by Joyce Lavene
Peggy walked out of The Potting Shed, dialing the taxi company for a ride home. She looked up and saw Steve leaning against the side of the car he’d received from the FBI. She smiled at him as she reached the wrought iron and brick gate that separated the courtyard from the street.
Looking at him made her realize that worrying about what could happen to him could ruin their relationship. She had to find a way to make peace with it.
“Excuse me.” A young woman wearing a blue scarf on her head approached Peggy. She was short, barely five feet. The scarf masked a great deal of her face.
“Can I help you?” Peggy asked.
“I am Tanya Abutto. You knew my father.” She sniffled a little as though she’d been crying. “I am desperate to talk to you regarding the return of his property.”
Peggy glanced at Steve who’d approached from the car. “In particular, a leather satchel, right?”
“Yes! Exactly. Are you in possession of it?”
“As I told another woman with your name earlier today, the police have everything that was found with your father. You’ll have to contact them.”
“There must be some mistake. I have never spoken to you.”
“I agree. But the other woman told me she was Tanya Abutto too. I know Tanya. Neither of you are her. My answer stays the same. All of Aris Abutto’s possessions are with the police. I’m sorry. You’ll have to talk to them.”
The young woman grew agitated. “You don’t realize how important the bag is. I must have it.”
“Is there a problem?” Steve interrupted.
With a muffled screech, the girl fled back through Latta Arcade, probably running down Tryon Street from there.
“I guess so.” Peggy turned from watching the girl to looking up at her husband. “I think I might need to speak with a law enforcement official.”
He put his arm around her. “I’m listening.”
Peggy told him about the strange appearance of the two women who both claimed to be Tanya Abutto. “They both thought I had his duffel bag—I’m guessing the one Reggie told me he took into the convention center with him.”
Steve opened the car door for her and closed it after she was inside. He got in on the driver’s side and started the engine. “Who’s Reggie?”
“The security guard at the gate. I wonder if Al talked to him.”
“Was there something special about the duffel bag?”
“Not besides the fact that it should have been with Aris. I think it’s possible that whoever killed him took the bag. He may even have been killed for what was in the bag.”
Steve laughed. “I like the way you take those broad leaps without any facts to back them up.”
“That’s not my job. Are you taking me out for dinner to make up for the shabby way you treated me today?”
“Shabby way I treated you?” He raised his eyebrows. “I was hoping you were taking me out to dinner for that reason.”
“I thought I acted professionally as a liaison figure between the flower show and the police. Besides, you didn’t tell me you were going to be there.”
“I didn’t know until you found the body of a dead orchid grower from South Africa and I got the call from Charlotte PD.”
“You could’ve texted me.”
Steve pulled the late model Ford over to the side of Providence Road. “You know that’s not possible, right? I’m sure John didn’t update you when he went out on a call. You know what to expect from this. You can handle it, Peggy, if you want to.”
Her head felt wooden. She stared at him, trying to find that peace she’d promised herself. He was the same man she had loved before she knew that his life could be in jeopardy. Nothing had changed.
Except that now she was afraid—wondering who would come and tell her when something happened to him.
“I want to,” she assured him. “I have to get past remembering the night John didn’t come home. Please don’t try and placate me that your job is safe, Steve. We both know better.”
He sighed and took her in his arms. “And you’re doing it again on this case, Peggy. Trying to figure it out without telling anyone else what you really know.”
“I don’t know anything that I haven’t told someone.”
“Except this thing about Tanya Abutto and the duffel bag? Does Al know about it? Maybe it would be best if we go and see him.”
Peggy touched his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to work it out. I wish I understood your job more. I’m sure you’re a very good FBI agent.”
“Thanks.” He headed back into traffic. “Peggy, there’s no way to assure you that nothing will happen to me, like it did to John. I can only promise to be careful and not to take any unnecessary risks.”
“I know.”
He laughed. “I wish you’d promise me the same thing. You don’t give a thought to putting yourself in harm’s way.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“That’s part of the not thinking aspect, I’m afraid.”
They were quiet for a few minutes while Steve maneuvered the car through heavy evening traffic. When they’d reached the police station where Al’s office was located, Steve parked and turned off the engine.
“I wasn’t trying to hold anything back,” she assured him.
“I know. You seem to be inspired by events around you.” He lightly touched her face. “People trust you and say things to you that they forget to say to the police. I’ve seen you at work.”
“Thanks, I think.” She smiled. “I help where I can.”
“That’s what scares me.” Steve took her hands. “My point is that I’m sorry you’re afraid. I wouldn’t have put this on you—except that I fell in love with this beautiful woman with the greenest eyes. I couldn’t go back after that.”
“Flattery will get you somewhere.”
“You know all my secrets now. I wish I’d been free to tell you sooner, but you were very involved with your Internet friend, Nightflyer. We suspected him of killing John. It was important for you to put on an innocent face. Your life could’ve been in danger if he’d guessed what was going on.”
Peggy wasn’t surprised by his words about Nightflyer. He’d partially explained about that right after she’d found out about him being with the FBI.
