by Joyce Lavene
Lethal Lily
By
Joyce and Jim Lavene
A Peggy Lee Garden Mystery
Copyright © 2014 Joyce and Jim Lavene
Book coach and editor—Jeni Chappelle
http://www.jenichappelle.com/
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Peggy’s Garden Journal
About the Authors
Dieffenbachia
Also known as dumb cane, this versatile houseplant releases poisonous crystals that are harmful to dogs and cats. Chewing on or swallowing this plant will result in swelling of the lips, mouth, and upper airway, making it difficult to breathe or swallow.
Chapter One
It was after midnight. Peggy Lee had been waiting in the dark parking lot of Tri-State Mini-Storage for more than an hour.
Since she was trying to keep a low profile, she hadn’t looked at her phone or listened to music. There was still a light in the office. She knew someone was working.
A sign flapped in the warm breeze that blew up from a tropical storm churning at the Atlantic coast. She glanced at her watch again for the third time in as many minutes.
Where was Harry?
Peggy had only met Harry Fletcher a few days ago. They’d both received emails from her online friend, Nightflyer, suggesting they should work together.
A friend of mine is investigating an old murder in Charlotte and might call on you for help. I sent him to you because he knows part of the puzzle surrounding John’s death. I’ll speak with you when I can. ~ Nightflyer
The note had caught her attention—and held it. It had only been a few months since she’d learned that her late husband, John Lee, might have been deliberately murdered as part of an undercover operation he was on with the FBI.
She still wasn’t sure it was true, but she’d decided to check into it.
John had been a Charlotte, North Carolina police detective when he’d been killed more than a decade ago. He’d been called out on a domestic abuse situation, not even a call he should have taken, but it was on his way home, and he’d gone willingly because he was needed.
The call went bad when the man, who’d been shooting at his wife’s boyfriend, decided to shoot at the police. He’d escaped in the gunfight that ensued, but John had been killed. The shooter disappeared. John’s partner had been at Peggy’s door a few minutes later with the terrible news.
She pushed the thoughts of that night out of her head. It was a long time ago, but it still haunted her. She’d moved on with her life, but there was still pain remembering that night. Nothing would ever change that. She wouldn’t let herself be trapped in the past—still she wanted to know what had really happened to John.
Her phone rang, startling her. She almost dropped it in her haste to answer. “Yes?”
“I’ve found the storage unit,” Harry Fletcher whispered. “I forgot the bolt cutters on the floor of the car. Can you bring them? I’m at Unit 34.”
She agreed to do it, and sighed. The man was terminally careless. He was always dropping or forgetting something. She wondered how he’d managed to stay alive while he’d worked as a private detective for so many years.
Harry said he’d been working as an informant for the FBI when John was killed. He bragged about all the side jobs he’d done with the Feds as they’d discussed the situation over iced tea in a sunlit atrium high above uptown Charlotte. Exotic lilies perfumed the cool air and fleet-footed waiters continually checked their glasses.
It wasn’t the setting to discuss murder, yet that was what they’d come to do.
Peggy hadn’t wanted to bring him to her house—it was better if she was the only one who knew about Harry. If her son, Paul, knew she was involved in asking questions about his father’s death, he’d want to be part of it. She didn’t want that to happen. His peace had been hard-won after John’s death. He’d struggled with the knowledge that no one had been arrested in the case, eventually becoming a police officer himself. Paul had always said there was something wrong about John’s shooting.
It seemed as though he might be right.
Harry claimed John had been working with the FBI on an undercover job when he was killed. He said the gunfight at the house was staged specifically to kill her husband because he had information he was supposed to turn over to another agent that night. He never made the meet. Whatever John knew was lost with him, according to Harry.
Maybe what Harry said was true—Peggy wasn’t completely convinced. No one else was actively looking into John’s death. She’d known about the FBI connection, but even that was recent. At the time of his death, no one mentioned it to her.
It was enough to keep her moving deeper into the plot, wondering what other secrets were out there, but she tried to keep her wits about her.
All the questions about John’s death swirled around his involvement with the FBI that terrible night. It wasn’t like John to keep secrets, but he hadn’t told her about the FBI before he was killed. Even his partner hadn’t known. Maybe he had no choice, or didn’t want to worry her. She was willing to allow for possibilities, if they made sense.
Harry, being Harry, couldn’t verify any of it. He’d left the files that could prove his accusations in a storage unit and forgotten them—until he’d received a letter saying the unit was going to be auctioned for lack of payment.
Stowing her handbag in the trunk of her car, Peggy grabbed the bolt cutters, locked the car, and headed the way she’d seen Harry go.
