disease and infection for native tribes. The toxins cause low-level skin irritation as well as burning and swelling of the lips, throat, and tongue.

  THE FARMER BIT DOWN ON the chewing tobacco that was lodged in his right cheek. He shifted his old shotgun as though it was too heavy for him.

  Without thinking about what she was doing, Peggy stepped between him and the rest of the group. “We’re only here to look for Captain Zachary Miller’s grave. Is he an ancestor of yours?”

  It must have suddenly occurred to Jonathon that Peggy had put herself between him and the shotgun. He did the noblest thing possible, and stepped between Peggy and the farmer.

  The farmer, who’d been considering Peggy’s question, got riled up again when Jonathon moved. He motioned with the shotgun for him to go back to where he had been. “I don’t know what you all are talkin’ about. Just get off my land.”

  Geneva stepped forward. “We can’t do that, sir. We’re from the Shamrock Historical Society, and one of our members is related to Captain Miller.”

  Grace stood beside her. “So she has as much right to be here as you do.”

  Mrs. Waynewright waved her hand. “Be off with you, old man. We intend to find the captain’s grave and honor it. He was a hero of the American Revolution and my ancestor, and deserves a better fate than sleeping in this cow pasture.”

  The farmer spit on the ground. “Who you callin’ old? You look like you could’a been in the war yourself.”

  Before the discussion got any hotter, Peggy encouraged all of them to step back. “My name is Peggy Lee. What’s your name?”

  He chuckled. “Like the singer? Are you kin to her?”

  “No. Your name?”

  “Marcus Miller McWhirter.”

  Mrs. Waynewright eyed him with a cold stare. “My great granddaddy was named Marcus Miller. I suppose we could be related.”

  “You one of them Huntersville Millers, or part of the Miller clan from around Goose Creek?” The farmer looked interested instead of angry. Peggy thought it was a start.

  While Mrs. Waynewright exchanged family information with Farmer McWhirter, the rest of the group moved closer to the headstones gathered under a huge, old oak tree. “This tree was probably here when they laid these people to rest,” Peggy told them. She put her hand against the rough bark and considered all the things the tree had lived through. Still, it was standing, protecting the dead who slept beneath it.

  “Here’s the shaving cream and the squeegee.” Geneva handed Peggy her gear. “Let’s get to it in case our friend over there decides not to be so friendly. You never know if the Millers get along or not.”

  Peggy took the equipment, watching Jonathon as he took photos and observed the graves. There were three headstones with a large sunken space between them. She stepped around that area and knelt on the ground to put the shaving cream on the first headstone.

  “I’ll bet that’s Captain Miller’s grave,” Jonathon said. “Probably his wife beside him. That’s why there’s no headstone. People didn’t think wives needed to be recognized back then. It was enough for them to be laid beside their husbands.”

  “That’s amazing.” Peggy shot shaving cream into her hand, then smoothed it on the worn stone. Her mother had told her about this technique for reading old tombstones years ago. The white shaving cream filled in the letters and dates so historians could read them. She brought the squeegee down over the stone to take off the excess, and sat back with a notebook and pencil to record her find.

  “These are probably two of their children,” Jonathon said on the other side of the sunken grave area. “Probably older children.”

  “I think I found Captain Miller,” Peggy called to the other ladies, who all rushed to her side. The tombstone inscription filled in with shaving cream read “Captain Zachary Miller, Revolutionary War Hero and County Judge for ten years. Born 1750. Died 1820. God loved him.”

  “That’s him,” Annabelle said. “Everyone come and take a look.”

  Peggy thought it was remarkable how quickly people could go from being enemies to blood relatives. Farmer McWhirter rested on his shotgun with the business end in the hard earth. “Well, I’ll be! I never thought much of this little cemetery bein’ out here. My daddy even thought about takin’ it all out, but the preacher told him he’d burn in hell if he did.”

  Mrs. Waynewright brought out her bouquet of red, white, and blue silk roses. She placed them on the captain’s grave and stood the flag beside the tombstone because she couldn’t push it into the hard earth. Dorothy played a recording of “God Bless America” with her MP3 player. When the little ceremony was over, silence filled the wooded area.

  Farmer McWhirter wiped his eyes on a dirty handkerchief. “That was beautiful. You all come up to the house for some lemonade. My wife just made some gingersnaps. I know she’ll want to meet you.”

  Peggy’s cell phone rang, and she walked away from the group to answer it. It was Dr. Ramsey, in fine form. “Where are you, Dr. Lee? And why was my chain of evidence broken today?”