She’d met Nightflyer in an Internet chat room and they’d proceeded to spend a lot of time on the Internet, playing chess and sharing information. She still didn’t believe Nightflyer had killed John. He’d saved her life with his information more than once.
Steve kissed her quickly and got out of the car. “Let’s see what Al makes of the many Tanyas that have come into your life today.”
Peggy got out of the car and followed him to the building. “I really meant to call Al, but with the shop getting busy and talking to the flower show people, I forgot.”
Before Steve could answer, Al walked out of the building, almost bumping into them.
“Steve! Peggy! What brings you here? And please don’t tell me it has anything to do with what happened at the convention center. Unless you’re here to take me out to dinner, I don’t want to know about it.”
Steve shrugged. “We were headed that way.”
“Good deal. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and that was one of Mary’s homemade granola bars. This healthy eating is about to kill me.”
“I know some place that doesn’t have any healthy food at all,” Peggy said.
“Lead on then.” Al laughed. “Don’t say a blessed other thing to me about work until I have either a biscuit, some fried chicken, or a big glob of buttery mashed potatoes in my mouth.”
Peggy directed Steve to Bob’s Chicken Coop Restaurant on Tryon Street. It was tucked away from the usual places people went in the downtown area, but it was always crowded. People who’d lived in Charlotte a long time knew the best food was found here, as long as you didn’t mind fat and calories.
Pictures of state senators, N.C. governors, and even a president o
r two, were up on the walls but that was the only pretention the old place had, except for serving a good meal. The chairs were wooden ladder backs and the tables were worn smooth. There was always a single flower in the middle of the table. It was a daisy tonight.
“What kind of flower is that?” Al asked after he’d ordered his chicken and biscuits.
“Even I know that,” Steve said. “It’s a daisy. It has pyrethrum in it. That’s what they use to make insecticide. Right?”
“Close.” Peggy smiled. “That’s what they use to make mosquito repellant.”
Al laughed at him. “That’s what you get for showing off. Speaking of which, are the two of you couples who talk about cases or not? Mary doesn’t want to hear it.”
Steve and Peggy exchanged glances as the waitress brought them all sweet iced tea.
“We’re deciding that.” Peggy unwrapped her silverware. “I’m good with talking about it. Not sure about Steve.”
Al rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me have Mary talk to you all. You know she’ll do it.”
“I don’t want to have any more secrets between us,” Steve echoed Peggy. “I’d like everything out in the open.”
“I know you both pretty well. I’d say you’ll be the talking couples, all up in each other’s business. That’s fine.”
Steve changed the subject and told Al about what had happened to Peggy. “Do you know anything about a missing duffel bag?”
“The security guard said something about Abutto coming in with one. We’ve gone through his things, at his hotel and at the convention center, and couldn’t find it. He could’ve hidden it or dropped it somewhere. Did you feel threatened by the daughter?”
Peggy shrugged. “No. Neither girl was actually Tanya. Both girls wanted the duffel bag badly. Maybe you should look a little harder for it.”
“Is there surveillance at the convention center or the hotel?” Steve asked. “Maybe we could get a picture of Abutto coming or going with it and at least have an idea of what the bag looks like.”
Al slapped him on the back. “Good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“No security footage?” Steve guessed.
“Inside, not outside. So far, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of Abutto carrying a bag inside. Maybe he checked it at the door.” Al frowned. “I guess we’ll have to take the bag a little more seriously if Peggy is being harassed about it.”
“Thanks, Al,” she said. “If there are any more Tanyas, I’ll give them your cell phone number.”
Al made a note in the book he always carried. “Anything you want to share from the FBI?”
Steve shrugged. “Nothing unusual about his travel arrangements or anything at his home. We’re still looking into his background.”
“I never met Aris Abutto in person until the day he started setting up at the convention center,” Peggy said as their food arrived. “But I’ve known him through years of correspondence and talking on the phone and the Internet. I’ve seen pictures of Tanya.”
“Maybe he was growing something he shouldn’t have been growing.” Al mimicked smoking. “He might’ve had drugs in that bag. With his background, he could’ve cleared customs without anyone batting an eye.”
“Or knowing what they were looking for,” Steve agreed, making a note in his cell phone.
Bob Richmond, the owner of the restaurant, came out of the kitchen. His frantic eyes scanned the busy eating area until he found Peggy’s face.
“There you are!” He pointed and yelled across the room. “I need your help. Come into the kitchen quick.”
Chapter Seven
Azalea
Azaleas are members of the Ericaceae family which are ancient plants dating back 70 million years. They are related to rhododendrons and blueberries. Most azalea types we know today were cultivated by monks in Buddhist monasteries. Seeds of the rhododendron, sent to England, became the azalea hybrids of today. The early spring bright pinks, reds, and whites brighten even the gloomiest of days. They are also deadly poisonous.
Bob’s real surname name was Christou. He’d changed it for the restaurant, not wanting anyone to know he was Greek when he’d first come to Charlotte.