She didn’t like how this was unfolding. Too much of it was out of her control. Harry was haphazard and sloppy in what he did. Parking in the back of the storage lot to wait until dark so the management wouldn’t see him retrieve his possessions was probably illegal. From what Harry had told her of himself, it wasn’t unusual for him to skirt the edge of the law.
Peggy wasn’t so worried about doing something that might not be exactly legal, but didn’t want to get herself in trouble over nothing. If there were answers, she wanted them. She just didn’t trust Harry.
He had a dubious past. A quick Internet search showed he’d been jailed for burglary, theft, carrying concealed weapons without a license, trespassing—you name it. There were worse accusations that couldn’t be proved. His shady past had followed him everywhere he went from North and South Carolina to New York. She could only imagine what she might have found if she’d had someone from the police department run a complete background search.
As she walked, tiny feet skittered at the sides of the buildings. She’d seen the big rattraps earlier when it was still light. Lucky she
wasn’t a squeamish person. Working in the garden with moles, voles, mice, and squirrels had made her immune to such creatures. She even admired spiders and ants.
It was the sound of human feet that worried her. She flattened herself against one of the walls from Row A and waited to see if it was Harry. Whoever it was walked quickly by, wheezing a little.
Not Harry.
Peggy continued down the narrow path between the plain white rows. Each unit was self-contained with dozens of various-sized doors that led into different-sized storage spots. She wished she could use the flashlight she’d brought, but she was afraid someone might notice from the office. She had to peer closely at every few units.
Unit 26. Not too much further.
Harry had told her that he’d stored all of his files here while he was on the run some years back. He’d been out of town a while and forgot that he was supposed to pay the monthly fee. He still didn’t have the funds to ransom his belongings. Peggy had loaned him money, but he couldn’t persuade the owner to work with him. She’d tried to pay the back rent too, but was told the auction day was set and wouldn’t be changed.
That was how the crazy plan was born.
Harry said he still had the key for the unit, and knew ‘someone’ who got him a valid pass code to get through the gate. He said they could get in and take the files they needed if they sneaked in.
They agreed to help each other. Peggy would get the information Harry had about John’s death—and she would help him find out what had really happened to Harry’s wife, Ann.
Harry claimed that Ann had been murdered in their apartment—poisoned—twenty years ago. He’d come home to find her unconscious on the kitchen floor. She’d stopped breathing before emergency services could get there. They’d been unable to revive her.
He claimed he’d told the Charlotte police his theory, but they’d refused to investigate the death as anything but an accident. There were no signs of foul play. It appeared as though Ann had stepped off a stepladder and hit her head on the counter. It was tragic, but accidents happen.
According to Harry, this was the beginning of all the bad luck that had befallen him. He’d tried to investigate Ann’s death, but had ended up unable to disprove the report the police had filed. A short time later, he left the area, only returning for occasionally for work.
Because Peggy was an expert in botanical poisons, their mutual acquaintance, Nightflyer, thought they were a perfect fit. She wasn’t sure what she could do to investigate a twenty-year-old poisoning, but she was willing to try.
Harry’s reasons for believing his wife’s death was caused by poison were sketchy. Again, he said the facts were in the storage unit. He swore he wanted answers about his wife as much as Peggy wanted answers about John. She’d believed him—but she was beginning to wonder if their deal was as bogus as Harry himself.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Where are you?” Harry’s voice was desperate.
“I’m trying to find you,” she responded, frustrated. “There’s someone else walking around out here in the dark.”
“Hurry! They do a drive-through on a golf cart at 12:30. We have to get inside before they see us.”
“Thanks for telling me!” She turned off her phone and put it back in her pocket after checking the time: 12:30 a.m. Another detail Harry had forgotten to mention.
She heard the golf cart start up. It was a large facility. She thought it would take a while to drive through the whole thing. With any luck, she’d reach Harry before the golf cart got close to them.
Peggy’s foot brushed a pot on the side of one of the units. The pale light from one of the units showed her it was a tiny dieffenbachia set with some kind of colorful swizzle stick. Someone had probably received it for a gift and then left it out there to die. People were so careless with plants, as though they weren’t living things.
She stuffed the decorative pot into the pocket of her jacket. There was bound to be someone who would want it.
The golf cart was headed in her direction, the bright light sweeping across the flat-topped buildings. If it got too close, the driver would see her. She had to reach Unit 34 before that happened.
Unit 30. Unit 32. She was getting closer.
She heard a car come through the main gate. The facility was open 24-hours. No doubt customers came and went at odd times. Headlights flashed through the property, but seemed to head in another direction. She was safe for the moment.
Unit 34.
