Fruit of the Poisoned Tree

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  “Anytime. What are friends for, eh?”

  When the other woman was gone, Selena left the front counter. “How can you sit there and listen to her? She’s crazy!”

  “She means well,” Peggy told her. “And why did you tell her about the accident? You go over there every day for tea. She wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t anything interesting going on over here.”

  “You mean nothing she could relate a family story to?” Sam snorted. “She should write a book.”

  Selena shrugged. “I don’t know. She looks at me with those crazy-person eyes, and I can’t help it. She asked me what was wrong, and I had to tell her. It was creepy.”

  Sam brought a ripped bag of fertilizer up to the front with him. “Maybe you shouldn’t go in there anymore, Selena. Or maybe you should wear dark glasses when you go. That way her ‘crazy-person eyes’ can’t get you.” He made extraterrestrial whirring noises and chased Selena around the store.

  Peggy focused on their bickering to push herself back to reality. What happened to Park was no less real to her, too fresh in her mind to chase away. But this was real, too. This was life. This was what continued. Even when she was gone, life would still go on. “Selena, can you stay while I go and see Beth? I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “I have some studying to do for a math exam. But the shop’s been quiet. I can do it here.” Selena glanced up at Sam’s thunderous face as she finished. “What?”

  “I only have one run to make.” Sam mouthed the words, Shut up! Don’t remind her the shop has been slow! She feels bad enough already, to Selena. “I have to take those orchids to the Millers for the party tonight. Then I’ll be here, too. Want me to drive you over to Beth’s when I get back?”

  “That’s fine, Selena. Thank you. And thanks anyway, Sam, but I’ll take my bike.” Peggy started to get up from the rocking chair. Selena and Sam rushed to take one of her hands and help her up. They were obviously overwrought as well. “I think I need some cold air in my face. I’m going to leave Shakespeare here since Beth has so many antiques in her house.”

  “I’ll finish up that customer database when I get done studying,” Selena promised, then tried to make up for her previous words. “I didn’t mean the shop was going under or anything. I just meant it’s slow. But it’s always slow in February, right?”

  “Pretty much.” Peggy put her cup on the counter and realized she hadn’t taken off her jacket since she came inside. “I’ll talk to you later.” She went to the restroom and switched on the light, mindful of them watching her. She remembered acting the same way when her grandmother was ill, before she died. Standing there watching her, wishing there was something she could do. Sam and Selena were like family to her.

  The towelette from her pocketbook had cleaned most of her hand. She scrubbed her nails thoroughly with hot water and disinfectant soap, then looked at herself in the mirror. It always amazed her how the most terrible things could happen and never show up on a person’s face. Oscar Wilde had the right idea in The Picture of Dorian Gray. It was like they all had portraits somewhere that absorbed life’s impact.

  Before she left, she picked up a small marjoram plant she’d potted weeks before. Comfort and consolation. It was all she had to offer Beth at this time.

  The sun had already warmed the day when Peggy stepped outside into the courtyard. She unlocked her bicycle, tucked the plant into her satchel, and put on her gloves. Traffic was slow on College Street where Brevard Court and Latta Arcade fronted it. The wrought-iron gate that led into the courtyard was still wet from the melting ice. Not many people were in the shopping area yet. But even in winter, a warm sun and lunchtime brought out the office workers the downtown shops depended on.

  Peggy turned her bicycle away from the downtown area and headed toward Myers Park, a well-to-do area of the city. The houses there weren’t as grand as they were on Queens Road where she lived, but they were part of the classic heart of Charlotte.

  Most were maintained as they were when they were built in the 1940s, still inhabited by lawyers, doctors, and other professionals. Park could have lived anywhere, but he chose to raise his children in the same neighborhood where he grew up.

