by Joyce Lavene
“I suppose that’s true of almost everywhere. A gun is so much easier,” Peggy commiserated. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, Hal. I wish we could’ve saved her. Would it be too much to ask her name and address? I’d really like to send a plant for her funeral. I feel as if I should know her name.”
“I don’t think it would be a breach of ethics for me to tell you. After all, you worked on the case. Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?”
Peggy took down the woman’s information, then promised Hal they could meet for lunch one day and said good night. Molly Stone. She stood looking at the woman’s name for a long time. She was very young. Who would want to kill her?
The police were putting the case on the back burner. How often was John unhappy with that decision? But like the decision to charge Mr. Cheever with Warner’s death, many police decisions were made for expediency rather than taking the time and money to find the truth. It was a sad fact for the officers as well as the public they protected but part of the reality of life.
She rubbed the dog’s head. “Let’s go and eat something. It looks like I’m going to be buying more dog food after all.”
After a light supper and a quick check on her plants, Peggy went upstairs with the dog at her heels. Her mind was buzzing with questions that had no answers. She put on the green satin pajamas Paul gave her for her birthday last September. The dog was already asleep in her bed. She turned on her computer and logged on to her favorite gaming site.
Nightflyer was already there. She typed in her screen name, and he answered immediately.
“Busy day?”
She laughed. “LOL! You could say that.”
“Too bad about your friend.”
“Which one?”
“The one who got indicted for murder. What now?”
Peggy shifted uneasily in her chair. “Now we play chess.”
“I know you’ve been snooping around. Two murders at the same time. That’s a lot to handle. No wonder you’re so busy. I don’t see what you can do about the one in Columbia.”
Getting angry with his apparent omniscient knowledge, she fired back, “You don’t know as much as you think, my friend. The Columbia police aren’t through investigating that death.”
“But we both know it will be pushed aside for now.”
“If you know that, maybe you know who did it.”
“Maybe I do, Nightrose. Shall we play?”
Peggy beat him in the first game. It was a surprise to her. She suspected that he let her win. Especially when he challenged her to a second game and thoroughly squashed her.
“One more to decide the victor?” She typed into the chat box.
“Not tonight, dear. What are you going to name that dog?”
The same feeling she had leaving the store that night came over her. She almost looked around for a surveillance camera. “Stalking is illegal.”
“Perhaps. But PROVING it is difficult.”
“Who ARE you?”
There was no reply. His name vanished from the gaming site roster. She wasn’t sure what to do. She supposed she could mention Nightflyer’s insinuations to Paul, but he hadn’t threatened her in any way. She didn’t want the police ripping her computer apart if they took her seriously. She turned off the light on the desk, deciding to wait and see what happened.
SHE WOKE UP AT EIGHT the next morning with the dog barking and jumping in her bed. Someone was pounding on the front door. Guessing it was the obnoxious man who tried to claim the dog, she put on her robe and ran down the stairs, ready to do battle.
Instead, it was Al. “Peggy, I know this man is a friend of yours, but you can’t go around pretending to be with the police, questioning people about the murder. It was bad enough that you snuck in to see him in jail. It’s illegal to impersonate an officer.”
“Good morning to you, too.” She closed the door behind him, watching as he paced the foyer.
“Well? What do you have to say?”
“John always said not to admit anything. I wasn’t there, and I didn’t do anything.”
“Peggy, this is serious. Rimer likes you, but he’s not gonna let you screw this up. We have our suspect. We made our arrest. The man had everything but Warner’s blood on him.”
“Let’s talk about that, Al. How do you suppose he managed to get the watch, the wallet, and the shoes without getting any blood on him?”
“Maybe he did get messed up. He’s homeless. He could’ve dropped his jacket or whatever in a trash can, and we’d never find it.”
“He’s worn the same coat for two years. He doesn’t get rid of things.”
“Maybe he does when he gets blood on them.” Al stopped and glared at her.
“What about his story?”
“You mean the phantom woman who ran out of the shop?” He laughed. “Did you expect him to confess? You were a cop’s wife too long for that.”
“No, I didn’t expect a confession. But aren’t you even interested in finding out if a woman was in the shop before he got there?”
“We’ve questioned everyone, Peggy. Even Angela Martin, his PA. You weren’t the only one who knew he was having an affair. No one else had motive and opportunity like Cheever did. He probably didn’t mean to kill him. He meant to knock him down and take his stuff. He hit him too hard. I’m sorry, but he still has to pay for his crime.”
Before Peggy could argue the point, there was another knock on the door. It was the man from last night who tried to claim the dog.
