Pretty Poison plgm-1

by Joyce Lavene

  “I wanted to give you an update on our progress. I feel like I owe it to you since you brought the cases together.” He smiled at her and picked up her backpack. “Any place around here to get coffee?”

  Peggy was a little suspicious that he’d take time away from the investigation to update her on anything, despite her help. When he mentioned coffee, she was immediately on guard. “Sure. We can have coffee in the cafeteria.”

  They walked together through the halls in awkward silence. Students rushed by them, and announcements grated over the intercom. The aroma of lunch being prepared heralded the cafeteria before they came to the double doors.

  Al filled his cup with coffee and waited for her to find a seat. “I’m glad I had a chance to talk with you about this. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here today.”

  She pulled out a hard plastic chair and sat down at an empty table. “Al, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever known. You can stop feeling bad about whatever it is and tell me why you’re here.”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t lying. I came by to talk to you about the case.”

  She raised her eyebrow in question.

  “I did. Not to update you exactly, but to ask for your help. I know you don’t work for the department, and I know Ms. Prinz is your friend. But we have to find out what happened to these people. You might be able to help us.”

  “That’s all you had to say. But how will you know any information I give you isn’t biased? Even if I knew Keeley was guilty of something, I wouldn’t be likely to share it with you.”

  “I know you better than that, Peggy. You want to know the truth as much as we do. Even if your friend is involved.”

  She sighed and folded her hands around her cup of tea. “That’s true. But what can I tell you that you don’t already know?”

  “First of all, what I’m going to tell you can’t be shared with anyone else. Not your friend or her lawyer. The information is part of the ongoing investigation. It has to stay confidential until we decide whether it will be used as part of the case.”

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “It looks like Warner and Molly Stone did have a thing going on. There were calls back and forth from both their homes and offices. Her husband told us she went out of town one weekend a month for business. Her supervisor told us the bank never scheduled those weekends. We have people still checking for receipts and confirmation that the two of them were away together, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  Peggy wasn’t surprised. “The husband didn’t suspect?”

  “No. At least he says he didn’t. The problem is, he’s already been questioned about the poisoning. The police in Columbia tore his home and office apart looking for proof that he made the poison and gave it to his wife. So far as they can tell, he’s clean.”

  “So that leaves you with Keeley.”

  He nodded as he swallowed his coffee. “Pretty much. We already know she was at the shop. She had opportunity to administer the poison, wait for it to work, then whack him in the head with the shovel.”

  “Why bother?” she asked. “If she knew enough to poison him, she had to know he was going to die.”

  “We figure it was a last-minute thing. It wasn’t enough that he was dying. Kind of the way a killer will continue shooting or stabbing a victim even after they’re dead. Rage. Frustration. Maybe the poison wasn’t hands-on enough for her. I’m not a shrink.”

  “What do you want me to tell you?”

  Al got to the point. “How long before Warner would’ve felt the effects of the poison?”

  “It would all depend on the dosage. Probably an hour or so. A small amount would’ve taken longer and had less effect. A large dose would’ve taken him down right away.” She finished her tea and waited for him to write down the information. “Has the ME decided what the poison came in?”

  “The last thing he ate was a Snickers bar washed down with a bunch of coffee. We’re not sure if both were poisoned or just one.”

  “It seems to me with the time frame involved, the poison had to be given before he got to my shop. If he walked from his office to the Potting Shed, then collapsed after he spoke with Keeley, he probably ingested the poison at his office that night.”

  “Or she gave it to him when she met him at your shop.”

  Peggy disagreed. “If we believe Mr. Cheever, he went in right after Keeley ran out and found Mark on the floor. There was no blood yet. If she poisoned him, why wouldn’t she wait to be sure he was dead? Or hit him with the shovel when he was down? If you’re right, Al, and using the shovel was done in rage, she would’ve done it before she left.”

  He stopped writing halfway through what she said and shook his head. “I think we have to assume Mr. Cheever was too drunk to notice whether or not Warner was bleeding.”

  “Did the alcohol keep the blood from getting on his clothes and hands? You know yourself there was no blood on him. But he had to handle Mark to get his watch and wallet. There was no way for him to do it without picking up a few bloodstains.”

  “I don’t know how it happened,” he admitted. “What I need you to tell me is what we’re looking for as far as creating the poison. Could she pop this stuff into the microwave? How complicated would it be?”

  Peggy took his notebook and scribbled down a few ideas. “No, she couldn’t just pop it in the microwave. The temperature would have to be exact. She’d have to know what to do with it to obtain the pure anemonin from the protoanemonin. Anything less would’ve created drastic, immediate results. Not the kind found in Mark or Molly.”

  “Does Ms. Prinz have that kind of knowledge, Peggy?” He fixed her with an intent stare like he was looking for anything that would give away her feelings.