  Riding under the skeletal branches of the huge old oak trees that dotted tidy brick, fenced yards and provided shade in the hot summer, Peggy was struck by the ordinary atmosphere around her. The intense blue sky seemed the same. Mothers put their children into car seats in Volvo station wagons. An errant sprinkler sprayed diamond droplets of water on top of frost-browned grass. Everything seemed the same. Yet everything had changed.

  Peggy walked her bike into Beth and Park’s hushed front yard. The two-story redbrick house looked shuttered and dark. The sun had gone behind a cloud, making the house appear shadowed and sad. Had the police told Beth about Park yet? She would’ve called her friend first but didn’t want to unknowingly be the bearer of terrible news. The great oaks stood sentinel around the house, a few scattered brown leaves from last fall fluttering in the cold breeze.

  She stood outside for a long time looking at the years of work put into the carefully tailored yard. Park was one of the few people she knew who could still get two cars into his garage. Maybe it was because he was rarely home. Maybe he was that organized. She remembered visiting his office once with John. It was as trim and tidy as his house.

  The holly and azalea bushes were neatly shaped into rows around the house. Not cut into boxes that looked ridiculous but nicely rounded. Large acorns littered the brown grass at her feet. Fat squirrels chased birds through the tree branches. In one corner of the house, sheltered from the harsh winter winds, a young dogwood was blooming. “Silly tree,” she muttered, fingering the delicate white blossoms. “Don’t you know we’ll have more frost yet?”

  A shaft of sunlight rested on the tender green leaves. That’s what encouraged the tree to bloom too early. It happened frequently to Charlotte’s ornamental pear and cherry tree population. Too much warm weather too early. The trees bloomed, gorgeous white and pink blossoms against the clear blue sky, then another shot of cold weather withered everything to brown. By the time real spring showed up, the trees had only green leaves to brag about.

  The dogwood flowers meant durability in floriography. And the wood from the small trees was strong and flexible. Like the area it’s growing in.

  It was easy to lose herself in thoughts of her favorite things. But she still had to go inside. Peggy shook herself out of her cold misery and pushed her feet toward the front door. She was devastated by Park’s death. But for Beth, it was the end of the life they’d had together. How well she remembered. The loss of dreams and hopes for the future was as awful as not having John beside her in bed every night. She had to be strong for Park’s widow.

  Peggy knew when she saw Beth’s pale, tearstained face the police had done their job. She was relieved but felt guilty at her own cowardice.

  Beth made a mewling noise in the back of her throat, then launched herself into Peggy’s arms. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “Let’s get inside,” Peggy urged her out of the chilly breeze. “I think we’ll need some tea.”

  Beth was pliable, unable to really take in what happened. Fortunately, her two sons, six-year-old Reddman and eight-year-old Foxx, were still at school. “Should I bring them home? I don’t know what to do.”

  Peggy took the cheerful orange kettle off the stove and poured steaming water into two mugs. Immediately the scent of last year’s lemon balm mixed with chamomile. She’d sent over a plentiful supply last fall. It was an abundant year for the herbs in her backyard. She knew Park and Beth both loved it. “The boys are fine for now. Take a moment for yourself. Once they get home, there’ll be no end to everything. Drink this. It will help.”

  Beth slumped at the polished wood table. She sipped at the tea and raised empty eyes to her friend. “The sergeant from the Highway Patrol said you were there. He said you stayed
with Park as long as you could.”

  Peggy wrapped her hands around the hot mug for warmth. “I was. I saw what happened. I was on my way south, just before the ramp.”

  “Tell me.” Beth didn’t look at her, focusing on the steam coming from the tea. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m sure the sergeant already told you.” Peggy tried to convince her not to hear it again, even though she knew she’d wanted to hear what happened to John more than once. It seemed to make it more real.

  “He did. I want to hear it from you. Please.”

  Peggy took a deep breath and told her everything she knew about the accident. “I was there with him when he died.”

  “Good.” Beth’s sable brown head nodded. “At least he wasn’t alone or with some stranger, wondering what happened.”

  The silence between their words was as thick as the smell of the herbs. A grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour. One o’clock.

