by Joyce Lavene
“We have a few more questions, Peggy. You know how it is. This is my boss, Lieutenant Rimer. Lieutenant, this is Dr. Lee.”
“How do you do, ma’am?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She extended her hand to him after wiping it on her pants. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Rimer. You must be new. I don’t think I recognize you.”
“I transferred from Ohio recently.”
“I hope you’re feeling at home here?”
“Not really. Not yet anyway. My wife’s from Charlotte. All her family’s here. I’m still adjusting.” He glanced around the room. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Dr. Lee. Do you have someplace we could talk?”
“Will the kitchen do? I just put on the kettle.”
“Sure, thanks.”
She walked beside him through the foyer. “You know, these things take time. I moved up here from Charleston. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to these cold winters. And all that red clay!”
Rimer laughed. “Yeah, I know. And what’s with that white stuff they put on your plate at breakfast?”
“You mean grits? We had them in the Low Country, too. I come from a big family. We ate fried grits, boiled grits, and baked grits. It was a relief the last time I went home and my father had a box of Krispy Kreme donuts on the counter!”
Rimer sat down opposite Al at the big oak table. There was a yellow mum blooming from the sunlight that streamed in the window every afternoon. Smells of lemon balm and spearmint mingled with the strong aroma of chamomile as she steeped the tea.
“What else can I tell you?” she asked.
“Do you have any idea what Warner was doing in your shop?” the lieutenant began with an exasperated sigh.
“I can’t imagine why he was there,” Peggy answered. “Not for lack of trying. I thought about it all night.”
“I feel like an idiot asking you these questions.” Al ran his hand through his coarse, thinning black hair and brushed his bulbous nose nervously. “But you did find the body.”
“Of course. John always told me the first person on the scene was the first suspect. I understand. It’s logical.”
He fidgeted some more. “Mrs. Warner told us she thought her husband was having an affair. She suggested that maybe it went bad. She said Mark was moody and distracted lately. Did you see him with anyone?”
“Yes. I remembered something early this morning. I know I may appear cool and collected about this, but there was a dead body in my shop yesterday. I almost fell over it!” She explained to them about the brunette she’d seen Mark with in the shop.
“What brunette?” Lieutenant Rimer demanded impatiently. “Do you know the woman’s name?”
Peggy described the woman for him. “I never really got a close look at her. They were usually there around lunchtime. She could be someone he works with.”
“But you didn’t think so,” Rimer insinuated.
“Not really.”
“Did they act . . . friendly?” Al asked.
“Very friendly,” she confirmed. “But there’s a lot of that going on with the lunchtime crowd.”
“So was she tall? As tall as him?” Al scribbled in his notebook.
“Not quite, but close.” Peggy thought back. “Her hair was very dark brown, shoulder-length. Very good condition. She dressed well. Expensive shoes. She had very muscular legs like she bikes or runs regularly.”
“What about her face?” Al questioned. “Eye color? Anything?”
“I saw them together, but they weren’t close to the checkout counter. Lunchtime is always busy. I don’t have time to do more than glance at people as they come and go. She always had her face turned away from me. I’m as preoccupied with celebrity gossip as the next person. I’ve heard the trash about the Warners. I wanted to know who was with him as much as any reporter.”
“What trash?” Rimer asked.
“The gossips,” Peggy explained. “They say Mark and his wife have been dating outside their marriage for years. Who knows if it’s true or not. The Warners are a high-profile couple in Charlotte. I’m sure some of it is sour grapes.
“Do you think the brunette was hiding on purpose?” Al went back to their conversation.
Her cinnamon colored brows lifted. “If I were out with someone well-known like Mark and I didn’t want anyone to know, I’d stay away from public places! She had to think they were safe. Or it didn’t matter.”
Al tapped his notebook with his pen. “Okay. We can check this out. Somebody else must’ve seen them together, too.”
“What about the homeless man you mentioned yesterday?” Rimer wanted to know.
“Mr. Cheever?”
The lieutenant consulted his notes. “Officer Kopacka has it in his report that you said a homeless man could be responsible for the murder.”
“I never said that!”
“What did you say, Dr. Lee?”
Peggy collected her thoughts. It wouldn’t do any good to go off half-baked while she was talking to this intent young man. “I didn’t mention him at all. My assistant and Mr. Balducci said something about him.”
“And who’s Mr. Balducci?” Some of Rimer’s notes fell on the floor.
She helped him pick them up. “He owns the sandwich café next to my shop. He was suspicious of Mr. Cheever.”
Rimer shook his head. “So you don’t think Mr. Cheever killed Mr. Warner. Who do you think killed him?”