  “In my opinion, no. Not only that, she doesn’t have the right temperament. Look at all the famous poisonings. All of the perpetrators had something in common. They were sneaky, devious people. They wouldn’t have asked Mark to come to the Potting Shed for a showdown. But as you said, I’m not a shrink. That’s only my opinion.”

  Al lumbered slowly to his feet. “Thanks, Peggy. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

  “Was Mark’s body released to his wife again?”

  “Yeah. He was cremated this morning. I read somewhere his memorial service is later today. Why?”

  “I thought I might pay my respects.” She smiled at him. “There may be a few more of his conquests there. I’ll let you know if I see anyone suspicious.”

  MARK WARNER’S MEMORIAL SERVICE was held in Myers Park Presbyterian Church. The crowd was so large, police officers had to direct traffic to allow visitors to park on the street. Van loads of flowers were deposited in the chapel until it was overflowing. The remainder were left in the adjacent cemetery and on the church steps.

  Peggy was glad she rode her bike. It was easy to leave it at the bike rack near the entrance to the church. Her black suit was no less formal for wearing slacks that allowed her the freedom to pedal.

  She pushed her black hat firmly down on her head and stuck a large pearl-headed hatpin in as she walked into the church. It was the same hat she wore to John’s funeral. She’d wanted to throw it away after it was over, but her mother’s thrifty upbringing wouldn’t let her.

  The service began, and the talking ceased. At the front of the church was a large portrait of the dead man. His teak coffin was resplendent with large brass handles and covered with a maze of flowers. Friends whispered that Julie put Mark’s ashes in the more traditional coffin. She couldn’t stand the idea of an urn.

  The Warner children and the grieving widow walked to the coffin to lay a final white rose on it. Peggy couldn’t believe how small and pale Julie looked in her elegant black suit. She had a firm grip on both children’s hands. It was impossible to decipher the expression on her face. The tiny pillbox hat she wore was very chic. Even in mourning, she set the example for the other widows in Charlotte who would follow.

  The service was brief. The crowd followed
the pallbearers into the cemetery to bury their friend. Peggy looked at the faces of the women around her, especially the tall ones with long, dark hair. It was hard to believe how partial Mark was to that type with his own wife so tiny and blond.

  She saw Ronda and Bob McGee talking to Julie. It would’ve been interesting to hear what was said between the two women. If Ronda was right and Julie knew she was seeing Mark, the looks alone would be more virulent than the poison that killed him. Peggy wondered if Ronda was back with Bob for the funeral or if they’d managed to reconcile. There was a lot to lose for both of them. A divorce would hurt Ronda as much as it would Bob.

  Peggy remembered what Ronda told her about being certain Julie was the one who threatened her on the phone. Adding poison to the equation of Mark’s death made it possible that Julie could have killed her husband. Anyone could hit a man who was already unconscious on the floor. Of course, she had the perfect alibi. The entire household knew she was home that night with a sick child.

  She watched Julie give the two children to Emma. From the look on the housekeeper’s face, she could tell how devoted she was to the mother and children. She studied the group from the Warner household with new eyes. Was it possible they weren’t as innocent of the situation as they seemed? The police checked out Molly Stone’s husband. But what about Mark Warner’s wife?

  Peggy saw Julie break down into sobs at the graveside. A dozen hands reached out to take her arm, give her a handkerchief, ease her grief. If she didn’t love her husband and was capable of killing him, she was a good actress. Remembering how she’d been at the shop, wanting to see the place he was killed, Peggy considered she was probably reaching. Keeley was so close to being arrested for the murder. Her mind was grasping at straws.

  She turned away from the rest of the service, commending the body to the earth. It was still painful for her to hear those words. She didn’t think any amount of time could make it less. Instead, she studied the flowers and arrangements sent to the memorial. Most were from well-known florists in the city. A few were actually flown in from out of state.

  The flowers chosen were always more for color, consistency, and longevity than for meaning. There were daisies and forget-me-nots together in an arrangement. With Mark’s reputation, that was a joke. Faithful and loyal love wasn’t a priority in his life.

  There were plenty of gladioli. Again, sincerity wasn’t a virtue either. Someone sent a huge spray of white carnations and red chrysanthemums. Pure love. Admiration. Yellow mums and striped carnations would have been more appropriate. Slighted love. Disdain and rejection. I can’t be with you.

  A nice big pot of pansies was appropriate. Thoughtful recollection. Their card said they were from a group of people at Bank of America.

  She looked up and noticed the service was over. People were paying their respects to the widow and wandering back to their cars. Her quest for yet another Warner woman seemed over, too. If another woman existed, she didn’t notice her being there.

  She wondered if Keeley or Molly would’ve come if the circumstances were different. Even being sure the wife didn’t know what was going on, a mistress would have to be fairly brazen to come to her lover’s funeral. In Ronda’s case, she had no choice if she wanted to keep up appearances.

