Pretty Poison plgm-1

by Joyce Lavene

  The man slammed the door behind him as he went to get what Paul demanded.

  Peggy hugged her son. “You were awesome! I can’t believe you handled that so well.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Now I feel like a complete moron. When haven’t I backed you up? All you ever have to do is include me. You just hate asking for my help.” He looked at the dog. “What are you going to do with him now?”

  “You aren’t a moron. But I wasn’t sure if you could bend enough to follow my lead. I love you, Paul.” She kissed his cheek. “As for the dog, I guess I’ll have to keep him. But he needs a better name than Jo-Jo.”

  “How about Shakespeare? He’s a giant among writers.”

  “Good choice. Do you remember how many times I read A Midsummer Night’s Dream to you when you were little?”

  “Yeah, I remember. But my favorite was always Mac-beth . All those ghosts and swords.”

  She laughed and patted the dog’s head tenderly. “I think Shakespeare suits him. Thank you.” She reached for the phone. “I think I’ll give Steve a call. I hate to leave Shakespeare like this too long. He’s still nothing but skin and bones. An infection might kill him.”

  “Steve must really like you if you’re thinking about calling him this early in the morning.” Paul shrugged. “I think I can handle my mother dating after I do a complete background check on the guy.”

  “I can handle you dating, too, you know. I think Mai Sato in forensics likes you.”

  He frowned. “Don’t go there. Just call your private vet and let me get my shoes on.”

  SHAKESPEARE’S FORMER OWNER returned with the papers, but Paul didn’t let him in the house. He took the papers from him and handed him Peggy’s check. The door closed quickly behind him.

  Steve arrived shortly after and examined the dog. He told Paul he was disappointed everything went so smoothly. “I was hoping you might have to shoot him. This dog has been through hell.”

  Paul gave his mother the receipt for the dog. “Yeah, well at least he’s safe now. My captain frowns on off-duty altercations between officers and civilians.”

  Peggy put the paperwork into the side table drawer in the foyer. She smiled as she looked at the two men who had moved on and were talking about football. All’s well that ends well. “I’m going to make some strawberry pancakes for breakfast. Can you both stay?”

  “I don’t think you should try to use your hands or stand up for too long on your hurt knee,” Paul told her. “I’ll make the strawberry pancakes.”

  Steve looked at the brace on her wrist. “What happened?”

  She shook her head, glad she’d taken a moment to brush her hair before he got there. It was painful and silly, but she wanted to look her best for him. “It’s a long story.”

  “I think I have time to hear it over breakfast.”

  Peggy told him what happened as she sat down in the kitchen. She directed him to the plates, forks, and cups. Paul made coffee and pancakes. Shakespeare wrapped himself around her feet on the floor.

  “So you think whoever killed Mark Warner wanted to kill you?” Steve asked when she was finished.

  “I don’t know.” She wanted to tell Steve or Paul about Nightflyer but couldn’t think how to start. “I don’t know whose feathers I ruffled to receive that kind of response.”

  “But you admit any of those women you talked to could’ve killed Warner,” Paul reminded her, using the spatula to punctuate his remark. “They all had motive and opportunity. Maybe you got too close to the truth without realizing it.”

  A knock at the door brought Sam in with a blast of cold morning air. His handsome young face was stricken with remorse. “God, Peggy, I can’t believe this happened to you. I heard about it on the news this morning. Are you okay? Who do you think did it? Are there any extra pancakes?”

  Paul poured more batter into the skillet, and Steve took out another place setting.

  Peggy went over the story again as they sat down to eat. She’d barely finished explaining what happened when there was another knock on the door.

  “I can smell those pancakes outside.” Al didn’t wait for anyone to let him in. He looked around the crowded kitchen. “I thought you’d need some company, Peggy. I didn’t know you were cooking up breakfast for everyone. Where’s the syrup?”

  He grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee, then snagged three pancakes from the serving plate before he hefted himself into the chair beside her. “I wanted to tell you that we didn’t find anything on the loading dock. Nothing unusual anyway. All the fingerprints we came up with belong to the people who work for you. Sorry.”

  “What are the chances whoever pushed me wasn’t wearing gloves?” She passed him cream for his coffee. “It was cold. Even if you didn’t think about leaving prints behind, you’d want to protect your hands.”

  “Good point!” Sam said around a mouthful of pancake. “But whoever did this has to be tied to the Warner murder. Maybe the killer left something behind. Or maybe you were his real target. Maybe Warner just got in the way.”

  Peggy laughed. “There are better places to try to kill me than waiting at the shop.”

  “What about Keeley, your assistant?” Paul asked. “It seems to me she’s a better suspect than Cheever. She seems like a nice girl, but she had every reason to kill Warner and she admitted to being there.”

