Poisoned Petals plgm-3

by Joyce Lavene

  Sighing, she started to get back on her bike when a large white envelope caught her eye. It was on the park bench, and the light above her head gleamed down on it. She picked it up, hoping it was from Nightflyer, and stuffed it into her jacket before she rode home.

  SLEEP WAS A LONG TIME coming. Peggy sat on her bed with Shakespeare beside her for hours, poring over the documents in the envelope.

  There was a picture of Holles with a younger man who resembled him. They were standing outside a barn with a bunch of cows all around them. Peggy knew Holles’s brother, Jacob, owned a dairy farm in Stanly County. But she wasn’t sure what that meant, and she was almost too depressed to care.

  She didn’t want to lose Steve because of Nightflyer. She was interested in the shadowy figure, curious about the things he did and how he knew so many answers, but she loved Steve. She had to find a way to make this right.

  A new day was coming. Gray light reached out into the sleeping world. Exhausted, she lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling while she rubbed Shakespeare’s smooth coat.

  Her computer chimed, and Peggy knew it was Nightflyer. She lay there, listening to the sound and not responding, feeling like a fool for letting herself get caught up in the craziness. She should have known better. Women her age didn’t do things like that. They stayed home at night and dusted their houses before their parents came to visit. They commiserated with their friends who were charged with murder, but they didn’t interfere.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t that kind of woman. She jumped up and caught the last chime.

  I’m here. She greeted him after she clicked on the link. I’m sorry about what happened tonight.

  Were you afraid to come alone?

  No! Steve followed me. He was worried.

  Ah! Would you like to play some chess?

  I’d rather talk, if you don’t mind. I found the envelope.

  Good.

  What does it mean?

  You found the cottonseeds.

  She paused to consider his statement. I’m afraid I don’t understand.

  They call them cow candy. Dairy farmers feed them to cattle. They’re high in protein, good for heavy milk production.

  So you’re telling me Holles was involved in Luther’s death?

  It might be a question to ask him.

  Sam is going to kill me.

  What about Steve?

  She sighed. I can handle Steve. Can we try to meet again?

  It won’t be for a while. I have to go out of town on a job. I’m working freelance right now.

  Oh. Do you think I’m going in the wrong direction with Holles? All I really have, besides the cottonseeds, is that he inherited Feed America because of what happened to Darmus and Luther. And he didn’t want me to tell anyone that Darmus was alive.

  That doesn’t really work for me. At best, they’re all stewards of the group. They couldn’t make a move without the Council of Churches. Professor Appleby killing his brother doesn’t make sense, either. I don’t know what to tell you.

  I’ll keep digging.

  I have to go now. Good night, Nightrose. I’m sorry we weren’t able to meet in person. Another time.

  I’m sorry, too. Next time, we’ll have to meet in another city where no one knows what I’m doing.

  People love you. There’s nothing wrong with that. If you were mine, I would have done what Steve did to protect you.

  14

  Angel’s Trumpet

  Botanical: Datura stramonium

  Family: Solanaceae

  Known commonly as Jimsonweed, the heady perfume of the hybrid angel’s trumpet will grace a night garden with beauty and scent. They are originally from South America and are highly toxic. The drugs scopolamine and atropine were derived from this plant.

  HIS WORDS WERE LEFT HANGING as he signed off. Peggy looked at the screen, then rubbed her eyes. Common sense and reason returned with the morning light. Maybe Steve was right. Maybe she was crazy to go out at midnight to meet Nightflyer. Hadn’t she thought much the same thing before she left the house? But she had a stubborn streak that never wanted to give up, sometimes even at the expense of common sense and reason.

  Was it a romantic thing, wanting to meet Nightflyer? What was she expecting? A knight in shining armor? Someone who was going to whisk her away from her life? She was well beyond the fairy-tale years, and she loved her life. No, she decided, Nightflyer had given her a few good leads, and she wanted to help Darmus. That was all.

  Except that didn’t explain her racing heart and flushed cheeks. Was it the mystery? Was it the darkness that intrigued her? She knew she was flirting with trouble. Steve was right, much as she hated to admit it. If she was smart, she would never play chess with Nightflyer or talk to him again. She could find her own clues.

  It was 6:15. Not too early to get a jump on the day. She could go to the Potting Shed and get started on Mrs. Turnbrell’s white garden. She was looking forward to the hard physical labor. It might get her mind off of other things.