Peggy had met him for the first time the day after his restaurant had opened more than twenty-five years ago. He’d become fast friends with her and John. They’d shared many meals here.
“What is it?” Peggy scooted back her chair to follow him. “What’s wrong?”
Bob led her, Al, and Steve back into the bustling kitchen area. There were cooks and servers everywhere, no spare inch to waste. Everyone was moving at the same time but in different directions. They dipped and weaved to avoid running into stock pots, plates of vegetables, and huge trays of fried chicken and biscuits.
They finally reached a large window which overlooked the alley behind the restaurant. It was dark now but Peggy knew it would be sunny during the day. There were a dozen herb plants sitting on the recently painted window sill.
One of them appeared to have fallen. There was potting soil on the floor and the oregano plant was half out of its red ceramic pot.
“I think it’s going to die,” Bob said dramatically, his dark eyes moistening and lips trembling. “You remember this plant? You gave it to me all those years ago when you and John first came here.”
Peggy smiled. “I remember. It certainly has grown.”
“Can you save it? Some stupid nephew of mine knocked it down. I owe everything to this plant. It brings me luck. If it dies, I think I’ll lose my business.”
She handed Steve her bag. “Let me take a look. Are these others cuttings from this plant?”
“A few of them. Of course, I have some thyme and some marjoram. I try to keep a little of everything. People like the fresh herbs.” Bob held up the other plants as he spoke.
“I think this one needs to be repotted.” Peggy diagnosed the oregano. “The soil is depleted. Every so often you should give it fresh dirt, even if you fertilize. And it’s too wet. Water it a little less often. It should be moist or even a little dry.”
“And I cut off the flowers as soon as I see them, like you told me.” Bob grinned. “It’s been a long time, but I don’t forget.”
“And remember to cut the whole stem before you strip away the leaves, even though you don’t want the stem.”
“What not wanting the stem?” Bob showed her several large bundles of stems tied together. “I give them for gifts. I read on Goggle that it’s good for you to add to the bath.”
“That should be it.” Peggy tucked the roots of the old oregano plant back into the soil. “I think it will be fine. You’ve done a good job taking care of it.”
The plant reminded her of how young and carefree she and John had been when she’d given it to Bob. They were just starting their lives together with wonderful plans for the future.
Not that their life together hadn’t been glorious, she reflected as she wiped her hands on a towel and took back her bag. John’s life had been cut short, too short. It wasn’t fair.
She’d started The Potting Shed on her own after his death. He should’ve been there to enjoy it. It was his dream too.
“Thank you so much, Plant Lady!” Bob kissed her hand. “I don’t see you here often enough.”
Peggy patted her stomach. “I can’t eat those sweet potato fries all the time!”
They all laughed, agreeing that none of them could eat the things they could when they were younger.
“I saw you on TV yesterday with that bad business at the convention center,” Bob said. “That poor man who was killed. It’s a terrible thing for a man to be shot tending to his own business. He was here for lunch the day before. I didn’t know him then but I knew the man he was with.”
Al perked up as much as any plant in the right environment. “You saw Mr. Abutto here at lunch time? Who was he with?”
“He was with that man who runs the convention center.” Bob thumped his gray head. “I can’t remember his name. Whe
re has my brain gone?”
“Dabney Wilder,” Al supplied. “Mr. Wilder failed to tell us that in his interview. He said he’d never met Abutto.”
“Did he have a large bag with him?” Steve asked.
“I don’t know.” Bob shrugged. “I wouldn’t even remember him except I saw his picture on the TV after he died. A bad way to remember, huh?”
They all agreed and had another good laugh at old age before Peggy and her companions went back out to the dining room to eat dinner.
“I’d like to know how Dabney came to have lunch with Abutto but completely forgot about it.” Al tucked his napkin into his shirt collar and started on his huge plate of fried chicken. “Maybe he can tell us a little more about him.”
“What about taking a drug dog into the convention center?” Steve suggested. “If the duffel bag is still there and had drugs in it, the dog could find it.”
Peggy smiled as she ate her sweet potato fries. “The only problem with that are all the plants in there right now. Even the best-trained dog would get lost in the scent of all those flowers.”
“That makes sense,” he agreed. “I don’t like the idea that people are sending a fake ‘daughter’ of Mr. Abutto’s to visit you. They were friendly today, but tomorrow, they might get pushier.”
“I think they’ll get the idea that the police have the bag. It makes more sense than me having it. I didn’t see Aris before he was killed.”
“Steve’s right, Peggy.” Al looked up at her across the table. “I’ll assign someone to keep an eye on you for the next day or so until we see how the investigation progresses.”
“I’ll take the night shift on that.” Steve grinned.
“No offense, Mr. Director, but an officer outside the house would be better.” Al’s tone said that the matter was resolved. “Hey, it’s almost eight-thirty. I have to get going. Mary is gonna have my head. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
When Al was gone, Peggy and Steve finished up quickly and drove home. Their conversation was sporadic and less personal. When they got out of the car, Peggy noticed the patrol car across the street in the shadow of a hundred-year-old oak tree.