  “But why admit she was there if she was the killer?” Steve wondered as he passed the nearly empty syrup bottle to Sam. “Wouldn’t she want to keep it to herself? The police already have someone in custody. She could sit on the information instead of putting it in the spotlight.”

  “Unless she wants us to think that was her reasoning,” Al argued. “She seems like a pretty sharp cookie to me.”

  Sam was quick to come to Keeley’s defense. “She’s smart but not devious. She can’t keep a secret worth a damn. I know. I work with her. Look how she confessed about those old pansies, Peggy.”

  “Did she tell you she was pregnant?” Al demanded. “Did she even tell you she was dating Warner?” He used his tongue to catch a bit of syrup at the corner of his mouth, ruining his tough-cop attitude. “I rest my case.”

  “Does that mean you like Keeley for the killing instead of Cheever?” Paul asked him as he wiped his mouth carefully.

  “No. Rimer and I reviewed the case with the DA last night. He still wants to prosecute Cheever. He feels like Ms. Prinz had nothing to gain by killing Warner. We agree. She could’ve ruined him by suing for paternity in open court.”

  Steve leaned back in his chair. “I’m not a police detective, but couldn’t the killing be construed as a crime of passion? She used the first weapon that came to her hand when he refused to acknowledge the baby. Maybe she didn’t have time to think about it.”

  Al nodded, his mouth too full of pancake to respond right away. When he was done chewing he said, “We talked about that. The DA doesn’t think that story will fly with a jury. He thinks they’re more likely to buy a drunken homeless man killing for shoes and money.”

  Steve smiled. “My tax dollars at work.”

  “Take it up with the DA.” Al shrugged. “I’m not saying either story is more likely. The point is that Warner was an important man in the community. People want to see justice.”

  “Justice or retribution?” Sam suggested. “I don’t think Keeley did it either. But just because the man is homeless doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “Not even if he took the man’s shoes?” Al debated. “Come on, kid! If you could stoop that low, you could stoop to killing to get them.”

  “Mr. Cheever wouldn’t kill anyone!” Sam’s face turned red as he exploded.

  Al shrugged. “I didn’t make the system the way it is. I just enforce the rules.”

  Sam sighed and turned to Peggy, changing the subject. “Are you going to keep the dog after all?”

  “Yes. He and his owner parted company this morning.” Peggy thought about something else. “You know, the other night when we were le
aving the store, Shakespeare growled at something in the shadows behind the shop. Maybe someone was there that night but was scared of the dog. I thought it was probably rats, but after last night, I’m not so sure.”

  “We’ll go over everything,” Al promised. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

  Paul and Steve decided it was time for them to leave. Al stood with his mouth open as Steve kissed Peggy good-bye. Sam snickered and took the dog out for a walk.

  Paul sighed and kissed Peggy’s forehead, reminding her to call him if she needed anything.

  When they were gone, Al took a deep breath. “I must be out of the loop more than I realize. When did that happen?”

  “Nothing happened,” she denied, not wanting to talk about Steve yet. “But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.” She told him about her cyber stalker. “I didn’t want to mention this to Paul. But I’m wondering if my fall from the loading dock might be part of that problem rather than anything to do with the murder.”

  Al took it seriously. “We have an officer who specializes in matters like this. Let me give him a heads up. I don’t know exactly what he does to track this kind of thing. It’s all I can do to get my reports into the computer every day without erasing them.”

  “Thanks. Do you know about places where they can track your cell phone?”

  “This is America, Peggy. Anything is possible. Until we clear this up, keep your head down and stay out of dark places. Don’t encourage this man by talking to him again on the Internet.”

  “I won’t. I’m going to ask Sam to haul me around today. I have a class, and I’ll be at the Potting Shed. Let me know what I need to do for your cyber detective.”

  “I’ll have him call you.” Al lumbered to his feet. “Good pancakes. I hope I can stay awake through our briefing this morning after all those carbs.”

  “What about Mr. Cheever?”

  “The wheels of justice turn. He’ll have his day in court like everybody else. I’m sure you’ve told that pretty, young lawyer everything you know. If she can create doubts in the minds of the jury, your friend will get off. If not, he’ll do his time. It’s the way the system works. You know that.”

  “Can you investigate other possibilities?”

  “I’d like to help you, Peggy, but I’ve got unsolved homicides on my desk that don’t have any suspects at all. It’s all I can do to keep up with those. You should hire a private detective. There are a few who work with the police. I can give you their names, if you like. At least you’d know they’re reputable.”

  “I don’t have the money for that. And Mr. Cheever’s daughter has even less. But thanks anyway.”

  Al squeezed her shoulder gently. His big, dark hand rested lightly on her for an extra moment. “As for your new beau, I think it’s great. You need someone in your life besides Paul. I know you think your plants are enough company. But John wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

  She thought about what he said, grateful for his kindness and friendship. The legal system made her angry, but that wasn’t anything new. She and John had talked many times about police detectives being overworked and underappreciated.