  She got up, showered, and dressed in old jeans and one of the first Potting Shed T-shirts they’d ever made. It was old and worn but comfortable. She slipped sunscreen into her bag, despite a warning from a friend about the dangers of using too much protection. He was a biology professor at the University of Minnesota who claimed to have found a link between skin cancer and sunscreen. He was convinced it was bad to use sunscreen to prevent sunburn because it also blocked vitamin D, which helped to prevent cancer. Peggy wasn’t sure about that hypothesis, and she didn’t want to walk around with a red face for a week, either.

  Her Reeboks didn’t make a sound on the marble stairs as she ran down them. She suddenly felt very free and light, as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She decided she was going to see Steve, and everything was going to work out. He was jealous. She could see that now. But he had nothing to be jealous of. She was wrong to feel that Nightflyer was so intriguing. She loved Steve and would hang around his door until he told her he wasn’t mad anymore.

  Her next stop was the kitchen for leftover muffins from the night before. She knew Steve was an early riser, too. If he had coffee, she had muffins. It would be good to see his face and hear his voice before she went to work. He’d spent too much time with her family, probably just to make her happy. She wanted some time alone with him.

  As she walked down the road to Steve’s house, she noticed how Queens Road was a different place in the pale morning light. Cars traveled along, nearly scraping the huge old oak trees lining the edges. Every year, the traffic got worse. There was no way to widen the road without losing the magnificent giants they all tried so hard to preserve. Peggy wasn’t sure how long the trees were going to last with all that carbon dioxide anyway. Charlotte wanted to be known as the city of trees, but they weren’t willing to enact one single law to preserve their heritage.

  Steve lived only a few doors down in another large old house built around the turn of the century. He’d inherited his house from his uncle, another veterinarian, who’d lived there for years. The redbrick was solid and looked like it would stand another hundred years. The house reminded her of Steve. He was always there when she needed him, despite some outrageous acts she’d pulled to prove her theories true. As she’d told her father, Steve was a good man. Maybe he was little unexciting, but he was steady.

  Peggy knocked on the side door that led into the kitchen and peered through the window. There was no answer, no light in the kitchen. And no coffee in the pot on the counter. She knocked again a little harder. Was something wrong? Had he been called away on an emergency? Steve always had coffee on by six. It was almost six thirty. Maybe he was ill.

  A few minutes later, he came to the door. He stared at her through the window for a long time.

  “Steve?” She put her hand on the cool glass that separated them. “What is it? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

  “Go away, Peggy.” He turned to leave the room.

  “Wait
! Let me help you. Don’t be so stubborn. Are you sick?”

  He came back to the door and opened it so quickly that she took a step back. “Am I sick? No, I’m not sick! I’m angry! You lied to me and sneaked out last night to meet your strange male Internet friend! How do I compete with Mr. Dark and Secretive? I’m just good old Steve.”

  She smiled and held up her plastic zip-seal bag. “I have muffins.”

  “Do you think leftover muffins are going to make me feel better?” He scrutinized her face. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “What?” The word came out in a squeak.

  “You’re a botanist, and you have a child. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Answer the question. Are you sleeping with him?”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “I haven’t slept with anyone s-since John. I wouldn’t sleep with anyone except—”

  “Except?” He prodded her.

  “You.” She smiled, knowing her heart showed in her face. “I wouldn’t sleep with anyone except you.”

  He grabbed her wrist in one hand and the bag of muffins in the other. “Get in here.”

  Peggy giggled. When she realized it, she hiccupped. “There’s no coffee.”

  “We can have coffee and muffins later.” He kicked the door closed and locked it. “I think there’s something else we should do first.”

  THEY WERE LOUNGING in Steve’s kitchen eating muffins and drinking coffee much later than either of them had planned on leaving that morning. It didn’t matter. Peggy had lost her early jump on the day and was still smiling. Steve was ignoring messages from his answering machine.

  “So you found cottonseeds in Holles’s office and Luther’s office. There was a piece of a cottonseed on the hyacinth you think killed Luther and at the crime scene in the Community Garden. Harwood’s brother owns a dairy farm where cows eat cottonseeds.” He went over what she’d told him. “That makes it look like he visited Luther. But couldn’t that be explained? He lived in a rural county where there are probably lots of dairy farmers.”

  “It could be explained. But it’s all I’ve got.”

  “So you think Holles drugged Darmus and talked him into pretending he was dead to take over Feed America. But they gave it to Luther, so he killed Luther. How could he be certain the Council of Churches would let him take over after that? Isn’t there someone else who could be in line for the job?”

  “Not as far as I can tell. There’s not a lot of order in the organization. They relied heavily on Darmus running the group. And they did let Holles take over when Luther died.”

  “I see. And of course, he’s still running it.”

  “But he won’t be running it from prison if he’s convicted of killing Luther.”

  “So what’s next?” Steve sipped his coffee. “I know you have something else in mind.”

