Poisoned Petals plgm-3

by Joyce Lavene

  She ignored the dozens of blogs and Web logs she had received from friends around the world and went to log on to the chess site. Everyone had ideas about something they wanted to share, but really, a twelve-page blog was too long! Someone could only read about phytoprotein for so long! Most of her friends were botanists. Somehow their blogs were turning into dissertations!

  Peggy entered her name and found herself on a screen with a virtual chess set in front of her. Instead of the usual regulation chess set, this one was a grand wizard and dragon set, no doubt patterned after one from the Middle Ages. She waited until Nightflyer logged on, too, and remarked on how much she liked the set.

  He replied. I found it accidentally. I thought you might like it. I hope you’re feeling lucky tonight. I think I might win. The computer kept track of their moves. White moves to e4.

  Not particularly lucky. It hasn’t been a good day. Black moves to e5.

  Yes. I know about your friend. I’m sorry. White moves to f4.

  It seems like his life was cut short just as he was beginning to live. Black moves to d5.

  I don’t think his death was accidental. White moves to Nf3.

  What do you mean? Peggy was shocked at his assertion. He fought cancer for two years. He told Holles his heart was bad. Black moves to Bd6.

  That may be. But there were mitigating factors. White moves to Qe2.

  Such as? Black moves to Qe7.

  Who takes over as head of Feed America now? Both men who captained the group are gone in a very short time. I think the situation is suspicious. White moves to Qxe4.

  I think the doctor said Luther died from natural causes. Black moves to f6.

  Be sure they do an autopsy. White moves to d4.

  Do you know something you aren’t telling me? Black moves to fxe5.

  Undoubtedly. White moves to fxe5.

  Peggy squirmed with frustration. A hint would be nice! Black moves to c6.

  There is a lot of money at stake. The group got a huge private donation just before Darmus left. When you follow the money . . . White moves to Bc4.

  Left? Peggy picked up on the word as she moved. Black moves to Bc7. He died.

  Her husband’s old buddy responded, Darmus isn’t dead.

  “What do you mean?” She said out loud, wishing she had him on the phone. Sometimes nonverbal communication wasn’t the same. You couldn’t hear the nuances in the voice or see the body language. Even the phone might not do. She wanted to slap some sense into him. She repeated the question on the screen for him again, her heart fluttering in her chest. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. What do you mean? Darmus is alive? But people identified him. I saw him in his house when it blew up.

  Did you? Or did you see someone who looked like him? Trust me, Nightrose, there is more here than meets the eye. Darmus may have staged his own death.

  Peggy rubbed her eyes. She must be too exhausted to take it all in. He couldn’t possibly be right. She wrote back, Where is he, if he’s still alive? Why hasn’t he told anyone? That doesn’t make any sense.

  I don’t have all the answers yet, Nightrose. But Darmus is still alive. Must go now. Talk later.

  Peggy was so frustrated when his name left the screen, she wanted to scream. Nightflyer threw a bomb in her lap then left as it went off. She paced the bedroom with long strides, muttering to herself and stomping her foot occasionally.

  There was nothing she could do. It was too early or late, depending on how she looked at it, to call anyone about his preposterous ideas. It was ridiculous, of course. Everyone would think she was insane for suggesting the idea that Darmus was still alive. Shouldn’t she know better than anyone that he was dead?

  But what about him being cold when you touched him?

  There was probably a logical explanation for that. The medical examiner would know exactly why that was. No doubt burn victims got cold.

  But what if Nightflyer was right?

  She stopped pacing and went back to her computer to try to look up anything she could find on burn victims. She didn’t want to look like a complete idiot when she called the police later that morning. Nightflyer was right too often in the past to ignore him, no matter how stupid or ridiculous his assertion seemed.

  But she couldn’t find anything about burn victims being cold. She picked up the phone to call a doctor friend of hers but realized it was four a.m. Her questions would have to wait until later. She hoped her curiosity wouldn’t drive her crazy by then.

  After a long, restless night thinking about Darmus, it was finally dawn. Peggy took a quick shower, put on an old purple sweat suit, and went down quietly to check on her plants. She planted her milkweed seeds, watered them, and then put them under a grow light. She might still have to end up buying some. The plant would probably take too long to seed. According to what she read, her larvae would be out soon. But it would be nice to grow something different anyway.

  “You couldn’t sleep, either?”

  Her father’s voice startled her. “You’re up early, even for you.”

  He sat down in the rocking chair near the pond and stroked Shakespeare’s head. “I don’t sleep much anymore. You know how it is. Too much like dying.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” She finished picking a handful of strawberries for breakfast. “When did you start thinking about dying?”