Peggy stopped and looked around. There was no sign of Harry. Maybe he’d had to hide to stay away from the person on the golf cart. She put the bolt cutters down for a moment to take out her cell phone. What in the world was he doing now?
Before she could punch the call button by Harry’s name, bright lights flashed in her eyes, and a loud voice said, “This is the Charlotte/Mecklenburg Police. Put your hands on your head, and kneel on the pavement.”
Norfolk Island Pine
Araucaria heterophylla is a distinctive conifer, and a member of the ancient family, Araucariaceae. It is not a true pine. The tree comes from Norfolk Island in the Pacific Ocean between Australia, New Zealand, and New Caledonia. While this species grows as tall as any pine tree in its native land, it is sold at Christmas as a small sprout because of its shape.
Chapter Two
“She was here a few days ago. She wanted to pay the back fees on that unit.” The manager of the storage facility was quick to point out her possible guilt. He was a large man with a stomach that rolled over his waistband. There was tomato sauce smeared on his white T-shirt.
“Okay.” The officer taking his statement pulled at his cap in frustration. The manager had said much the same thing three or four times. “You’ll have to come down to the station and file a formal complaint.”
“I’ll be glad to do that,” the manager declared. “These creeps sneak in here and steal me blind all the time.”
A second officer had helped Peggy to her feet after placing a plastic restraint around her wrists. He walked her to the backseat of the squad car and carefully nudged her inside.
Peggy was silent. She knew better than to try to defend herself. She hadn’t really done anything wrong. The camera at the gate would show Harry punching in his code. He owned the storage unit, as far as she was willing to admit.
True, they’d been in her car—which was still somewhere on the lot. She wasn’t volunteering that information. If she was lucky, she could still avoid having it towed to the impound lot. She knew from experience that getting a car out of impound was expensive.
She was fortunate that neither of the officers knew her. With Paul on the job, and many officers still on duty who knew John, she was well acquainted with members of the police department. Not being recognized was a plus toward getting away with being caught here. The fewer people who could identify her, the better. She wasn’t as worried about the police officers who didn’t know her or what would happen to her.
She was a tiny bit uneasy about explaining everything to Al McDonald, John’s old partner, and to her husband—not to mention Paul.
Her plan at that moment was to call Harry as soon as she got to the station, lose her temper, and insist that he come to bail her out of jail. She had a very good lawyer who knew how to keep her mouth shut. With any luck, she’d be processed and out in time for breakfast, without her family or friends knowing what had happened.
The most they could charge her with was a misdemeanor anyway. That wouldn’t affect her status as a contract forensic botanist with the police department. In all, it didn’t look too bad for her. She just had to stay patient. And quiet.
But it was going to be hell for Harry when she was done with him.
As the police car rolled slowly out of the storage lot, she looked out the window, wondering where he’d disappeared. The police had confiscated the bolt cutters, so he wouldn’t be able to get anything more done that night. They’d have to figure out a new plan to get the
files before they were auctioned.
She sat back as the car reached the city street. Even though it was late, there were lights everywhere. Peggy had lived in Charlotte since she’d married John Lee right out of college. That was more than thirty years ago.
Back then, the city was much smaller, quieter, and definitely not as well lit. She liked it better the way it had been—before the modern skyscrapers had replaced the older buildings that had carried so much charm and elegance.
But it wasn’t a bad city. Certainly not as bustling as Atlanta.
She’d been raised on a farm outside Charleston, South Carolina. Peggy had thought of moving back there after John had been killed. Paul had been insistent on staying. He was still in school, and hadn’t wanted to leave his friends.
Her parents had sold their farm a few years back, and moved to Charlotte to be closer to the only family they had left. Now Paul was married—and about to be a father for the first time. She definitely wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’re getting out here.” The same officer that had guided her into the car helped her out. He walked her into the police building and took off the plastic restraints when they reached the booking window.
“Name?” The grizzled sergeant at the desk asked, not looking up from his battered, gray computer.
“Margaret Hughes Lee.” Peggy knew the sergeant. She hadn’t seen him in a few years, but she and John had gone to his daughter’s wedding. She hoped using her full name might throw off off—if he didn’t look up.
“Address?”
“1421 Queens Road, Charlotte.”
“Are you a U.S. citizen?”
“Yes.”
The sergeant eyed her. Peggy contemplated a shriveled Norfolk Island pine on his desk.
“Peggy?” His nasal voice was incredulous. “Is that you?”
“Hi Don.” She smiled at him. “How is Samantha? You know this poor little pine could do with some water.”
“Samantha?” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Is this some kind of joke? Is someone playing a prank? Because if they are, it’s in poor taste at this time of morning.”