  “I’m going to talk to Al about the cottonseeds. It might not mean anything, but I think he should know.”

  “Good plan.” He approved. “Get the police involved.”

  “And I’m going to plant my white garden.” She got to her feet and stretched. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Is what it?”

  He smiled lazily. “I feel so cheap. Not even the promise of dinner. You might as well have left some money on the bedside table.”

  “You’re crazy!” Peggy laughed as she kissed him. “You might not want to see me at dinner. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk after so much unusual exercise today. I haven’t planted a large garden like this or—or—”

  “Or made love?”

  “That, too . . . in a long time.”

  “Thank you.” He hugged her. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. And thank you!”

  His phone rang again, and while he answered it, Peggy slipped out the kitchen door. This was a good thing. Isn’t this what she was thinking about last night when she couldn’t sleep and she was worried about doing something stupid with Nightflyer? She walked home quickly, not noticing the traffic now, humming under her breath as she got the truck out to go to the Potting Shed.

  “Looking for some company?” Her father walked out of the house when he saw her.

  “Aren’t you and Mom doing something today?”

  He scratched his head. “She’s going to some crystal shop on the outskirts of town with your aunt. I’d rather do almost anything else.”

  “You know, it would be okay if you just said you’d rather be with me,” she told him. “But hop in. I’m going to set out a garden, so you’d better be prepared to work.”

  “Got a spare pair of gloves?”

  “Always.”

  She took her little truck to the Potting Shed, where they hitched up the trailer and loaded the magnolia tree, seven white rosebushes, twelve gardenia bushes, two white angel’s trumpets, plus shovels, rakes, pine bark, and mulch.

  She also added a statue she found that she thought Mrs. Turnbrell might like in the garden dedicated to her mother. It was a mother and child carved in white marble. It was large enough to see but not ostentatious.

  “That’s beautiful,” her father exclaimed after she checked in with Selena. “Why don’t they do father and child statues?”

  “I don’t know. Artists celebrate the mother-child bond.”

  He glanced at her as she backed out of the Potting Shed parking lot. “That’s what I mean! Mothers like your friend, Rosie, go off and raise their children alone. People make statues of mothers and children. What about the father figure? Like that comedienne always used to say, fathers get no respect!”

  Peggy laughed. “Maybe that could be your cause for the next thirty years.”

  Her phone rang. It was Al, finally returning a call. She explained to him about the cottonseeds she’d found in both offices, Darmus’s claim that he was drugged, and reiterated Holles Harwood’s intense interest in becoming the director of Feed America.

  “Peggy.” Al sighed, long-suffering. “None of those things are relevant. We have the records from the group showing substantial withdrawals before Luther took it over.”

  “Holles had access to those,” she argued. “He was Darmus’s assistant. And Holles is a botanist. It would have been simple for him to zap that hyacinth.”

  “Why not kill Darmus if he was willing to kill? Why drug him?”

  “Maybe he thought he could control him that way. Maybe he didn’t think about Darmus giving the group to Luther.”

  “Which brings us back to Darmus.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

  “Once in a while, you should turn on the news. That’s why people have TVs. Darmus confessed to killing his brother and stealing the money from Feed America this morning. He’s back in custody and has waived his right to trial. He’s guilty, Peggy. I’m sorry. I have to go back to work now.”

  She said good-bye and closed her phone.

  “What’s wrong?” her father asked.

  She told him what happened. “What would make Darmus do that?”

  “You mean besides a guilty conscience?”

  She pulled the truck into Mrs. Turnbrell’s yard, wishing now she hadn’t promised to do the job so she could spend the day finding out what happened to Darmus. But she was committed, and her customer was already out in the yard, waiting for them.

  Ranson waved to Mrs. Turnbrell. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to lay in this garden, Dad. Then I’m going to find out what happened.”

  Peggy had plenty of time to think as she started digging in the yard. Holles had to be at the bottom of this. He had contact with Darmus now that he was out of jail. He might even have found a way to introduce more fly agaric into Darmus’s bloodstream.

  She kept turning over the soil in the large, undulating spot they’d chosen for the white garden. Darmus sounded lucid to her when she saw him last, but that could change quickly with the right amount of hallucinogen.


  Or was it rational? In her experience, there was only one thing that could make a man do insane things. He was trying to protect someone. She needed some advice on what to do next, so she put in a call to Hunter Ollson.

  Thankfully, the dirt in the yard was well turned already. Down through the hundred years the house had been there, the hard, orange clay had been replaced by soft, black dirt. And Mrs. Turnbrell had already asked her lawn care service to dig up the spot she liked for the garden. All Peggy and her father had to do was lay it out and fill it in.