“Well, I don’t know yet, Lieutenant! But if I have any ideas, I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds like this mystery woman could be a good lead,” Al added in a gruff voice.
“But even if Mark was having an affair with this woman, it doesn’t explain how they got in and out of the shop without a key.” Peggy got to her feet as Rimer stood up.
“We’ll know more after the autopsy,” Al told her.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Lee,” the lieutenant assured her, “we’ll catch who did this.”
“Call me Peggy,” she invited. “But what I don’t understand is how an autopsy will answer my question.”
“Thanks. You can call me Jonas. It’s difficult to explain how these things work, Peggy. We’re getting information on Warner now. Where he was, what he did that night. If we need anything else, I’ll have Al give you a call.”
“I understand.” She hoped John didn’t brush people off that way or act like they were brain-dead.
“I’m late for a staff meeting.” Jonas looked at Al. “I’ll see you back at the office. It was nice meeting you, Peggy. I’m sorry I never met your husband. But I like your son.”
“Okay, Lieutenant.” Al sat down at the table as Peggy handed him a cup of tea. When the kitchen door closed behind his boss, he said, “That man has a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. But you had him eating out of your hand.”
“I don’t think I’d say that,” she contradicted. “He’s just not used to the way things are done here. He’ll come around.”
Al glanced around the kitchen. He recalled when his friend John Lee came back from Charleston with his blushing bride, Peggy. She still had that saucy look to her eyes and that pretty smile.
He grew up with John. They went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill together before splitting up for a few years. Then they both joined the police department in Charlotte. “This is a great old house. John’s grandfather built it in the twenties, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “We found a box of letters in a chest upstairs that were from his grandparents. He always wanted to do something with them. Have them made into a book or something. But it never got done.”
“That’s too bad. Maybe Paul will be interested someday. I remember playing cards here on Friday nights and coming to barbecues. God, I miss those old times.”
“So do I,” she agreed. “You know, you could still visit from time to time.”
“I know. I’m bad about that. Maybe when I retire, things will be easier.” He looked everywhere but into her eyes. “There’
s gonna be press over this, Peggy.”
“I’m not worried about it. I’m sure it won’t hurt business, and everyone at the university already thinks I’m eccentric. I hope you can find out who did this.”
“We will. The lieutenant’s right about that.” He struggled slowly to his feet. “I need to go. Anything else I can do for you?”
“No. I’m fine.” She smiled at him. “Good luck with the case.”
After she closed the door and locked it behind him, she slowly walked upstairs to shower and change. Al and Jonas didn’t have the answers to the questions that plagued her all night. But working in research, she knew there were always answers if you knew where to look for them. And she couldn’t resist the urge to dabble in the Warner investigation. It happened at her shop, after all.
3
Columbine
Botanical: Aquilegia vulgaris
Family: N.O. Ranunculaceae
Common Name: Columbine
Aquilegia, from the Latin word for eagle, refers to the clawlike petals. Columbines are classified with the buttercup family. They grace gardens from British Columbia through the Southern U.S. Columbine is a favorite food for hummingbirds. Thompson people, indigenous to British Columbia, believed that columbine brought good fortune in gambling. They rubbed the plant on the legs of horses and racers to increase their stamina.
TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY going from Queens Road to uptown Charlotte. Peggy navigated her bicycle down the tree-lined streets. A blast of late autumn air had shaken most of the remaining leaves down into the road. The combination of wet pavement and wet leaves made for several accidents. Angry drivers waited impatiently for squad cars to come. She passed them quickly, trying not to look smug. In the city, it paid to stay away from fossil-fueled engines.
Brevard Court and Latta Arcade were mostly deserted. Most of the shops didn’t open until ten. She saw the Potting Shed’s pickup and made a quick turn toward the loading area at the back of the shop.
Sam was helping Keeley unload flats of pansies. They were planting them in the plaza atrium that day. Pansies weathered Charlotte’s outdoor temperatures most of the winter. Their deep purple, yellow, and burgundy were eye-catching.
“Some of those pansies look a little wilted, don’t they?” Peggy asked, creeping up on them.
Surprised, Sam juggled a flat of pansies for a moment before he finally got his hands on them. “Damn!”
Keeley took a step back and put her hands to her chest. “You scared the crap out of me!”
Peggy grinned. “It’s good for you once in a while.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Sam argued. “You just took ten years off of my future high-end consulting practice.”
“I got twenty dollars off the bad flats because of their condition.” Keeley noticed her boss looking at the wilted flowers. “The supplier said these were the best he could get right now anyway.”
Peggy examined the plants. “They’ve had too much water.”
Sam lifted another flat and glanced toward the shop. “How weird was it finding a dead guy in there?”