  “Did he say anything?” Beth’s brittle voice asked out of the blanket of silence that enclosed them.

  “Yes. He asked me to tell you he loved you and the boys.”

  “That was Park. Always thinking of us first.”

  “You were everything to him, especially after that first disaster.” Peggy shuddered, thinking about Park’s first attempt at marriage. It only lasted two years, but he put himself through hell with that woman. People said Beth was too young for him when they married. She was fresh out of college, and he was forty-two. But it worked for them.

  “The police said he went off the overpass,” Beth said carefully. “Was it icy up there? He was always such a good driver.”

  Peggy put her hand over Beth’s. “He told me he thought he fell asleep. He said he woke up as the car hit the ground. He said he’d been ill. Did you know about that?”

  “That’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Park is always so alert. I’ve never known him to fall asleep in the car. Most of the time, it’s all I can do to persuade him he needs sleep at all. You know how he is. That’s one of the things I love about him.” Beth corrected herself in a flat voice. “Loved about him.”

  “I know. I thought it was odd, too. But when I saw him in Philadelphia, he said he wasn’t sleeping well, and he looked ill.” Peggy squeezed Beth’s hand. “Do you think something was wrong? Could he have been sick and didn’t want to worry you? He said you made him go to the doctor for a checkup.”

  Beth smiled slowly. “He’s kind of a baby when it comes to being sick. I’m always glad it doesn’t happen often. Even a cold might be pneumonia to him. It’s hard to imagine he could hide a serious illness. Besides, I saw the doctor’s report. He was healthy.”

  “Did you notice him being more tired than usual after he came home?”

  “No, not really. But he only got home late last night. Do you think something was wrong with him?”

  Before Peggy could answer, the doorbell rang. Tears slipped down Beth’s cheeks as she took out a lacy handkerchief. “I hate to ask, but I don’t want to see anyone else right now. Could you get it?”

  Peggy stood up and hugged her. “Not a problem. Shall I send whoever it is away? Have you called Isabelle or your family?”

  “Not yet. Although I hope the police called Isabelle. I don’t want to talk to Park’s mother right now.” Beth wiped the tears from her face. “But you know her. She won’t come over here. I expect her to call me later when she thinks about the boys being here and Park being gone.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it.” Peggy smiled at her, then went to look out through the leaded glass embedded in the heavy front door. A large black man with a shaved head stood on the front step. She opened the door. “Al! I’m surprised to see you here!”

  “Peggy.” He nodded solemnly. “I heard you were there when Mr. Lamonte died this morning. I’m sorry for your loss. Is his wife at home?”

  “Beth’s here, But she’s not in any kind of shape for visitors.”

  “I’m here in my official capacity.” He took out his badge through force of habit. “There seems to be some question about Mr. Lamonte committing suicide on that ramp this morning. I need to speak with his wife.”

  4

  Aspidistra

  Botanical: Aspidistra elatior

  Family: Lilaceae

  Common name: Iron plant

  These houseplants grow slowly, but there is historical evidence of them living close to hundred years! Popular in Victorian England, they were once a symbol of middle-class respectability. They will tolerate low light and careless gardening habits. In the language of plants, Aspidistra means fortitude.

  “MY HUSBAND WOULD NEVER commit suicide.” Beth’s passionate condemnation of Al’s suggestion left the police detective with an understanding and patient expression on his dark face.

  Peggy sat in the caramel and cream colored living room at the front of the house with them. She offered to wait in the kitchen for them, but Beth wanted her to stay. After hearing Al’s startling revelation, she was glad she obeyed her impulse to come to the house. It was ridiculous to know Park and imagine him committing suicide. She felt as strongly about it as Beth did.

  “No one ever expects a loved one to take his or her own life,” Al explained. He took out a small notebook from the inside pocket of his heavy coat. “Your husband suffered some severe stock losses the last few years. Maybe that had something to do with his decision. Sometimes men get too worried about taking care of their families. They opt to let them have their life insurance. That way, they don’t have to see them suffer.”