  An odd wreath caught Peggy’s eye as she turned to go. She wasn’t able to see it with the crowd around the grave. In all the funerals she’d attended, she’d never seen another one like it.

  The majority of it consisted of withered flowers. None of the other arrangements were in this state. It wasn’t caused by the weather. She looked at the tag. The flowers came from a reputable local florist, an acquaintance of hers. She couldn’t believe he’d been that careless.

  The wreath was dotted with anemones, yellow carnations, and columbines. In the language of flowers, the wreath was a large proclamation of rejected love and pain. She couldn’t believe anyone would send such a thing to a funeral. But whoever was responsible knew the truth and might have been the one who put the columbine in Mark’s pocket. She looked for a card, but there was only the florist’s tag.

  “It’s an interesting arrangement, don’t you think?”

  Peggy looked up quickly and smiled at the widow. “Yes. It’s surprising.”

  Julie touched the wreath with her gloved fingers. “I wonder what someone was trying to say. Or maybe the florist just had a bad day.”

  “That’s probably it.” Peggy took Julie’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a husband is a terrible thing. I’m so glad my son was grown when I lost mine. He was a great source of comfort for me. If I can help in any way, please let me know.”

  “Thank you.” Julie watched as the cemetery workers began to cover the coffin. “There are times when I can’t believe he’s gone. I guess I’m still in shock.”

  “I’m sure. Especially with all the difficulty trying to find out what happened to him.”

  “Yes. That’s been hard. It was bad enough thinking some homeless man killed him for his shoes. But now to find out one of his girlfriends did it.” A delicate shudder ran through her diminutive frame.

  “One of them?” Peggy seized on her words. “Was there more than one?”

  Julie smiled. “My husband led a full and active life, Mrs. Lee. He was a very vigorous man. I couldn’t keep up with his needs. We had an understanding. He was a good husband and a good father.”

  “You’re a better woman than me. If I’d found out my husband was sleeping around, I’m not sure what I would’ve done. I guess it’s my Irish temper. John would’ve had a bad headache from the frying pan I hit him with, if nothing else. Men can be such a burden.”

  “That’s true. But it’s the way God intended it. Women are supposed to be chaste, except when they’re bearing children. Men don’t have those restrictions. I suppose it’s all part of the infinite plan.”

  Peggy agreed in principle. “I wish you well, Julie.” She looked down at the green grass still untouched by frost beneath the two-hundred-year-old oak tree. “Oh look, a clover. I’ll pick it for you for luck.”

  Julie stayed her hand. “That’s a five-leaf clover, Mrs. Lee. Those are unlucky. Only the four-leaf kind brings good fortune.”

  “Well, you don’t need that then, do you?” Peggy smiled at her. “Take care, Julie.”

  Making her way back to the bike rack, Peggy dialed the number for the Potting Shed on her cell phone. “I have something I have to check into, Selena. Can you watch the shop for a little while longer?”

  “HEY PEGGY ! I HAVEN’T SEEN you in ages! What have you been doing with yourself?”

  “Hi, Mort.” Peggy closed the door to the tiny florist shop in the East End. The scent of carnations, roses, and mums was overpowering. “I’ve been busy as always. How about you?”

  “Me, too.” The man continued working on a large floral wedding arrangement. “What can I get for you?”

  “I saw some of your work today.” She wandered through the shop, looking at the huge striped tiger lilies and masses of baby’s breath. “It was a little strange.”

  He laughed. “But it made you look at the tag, right? That’s what’s important. Are you talking about the Simpsons’ baby shower? That cradle made out of bachelor’s buttons was an inspiration. The problem was getting so many pale pink flowers. I had to order on-line from a dozen hot-houses.”

  “I wish I’d seen that, Mort. But I was talking about the wreath at the Warner funeral.”

  “Oh. That.” He sighed and lost his smile. “You know I didn’t come up with the idea for that monstrosity. But you do what the customer wants, right?”

  “Right.” She touched the velvet petals on a rose. “There wasn’t a sympathy card on it. Who was the customer?”

  “Now, Peggy. You know I can’t tell you. Some of my customers rely on my discretion. If people thought I’d take their orders and tell everyone who had them made up, I’d lose a lot of cheating husbands and unfaithful wives.”

  She laughed
as she neared the counter where he was working. “Like a lawyer or a doctor, right?”

  “Exactly. I have a reputation to protect.”

  “Did you ever do business with Mark Warner?”

  “I guess it won’t hurt to admit it since he’s not gonna be much of a customer anymore. But, yeah, he was a big spender. Liked to send the ladies plenty of flowers.”

  Peggy snapped the end off a red carnation and handed it to him. “What about Mrs. Warner?”

  Mort put the flower in place on the arrangement. “If you tell anyone else, I’ll deny it.”

  “So she’s bought flowers here before?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.

  “Only this one time.” He snapped the end off another carnation. “The woman knew what she wanted. I think she knew what those flowers meant.”