“I’m back for my dog. Here are my documents. I bought him, got his shots, and cared for him. This is my lawyer. He’s prepared to go to court, if necessary.” The lawyer stepped forward, looking uneasy.
Al joined them, flashed his badge, and the two men backed down. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m glad you’re here, Detective.” The lanky young man nodded his head and grinned at Peggy. “I want to have this woman arrested for not giving my dog back.”
Al raised a black brow at Peggy. She told him the story of how she found the dog and put out flyers to locate his owner. He looked at the man’s papers. “Looks like everything’s in order. Why didn’t you give him the dog back?”
“The dog didn’t want to go with him. He chased him and almost bit him.”
“Peggy, a lot of runaway kids don’t want to go home with their parents either. But the law says they have to. The man owns this dog.” He handed the papers back. “You have to give it to him.”
The man in the doorway rubbed his hands and laughed. “See? I told you I’d get him back.”
Peggy picked the leash up from the side table. “Here you go. If I ever see that dog running around like some half-starved scarecrow again, I’ll call the Humane Society and my lawyer will sue you for animal cruelty.”
The man jerked the leash out of her hand and approached the dog confidently—until the animal picked up his scent and began snarling at him. “Nice boy. Good Jo-Jo.”
“Well, if everything is in order,” the lawyer in the plain gray suit started to move away from the door, “I’ll be going.”
Jo-Jo’s owner managed to get a headlock on the dog. He tied the leash around his neck like a choke collar. The dog tried to pull away but ended up coughing and gasping for breath.
Peggy wanted to kick the man. The look on her face must’ve given her away. Al put a large hand on her shoulder to hold her back.
“Thanks, Detective.” The man put out his hand to shake Al’s.
“I think you’d better go, son. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s more than the dog who’d like to bite you.”
“I suppose that was necessary.” Peggy watched the man shove the dog into the backseat of his BMW.
“The animal was his property. Sorry.”
She bristled. “I don’t want the dog. But I don’t want to see it mistreated.”
Al sighed. “Just remember what I said about interfering in this investigation.”
“What inve
stigation? It seems to me that you aren’t investigating anymore.”
“Whatever you want to call it, don’t get involved. Okay?”
“I have to go to work. I’ll see you later.”
HER BOTANY CLASS WENT SMOOTHLY. The students forgot her notoriety in their unhappiness about her test. She sat at her desk for a few minutes after everyone was gone. The tests looked pretty good. She knew most of the students would never be involved in any future botanical pursuit. For most, this was an easy science credit. She’d been teaching there long enough to know the kids regarded her as an easy class. She didn’t mind. The few students who were serious about the subject were enough to keep her going.
“Ready for lunch, Professor?”
Peggy looked up at Steve. “Were we supposed to have lunch together?”
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Do you have other plans?”
“No. I’m glad to see you. You’ve saved me from sitting here and going through all these tests.”
“Consider yourself saved. Where would you like to go for lunch?”
They decided to take Steve’s car and go to the Mimosa Grill. Peggy had never been there, even though it was across the street from Latta Arcade. Steve loved their food.
“I saw the Rolls in your garage. That’s a classic,” he observed after they were seated at a table by the window.
“It belonged to my father-in-law. My husband never drove it. I’m restoring it and changing the engine to run on hydrogen. There’s too much fossil fuel emission without my adding to it.”
“That’s a challenge,” he admitted. “I’m impressed. Do you have mechanical experience?”
“No.” She picked up the lunch menu. “But how hard can it be? The combustion engine is pretty basic. Have you ever worked on a car?”
He laughed. “A little. When I was in college, I had this old Ford that had to be worked on every day. I swore once I was making some money I wouldn’t ever work on a car again. But I’ll be happy to give you a hand if you need one.”
There was no mistaking his warm tone or the meaning in his eyes. Peggy mumbled something she was pretty sure he wouldn’t understand and stared at the menu. When the waitress finally came, she ordered a vegetable plate and sat back.
There were a few awkward moments where they made small talk about the weather and the Panthers’ winning streak. Peggy drank too much iced tea and had to excuse herself. She looked at her face in the small, dimly lit bathroom. Her cheeks were rosy, and her green eyes were sparkling. She was excited to be there with Steve, and she felt guilty at the same time. Was she supposed to be interested in another man already?
When John died, her sister told her she’d find someone else. At the time, she was horrified. Yet here she was, only two years later, thinking about another man. It defied her sense of logic. But she couldn’t argue with the emotions pumping through her body.