  “About seventy years ago.” He chuckled. “I don’t know. It’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

  She looked at him carefully, but he seemed fine. Or did she just want him to seem fine? “Is something wrong, Dad?”

  “No!” He stood up and threw his broad shoulders back. He was still as tall and lean as she remembered him from childhood. He was never obviously strong, but she’d seen him lift logs and calves without breaking a sweat. “You just start thinking about these things when you get to be my age, sweet pea. How about you?”

  “I’m fine. Just confused.” She told him about Nightflyer and his suppositions about Darmus and Luther.

  “Could there be any truth to that?”

  “I don’t see how. It doesn’t make any sense. Darmus wouldn’t have any reason to fake his own death. And if Luther was killed, whoever did it made it look totally natural.”

  “Well we both know that’s possible. As for your friend, Darmus, you said he was under a lot of stress. Maybe he cracked under the pressure. He wouldn’t be the first man.”

  “Or maybe Nightflyer is wrong.” She dusted dirt from her gloves.

  “Well that’s possible, too.” He followed her upstairs, with Shakespeare trailing him. “I guess I assumed since you were giving it so much thought that you think he’s right.”

  “Dad, you and I think too much alike!” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Is Mom sleeping in today?”

  “Steve is coming to get her, Mayfield, and Melvin and take them to the mall. I was thinking about going to take a look at the Bass Pro Shop. He said it’s really something special. I hope it’s worth a trip to the mall.”

  “I hope so, too. Would you like to have some stale donuts and blackberry tea with me before I go out?”

  “Sounds great!” He switched on the kitchen light. “When are you going to take us to see your shop?”

  “When Mom runs out of other things to do.”

  “Are you nervous about her seeing it, Margaret? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done well.”

  “I know.” She put the three-day-old Krispy Kreme donuts down on the table. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

  He shook his full head of silver white hair. “Don’t be silly. Let’s go today or tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “We’ll do it!”

  Peggy went back upstairs after breakfast, knowing what she had to do. She couldn’t do anything without proof. The bad thing about not being a police detective when you had a theory about something was that they didn’t want you to investigate. She wanted to tell them that it encouraged snooping.

  She rea
ched into the closet for her ugly black hat and jammed it down on her head. She was never sure why she kept the thing until an emergency like this one came up. Then she was glad she had it. But she was definitely buying a new one for Darmus’s funeral. If there was a funeral!

  Another memoriam was in the paper that morning, this time from his fellow professors at UNCC. The service was being held at Mangum’s on the east side in two days. She didn’t plan to wait until there was a room full of mourners to find out the truth. Her plan was to go to the mortuary, take a long, last look at her friend, and make sure it was really Darmus lying there. Then she could put her mind at ease.

  Darmus was scheduled to be cremated in two days after the memorial service. She might not have another chance to make this right. Or feel like a damn fool trying!

  She went downstairs in a two-piece Anne Klein suit that had seen better days. The lightweight weave was a little nubby in places, but it suited her purpose. She didn’t want to wear her best. Lord knew what she was going to have to do once she got to the mortuary. But she was determined to do whatever was necessary to find out what happened to Darmus.

  “Good morning again, Margaret.” Her father kissed her forehead. “You’re lookin’ a trifle dark now. I thought your friend’s funeral wasn’t until the day after tomorrow?”

  Paul was there, eating the last of the stale donuts. His green eyes, so much like hers and her father’s, narrowed. “Where are you going, Mom? Don’t you have to open the Potting Shed?”

  “I have to go to Mangum’s Mortuary to meet the funeral director and go over Darmus’s service.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue. She picked up a cup and poured herself some coffee. She needed something stronger than another cup of herb tea.

  Paul nodded. “Oh yeah. Wish I could go with you, but I’m on duty again in twenty minutes.”

  She smiled at him, proud, despite herself, of how he looked in his dark blue patrolman’s uniform. It brought memories of her husband back to her. John walked a beat for ten years before making detective. His patrolman’s uniform was still in her closet. She couldn’t bear to part with it after he died. “That’s too bad. It would be nice not to have to go alone.”

  “I’ll go with you,” her father volunteered.

  Peggy tried to back herself out of the lie. “No, that’s all right. Where’s Mom? I thought you were going to the mall?”

  “She’s a little under the weather. Said she isn’t getting up until noon. You’d never guess she’s been a farmer’s wife for fifty-two years.” He shrugged. “I can go with you. No one should have to do these things alone.”

  She hadn’t anticipated her father volunteering to go with her. Now she had to find some way to talk him out of it. “Steve is meeting me there. It’s fine.”

  As if the world was determined to thwart her, Steve knocked on the side door that led into the kitchen. He saw the group standing near the coffeepot on the counter and let himself into the house. “Good morning.” He kissed the side of Peggy’s head. “You look a little funereal this morning.”