  “Hello, Harold. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She watched as the others started toward the old white farmhouse in the distance.

  “I’m talking about those yew branches you gathered from
the lake. You had some delivery driver take them to the university, where he gave them to Dr. Dillard. What were you thinking?”

  Peggy realized she hadn’t been thinking clearly that morning. She’d given crime scene evidence to Sam so she wouldn’t have to go to UNC Charlotte. The worth of the evidence was destroyed by her not taking them there herself.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She chastised herself mentally a million times before his response.

  “Fortunately for you, the branches didn’t match the seeds he’s been looking at. Get over here to the lab as soon as you can.”

  She started to protest that it was stupid for him to yell at her when the evidence didn’t match anyway, but he’d already hung up. She supposed he’d simply tell her the lesson was for the future. The forensic evidence could’ve made an important difference in the case, and it would’ve been botched because of her. As a scientist, she could certainly appreciate that fact.

  Jonathon had remained behind with her. He was examining the other tombstones, taking pictures of them and using paper and charcoal to take rubbings from them. “Trouble?”

  “Not really.” She put her phone away. “This has been interesting. My only question is how any of you manage to stay alive doing this. I don’t know why you were so surprised by Lois’s death. How many times do angry property owners come after you with guns?”

  He laughed. “It’s never happened to me before. I can’t speak for the ladies. They seem determined to put themselves in harm’s way.”

  Peggy walked beside him to the farmhouse, listening to him talk about history as though it had happened yesterday. A great deal of passion and pride was displayed by this group when it came to claiming their heritage. She certainly didn’t want to disparage the theory that Snook Holt had come across Lois at the lake and caused her death, but there were aspects to that idea that made no sense.

  The question of how a man Lois would never have trusted could get her to eat anything, much less poison berries, was at the forefront. Without signs of coercion, she had to assume Lois ate the berries willingly.

  There was also the carnelian ring. It obviously had bearing on the case. It had been out there, and she believed it arrived in Lois’s purse. Surely Lois wouldn’t have taken the ring out if she knew Snook Holt was there.

  Peggy thought about the puzzle while she and the others ate gingersnaps and drank lemonade with the McWhirters before heading back to the van. The ladies were happy with the standing invitation to visit the site whenever they wanted. That and dedicating Captain Miller’s grave was a good day’s work for them. They all fell asleep on the way back to Charlotte while Jonathon drove.

  PEGGY CHECKED IN ON HER father when she got back to the Potting Shed. He was asleep in her rocking chair, his chin resting on his chest. She smiled at him fondly, then shook his shoulder.

  Ranson jumped up in surprise. “You sneaked up on me, Sweet Pea. Are you back from your historical expedition already?”

  “We are.” Her mother joined them. “It was wonderful. You should’ve been there.” She went on to describe the event and meeting the McWhirters. “You would’ve been proud of your daughter. She almost backed up a man with a shotgun trained right on her heart.”

  “And why would that have made me proud?” He glanced at Peggy and frowned. “You had all those prime old ladies out there, and you were willing to sacrifice yourself. I thought I taught you better.”

  She laughed. “Any business while I was gone?”

  “One woman came in to buy fertilizer for her African violet. I managed to sell her some tulip bulbs with it.”

  “I hope she plans to put them in pots.” Peggy got behind the cash register. “Otherwise, I hope she has one of Sam’s new watering systems. The soil’s too dry and hard to plant them.”

  “I’d like to see one of those contraptions,” her father said. “Think that could be arranged?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll talk to Sam about it.”

  “Talk to her about that later, Ranson.” Lilla yawned. “I’m tired and dirty, and you know that’s not a good thing for me.”

  He shook his head. “You’d never guess you’ve spent most of your life on the farm.”

  “Not in my youth, dear. I’m still a city girl at heart.” Lilla waved to Peggy. “I’ll talk to you later. Any luck with Steve yet?”

  “I haven’t had time.” Peggy shrugged and sat down in the recently vacated rocking chair. “But I’ll talk to him tonight.”

  “Good. We still have plenty of time to plan an engagement party for Tuesday night. I hope that’s not rushing you.”

  Peggy said good-bye to her parents without answering her mother’s question. She wasn’t sure if it was wise to plan an engagement party when one half of the couple didn’t know they were getting engaged. She took out her cell phone and tried to call Steve, but could only reach his voice mail. What if he didn’t want to get engaged now? Just because her parents and Paul thought it was a good idea didn’t mean Steve would.