Lunch was there when she got back. She determined between the bathroom and the table that she wasn’t going to sit there like a block of wood. She sat down, smiled at Steve, and asked him about his veterinary practice.
He looked surprised but played along. “It’s slow. I knew it would be. Starting over in a new town isn’t easy. But I like being here. I think it’ll work out.”
“Did Emma bring her cat to you? That kind of thing could get you in with a large group of people. They all use the same housekeepers, landscapers, and vets.”
“She brought the cat.” He sipped his coffee. “Unfortunately, it died. I don’t know if that’s going to get me in anywhere.”
“That’s too bad. But if you hang in there, I’m sure things will work out.”
“Speaking of animals, which seems to be a safe subject,” he teased, “how’s that big horse of a dog doing?”
Peggy told him about the owner coming to get the dog. “There wasn’t anything I could do to save the poor creature. He looked at me so pitifully, slobbering and pathetic.”
“The man or the dog?”
She was laughing at his words when she saw Paul. He was walking by the restaurant, going toward Founder’s Hall. When he saw her, he stopped and stared, then went to the door. She wished they’d chosen a spot at the back of the restaurant. This whole thing with Steve was too new for her to defend. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing.
“Isn’t that your son?” Steve asked when he saw Paul walk in.
“Yes. Do you suppose it’s too late to hide?”
“Why? Are you embarrassed to be with me?”
“Of course not,” she denied, then recapitulated. “I was brought up in a very Southern, conservative family. We don’t get embarrassed. We’re uncertain.”
They were both laughing when Paul stalked up to their table. “Mom.”
“Paul.” Peggy’s tone was defiant. She was too old to be shamed by her son.
Paul stared at Steve but didn’t speak to him.
Steve wasn’t happy with the situation and got to his feet. “Would you like to join us?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We weren’t really introduced the other day. I’m Dr. Steve Newsome. I’m a veterinarian. I live a few doors down from your mother.”
Paul ignored Steve’s outstretched hand. “I’m her son. I could live at home with her again anytime I want to.”
Peggy didn’t know whether to laugh at him or spank him. She wished the latter were possible. “Paul, was there something you wanted?”
“No, I guess not. I saw Al this morning. He told me you were running around town asking people questions about Mark Warner. I hope he impressed on you that this is police business.”
“He did. But thanks for asking.”
“Mom—” Paul began to speak but didn’t finish. “I’ll talk to you later. When you’re alone.”
“Nice to see you again,” Steve said as Paul left.
“Sorry. He’s a little overprotective sometimes. When he isn’t totally ignoring me.”
“Kids, huh? I’m glad I was never one of them.” Steve glanced at her untouched lunch. “Would you like to go?”
“No. I’m fine. Paul will have to get over himself. As for that part about him living at home again . . .”
“We could always sneak over to my place.” He smiled at her, then took a bite of his honey-baked ham on rye.
Peggy’s toes curled in her shoes. She ate some of her green beans, forcing them down her throat with a large swallow of tea.
“So what’s this about you getting in trouble for investigating Warner’s murder?”
Peggy was glad to tell him about it. Talking about the case kept her mind away from disturbing images of meeting Steve in her garden at midnight. She told him most of what she knew without mentioning Keeley.
“Wow! You are involved. Who do you think did it if it wasn’t your homeless friend?”
“I suppose that’s the bad part,” she confessed. “I don’t have any idea. But there are plenty of other suspects. That’s good for Mr. Cheever but bad for the police and Julie Warner. It’s terrible not knowing who killed someone you loved.”
“You talk like you have personal experience with it.”
She explained briefly about John’s death. “This late in the game, we’ll probably never find the man who killed him.”
“I’m sorry. No wonder your son doesn’t like me.”
They finished eating and walked out into the sunshine. Tryon Street was congested with traffic. There was an accident waiting to be cleaned up right outside Latta Arcade.
“I guess I’ll just walk across to the shop,” Peggy said, feeling awkward again.
“Is that where the infamous Potting Shed is? I’ve never been inside Latta Arcade.”
“Really?” She took a deep breath, then slipped her arm through his. “I guess I’ll have to introduce you then.”
She told him about the history of the Arcade as they walked through it to reach Brevard Court. Without pausing for breath, she pushed open the door to her shop and
walked inside. It was busy with lunchtime traffic, shoppers loading up on fall planting specials.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Selena said from behind the counter with ten customers in line. “I can use the help.”
“Would you mind?” Peggy asked Steve. “I need to help her get caught up.”
“No, that’s fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”