  “Life insurance?” Beth scoffed. “How could that ever replace him? Will money help my sons grow up without a father? Will it keep me from being alone? The idea is stupid and irrational!”

  “Desperate people do desperate things, Mrs. Lamonte. No one else can understand what goes through a person’s mind when they think what they’re doing is best for everyone. Those are dark thoughts. Nothing we’d comprehend unless we were in his state of mind. But maybe Park thought about those things. Maybe that was what was in his mind this morning when he went over the ramp. There’s no way for you to know.”

  Beth glanced at Peggy with a growing expression of horror. “Then there’s certainly no way for you to know! Peggy, tell him. Park wouldn’t commit suicide. He was dedicated to his family, but he wouldn’t kill himself for any amount of money.”

  Peggy didn’t know what to say. She knew what Al was getting at. After listening to John talk about suicides and accidents during his years as a police officer and later, a homicide detective, she knew the psychology behind the difficult accusation. But it was unreal to her. Like everyone else who was shocked by the death of a close friend or loved one, she couldn’t imagine it could be true.

  But even though she knew Park well, she couldn’t see inside his head. Neither could Beth. The analytical researcher in her brain told her to remain objective, even though her heart was crying out in pain. She still wanted to find some way to prove it didn’t happen the way Al was suggesting.

  Maybe this would be a good time to tell him what Park confided in her before he died. “He said he fell asleep at the wheel. He was ill. I don’t think he meant to kill himself. It just happened. I’m sure it was an accident.”

  Al’s red-rimmed brown eyes narrowed. “What makes you think that?”

  “I was with him for those few minutes before he died.” Peggy told him what Park said and about her encounter with him in Philadelphia. “I think he was more sick than he realized. He seemed very tired.”

  “You know a predeath confidence weighs heavily with the department.” He wrote down what she said in his notebook. “I take it you’d be willing to swear to this under oath?”

  She nodded. “Beth’s right about him, too. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known you. You knew him, too. He went to school with you and John, didn’t he?”

  Al squirmed a little on the caramel-colored sofa. “It’s true we were both friends of Joh
n’s, but Park and I barely knew each other, and that was years ago. You know how his parents were. They had a thing about him hobnobbing with us poor folk.”

  He didn’t elaborate, but Peggy felt the words black folk hovering in the air between them. There was no excuse for it, but prejudice still lingered.

  It was worse when Park, John, and Al were growing up in Charlotte. The city changed as people moved there from all parts of the world in the 1970s and 80s, bringing their cultures and traditions with them. But until then, it was a small, tightly closed environment.

  “I understand. I guess you’ll just have to take our word for it. He wasn’t the type of man to give up that way. A few business losses wouldn’t do that to him.”

  “I’d like to debate this issue, Peggy. But you know I can’t. This is an ongoing investigation until we get some answers. Maybe if he fell asleep at the wheel, it would make sense there were no skid marks on the ramp. He didn’t even try to stop. We always look into things like this, especially when a ten million dollar life insurance policy is involved.”

  Beth’s slender hand went to her throat, and her brown eyes blinked almost comically. “Ten m-million dollars? Park never told me.”

  Al shrugged his big shoulders. “He planned well for you and your sons, Mrs. Lamonte. As soon as the insurance company was informed of his death, all the bells and whistles started up. A questionable death brings out the investigators on big policies. I just want to warn you.”

  “Will they do an autopsy on him?” Peggy asked.

  “No!” Beth shook her head as she started to her feet. “No! It’s bad enough. No autopsy.”

  Peggy understood what Beth was feeling, but counseled, “It’s the only way to really know what happened to him. An autopsy could prove his death wasn’t a suicide.”

  “No,” Beth disagreed.

  Al took a deep breath. “I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Lamonte. But chances are the insurance company will insist. I’m sorry.”