  Paul frowned. “What are you up to, Mom?”

  She finished her coffee and took Steve’s arm. “I’m not ‘up to’ anything. Steve stopped by to pick me up after all.”

  Steve smiled and punted. “That’s right. I’m here to pick you up and go out. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is everyone going . . . where we’re going?”

  “No. Just the two of us.”

  “Ah!” He smiled, a few lines fanning out from his eyes. “A romantic tryst.”

  “Not exactly,” she denied. “But let’s go. We’ll be late.”

  “Let me ride along with you,” her father said. “I’ll be the only one up for hours once Paul leaves.”

  “There’s not a problem with that, is there?” Paul watched her face.

  “Not at all. I’ll talk to you later.” She kissed her son’s cheek. “Don’t look like that! You’d think I tried to steal the Statue of Liberty and the Hope diamond!”

  “You have done a few things I wish I didn’t know about. Promise me you aren’t going to do anything weird.”

  She smiled and patted his cheek. “Definitely not, dear. Have a nice day. I’ll see you for dinner.”

  “What was he talking about, Margaret?” her father asked once they were outside the house in the cool morning air. Fog swirled around the gnarled old oak trees and cloaked the morning sun. “Have you done something weird lately?”

  Steve grinned. “Did she do weird stuff as a kid?”

  “All the time,” her father confided. “There was that time they were going to cut down an old oak in the village square. She chained herself to it. The fire department had to get a locksmith to get her off. She’s a pistol.”

  “So what are we doing weird this morning, Margaret?” Steve asked her.

  “Nothing. I believe you have a surgery this morning. You told me about it last night.”

  He swore softly. “That’s right A poodle with a growth on his ear.”

  “Wow! I’d like to see that!” Her father beamed.

  “Good. Why don’t you go with Steve, and he’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll see the two of you later.” Peggy was already walking toward the garage as she spoke. Sometimes things worked out okay anyway.

  “But I’d rather spend the time with you, sweet pea,” her father said. “Especially if you’re going to be alone.”

  “I’ll be fine, Dad.”

  Steve’s forehead furrowed. “What do you have in mind, Peggy?”

  “Nothing weird or unusual. I just have to do a few things at the mortuary prior to Darmus’s memorial service. That’s all.”

  “Then I want to go with you.” Her father decided the matter. “Maybe next time, Steve.”

  “Yes, sir.” Steve nodded toward him, but his worried eyes stayed on Peggy. “Maybe you can keep her out of trouble. I don’t seem to be able to.”

  Her father laughed. “Hasn’t worked out for me, either, son. But I’ll do my best.”

  Peggy had enough of their banter. Really, you’d think she was a teenager! She pressed the remote to open the garage and took out her keys. Her father was going with her. There wasn’t much she could do about it.

  Her truck started up easily when she turned the key. Her father climbed in after her and smoothed his hand over the dark interior. “This is a beauty!”

  “Thanks. The back is filled with batteries, but it hauls a trailer pretty well. I can drive it around town on a single charge.”

  “Wow! Did you do it yourself?”

  “With some help from an engineering friend and a mechanic.”

  “I have a tractor I’m tinkering with. It’ll burn hydrogen when I’m done with it.”

  “Great minds,” she quoted, then applied herself to redirecting his attention. “Listen, Dad. I’ll drop you off at a coffee shop near the mortuary. Then when I’m done, I’ll pick you up.”

  “Don’t be silly, Margaret! I’ll go with you, and then we can both get some coffee afterward.”

  She argued with him, but nothing she said changed his mind. Sighing over the stubborn men in her life, she finally gave in. “I do have something unusual planned. I’m not really going to the mortuary to check on things for the memorial service. Not exactly anyway.”

  “Really?” He grinned. “Could’ve fooled me!”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “I’m the man who had to drag you home after they unchained you from that tree, little lady. You can’t fib to me. I don’t know about Steve and Paul. But I don’t think they believed you weren’t doing something weird, either. They just weren’t as stubborn about going with you.”

  “All right.” She detailed her plan for him. “Once I do this, I’ll know one way or another about Darmus. No one else is going to look for this but me. I have to check it out.”

  “You’re like a starving dog with a bone.” He shook his head. “But I understand that you have to know the truth. W
hat can I do to help?”

  6

  Lemon Verbena

  Botanical: Aloysia triphylla

  Family: Verbenaceae

  Lemon verbena was brought to Europe by Spanish explorers in the seventeenth century from Argentina and Chile. It was grown for its lemony oil that was used in perfume and beverages until cheaper lemongrass oil replaced it. The plant has medicinal sedative properties.