  The door to the shop opened, and a woman pushing a small cart full of houseplants stepped in. Peggy helped her get the cart past the doorway, wondering why she had so many plants and hoping she wasn’t going to return them. Like any other store, she sometimes had people who weren’t happy with what they bought and wanted to bring them back.

  “Can I help you?” Peggy asked after closing the shop door.

  “I hope so. Are you the owner?”

  The woman looked as though she’d been crying. Peggy immediately sat her down in the rocking chair and put on some tea. It was blueberry with a touch of borage. “I’m Peggy. I own the Potting Shed.”

  “A friend of mine, Jolie Lamonte, told me if anyone could help me, it would be you.” With that, she sobbed uncontrollably for a few minutes.

  Peggy made the tea and put a mug of it in the other woman’s hand. “Of course I know Jolie. She’s a very dear friend. What’s your name?”

  “Rachael Woods. I live over in the Dilworth area. I’ve taken care of my mother for the past three years. She died two days ago. Now I have all these plants.” She spread her hands at the cart. “I want to take care of them, but I don’t know how. I think all of them are dying. What am I doing wrong?”

  Peggy sipped her tea and took a good look at the plants. “Well, let’s see. I think this little cyclamen needs to be re-potted. I’m sure it’ll be fine with some new soil and a bigger pot. And this Christmas cactus has overgrown its pot, too. See how the soil looks? It’s used up all the nutrients. As far as this philodendron is concerned, I think we may have to reroot part of it. It may survive that way. It’s hard to kill one of those.”

  “I’m no good with plants,” Rachael cried. She accepted Peggy’s offer of tissues. “I just can’t stand the idea of anything else dying right now, you know? If I can save them, I want them to live.”

  “I don’t think that’s a problem.” Peggy opened a bag of good potting soil and set Rachael to work taking the plants out of their containers while she rounded up a few new pots. It took only a few minutes to put the plants into their new homes. “You can take these fertilizer pellets with you. Use one a month on each plant. Be sure to keep them out of drafts.”

  They tackled the philodendron next. Peggy very carefully removed the only good leaf left on the plant. She didn’t want to imagine what kind of abuse the poor thing had endured. Usually philodendrons were the safest bet for a new gardener. “We’ll just put some new soil in this little pot and stick the end of the leaf in the soil. Water it a little. Don’t let it get too dry, but don’t drown it, either. It should be fine.”

  Rachael sniffed, her hands and dress covered in soil. “I don’t know how to thank you. Jolie was right. You’ve been such a big help.”

  When the younger woman burst out crying again, Peggy hugged her tightly and tried to comfort her. The shop door opened again, this time to admit Sofia from the Kozy Kettle. For once, Peggy was glad to see her. It took the Sicilian w
oman only an instant to take the girl in hand and lead her toward another cup of tea and something sweet at her shop.

  Sofia glanced at Peggy as though she had made Rachael cry. Peggy shook her head to deny it, but it was no use. A few minutes later, Emil ran across the courtyard and let himself into the Potting Shed. “What’s wrong over here? Did that girl try to take your man? You know that happens sometimes. It might be for the best, since you aren’t good for each other, anyway. He likes the animals and you like the plants.”

  Peggy started adding up what she’d put together for Rachael. “That’s not the problem,” she explained. “She was crying because her mother died and I saved her plants.”

  Emil rolled his expressive dark eyes. “You can believe that if it makes you happy. You come over and eat when you get done here, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I have ten other places I have to be, Emil. But thanks for the invitation. Can you help me get this cart over there?”

  Emil picked up the cart and carried it across the brick courtyard. Peggy noticed that someone had left an ICEE in one of the big flower pots she maintained for Brevard Court. She took it out and dropped it in the trash can. The bright rust and red mums looked none the worse for the experience.

  Rachael was still crying when Peggy got to the Kozy Kettle. She took out her credit card when she saw the cart full of plants. Peggy ran the card, happy it was good and she wouldn’t have to tell the girl she couldn’t buy what she needed.

  “I won’t ever forget what you’ve done,” Rachael said as she signed the receipt.

  “You take care of yourself and those plants,” Peggy advised, giving her a copy of the transaction. “I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you to go on this way and make yourself sick.”

  Sofia crossed herself. “No. Not like my Cousin Gena. She made herself crazy when her mother died. We had to lock her in the attic for months. Then her father died. What a mess!”