“It was pretty weird. I’m a suspect, you know.”
Keeley dropped a flat of pansies. The plastic tray split open. Flowers and potting soil flew everywhere. “How could they think that?”
Peggy bent down to help her pick them up. “I found the body. That makes me a suspect.”
“That’s stupid.”
“They might have another suspect. Julie Warner told the police that she thought Mark was having an affair.”
Sam stopped unloading the pansies. “Not that he was having an affair with you?”
“No, Sam. Of course not. How could they?” Peggy patted his muscled arm.
Sam Ollson wanted to be a heart surgeon, but he looked more like a male model. Blond hair, always tan, perfect teeth, and shoulders a fullback would envy. He’d worked with her since she opened the Potting Shed the summer before he started college. “You know what I mean.”
“I do. I’m having some fun. I stopped when I saw you to be sure you got my message about going to have your fingerprints made. The police won’t let this go. Be sure you make the trip, or they’ll come looking for you.”
“I will,” Keeley Prinz said solemnly. Her doe-brown eyes were wide in her creamy face. Her thick brown hair was streaked blond by the summer sun. She was an attractive, muscular young woman, the daughter of Peggy’s best friend. She loved working outside and planned to be a forest ranger when she finished college. “Who do you think killed him?”
“I don’t know,” Peggy admitted. “Before Julie mentioned his affair, the police liked Mr. Cheever for it.”
“Homer?” Sam grinned. “They gotta be kidding, right?”
“Mark’s wallet and jewelry were gone. So were his shoes. They think Mr. Cheever hit him over the head and robbed him. I tried to tell the police it wasn’t possible. They won’t listen.”
“Come on! Even if Homer wanted to, he couldn’t get enough oomph to kill a man!”
Peggy answered quietly, “Mr. Cheever could be the suspect through default. Whoever did it left the shovel behind. Which probably means the person was wearing gloves and isn’t worried about fingerprints.”
“Or they got scared.” Keeley shrugged. “Imagine what it must be like to kill someone. I mean, unless you planned to do it.”
“Hitting somebody with a shovel doesn’t seem too calculated to me,” Sam observed. “It was probably a crime of passion. The police are right to look for Warner’s lover.”
“Were the two of you here night before last?” Peggy helped them unload the rest of the pansies and put them in the storage shed.
“We were here until what? Eight-thirty?” Sam looked at Keeley.
“Yeah. We picked up that order of tulip bulbs we planted yesterday at Dr. Marshall’s and dropped off the work order for the Langely estate where we planted the daffodils the day before.”
“And you didn’t see anything? Or anyone?”
“Nothing unusual.” Keeley dusted potting soil from her hands. “I think we would’ve noticed a man in the shop!”
“Did you notice if Mr. Cheever was around that night?” Peggy wiped her hands on a rag.
“I didn’t notice,” Sam answered. “I kind of take him for granted.”
“Me either,” Keeley said. “But he’s always around.”
“He was here Sunday.” Peggy didn’t want to implicate her homeless friend in the investigation, but she wanted to know if he saw anything. If the killer thought Mr. Cheever was there when the crime was committed, he could be the next victim. “The police will ask questions when you go in to give your prints.”
Sam smiled at her. “We can handle it. And we won’t mention Homer unless they beat it out of us.”
“Yeah,” Keeley joked. “We know you’re hot for him.”
Peggy laughed. “Thanks! I don’t want you to lie! But I’d like a chance to talk to him before they pick him up.”
“You got it.” Sam put on his sunglasses. “Anything else?”
“I’ll call the nursery today and have them bring us some fresh flats. No one likes a wilted pansy!”
Keeley frowned. “Sorry. I was trying to save a few bucks.”
“That’s okay.” Peggy assured her. “See you inside.”
It was difficult to unlock the back door and make herself walk into the shop. Al had called a crime scene cleaning service for her, and it appeared they did a good job. There was no blood on the floor, but the old wood didn’t give up the brown stain. She’d have to buy a rug to put over it and try not to think about it every time she walked in. The scarecrow was gone, probably taken for evidence. The pumpkins were strewn across the floor.
Something strange caught Peggy’s eye as she was trying to put her autumn scene back together. She reached down and picked up a flower head from its precarious perch on top of a pumpkin. Columbine. “What are you doing here?”
“Did you lose something?” Keeley looked at the smooth woo
d floorboards with her.
“No. I wanted to make sure everything was cleaned up from yesterday.” Peggy got up from the floor and pocketed the tiny red columbine flower. She could put it into a plastic bag later. It didn’t belong there. Columbines grew wild in the Carolinas but not in November. The flower wasn’t more than a few days old. She didn’t have any columbine plants in her shop.