  After Al left, Sam managed to open the back door before Shakespeare pulled him through it. “Nice dog.” He was panting, glad to drop the leash. “But I think something this big should be running free in a pasture somewhere.”

  “Thanks for walking him. If you wouldn’t mind, I could use your help getting around today. I don’t think I’m going to be able to ride my bike.”

  “Whatever you need, you know that. I’ll have another cup of coffee while you get ready. Could you believe those pancake-eating animals? They didn’t leave any behind for me. I only had a few stacks. Got any cookies?”

  “Check the cabinet.” She laughed. “But you’d better be careful. You don’t want to grow sideways now that you’ve grown up.”

  Taking her time, Peggy negotiated the long stairway. Shakespeare bounded up, then waited at the top for her with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He looked like a distorted version of Scooby-Doo. She smiled and stroked his big head. “I guess it’s up to us. If we want to help Mr. Cheever, no push off the loading dock can slow us down. Besides, I’ll have you with me, won’t I? I bet if you’d been there last night, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  As if to reassure her, the dog followed her to her bedroom. He curled up on the floor in front of the door while she showered and dressed. Peggy told herself that the look on his face dared anyone to enter her room. But really, he was comical with his floppy ears and long tongue.

  Feeling decidedly defiant, she wore jeans and a No Fear sweatshirt that Selena gave her for Christmas last year. Her knee was still swollen and sore, but she realized it could’ve been much worse.

  She took the bandages off her palms. The scratches weren’t too bad and didn’t hurt at all. They needed some airing, as her mother called it. She always said things couldn’t heal right closed off. As old as she was, getting hurt still made her want to run home and be comforted by her mama and daddy. Of course they were too far away, and she wouldn’t want to worry them, but she promised herself a weekend in Charleston soon.

  She brushed her hair and used two antique pearl clasps to hold it back from her face. There was a spark of emerald in her eyes. John always teased that it meant trouble for anyone trying to stand in her way. She wasn’t sure how much trouble one botany professor/garden shop owner could cause. But she was about to find out.

  “You look great,” Sam said when she hobbled back downstairs. “Are you bringing the horse with you?”

  “Shakespeare,” she corrected him. “And yes, I think we can fit him in your truck.”

  He laughed and patted the dog’s head. “Yeah, if me and you ride in the back. Have you taught him to drive yet?”

  Peggy’s first stop was the university. Everyone in her class had heard about what happened to her. They talked about it for a few minutes. She didn’t explain more than she had to. As she finished and opened her textbook, the dean came in. She took a deep breath and went through the whole story again.

  Class went quickly since there were only about twenty minutes left when she was done answering questions about her experience. Sam was waiting when she got outside. They drove through the busy streets toward the heart of the city. Shakespeare rode between them, sitting on the seat with his head up and his chocolate-brown eyes alert.

  “What’s next?” Sam asked her. “Do you have anything else up your sleeve?”

  “I don’t know. As far as I can tell, Ronda and Angela had fewer motives for killing Mark than Keeley. I’m not sure where to go from here. I know any of them could have done it. At least physically. All three of them are fine, strapping young women. Any of them could’ve hit him in the head with the shovel.”

  “But how do you decide which one actually did the deed? Maybe you could convince one of them to confess.”

  “That would be nice. But another thing they have in common is brains. I think they’re all too smart for something like that. There must be something we’re missing. John always said there was no such thing as a perfect murder. Everyone makes mistakes. We have to find what those mistakes were.”

  He turned the truck into the parking lot behind the Potting Shed. “One of my professors says we should listen carefully to our patients and make sure we write down everything they say to us. That way, we can look back at our notes and come to a better understanding of the problem. Maybe you should try that.”

  Peggy nodded as he jumped out and helped her from the truck. “Thanks, Sam. For the ride and the suggestion. I’ll do that this afternoon.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I have a class, then I’m supposed to help Dawn plant primroses at Mrs. Margate’s house over on Providence Road.”

  “Outside?”

  “That’s what she wanted.”

  “You told her they couldn’t survive the winter, right?”

  Sam shrugged. “The woman wanted p
rimroses planted on the west wall of her house. She says they can survive there because her eaves will protect them. What was I supposed to say?”

  “That you’d plant them, I suppose. Where in the world did you find primroses at this time of year?”

  “They grew them for me at that new greenhouse over by UNCC. They cost a fortune, but Mrs. Margate didn’t care.”

  Peggy wasn’t completely surprised. Sometimes they got strange requests. Last year, one of the wealthiest families in the city asked her to plant a thousand brown-eyed Susans for their brown-eyed daughter named Susan. Her birthday was in January. The family had a wonderful party, then she went back and ripped out the plants that had frozen overnight.

  Selena hugged Peggy when she saw her. “I’m never going to leave again before closing. I can’t believe anybody would want to hurt you.”