Poisoned Petals

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

She reached into the closet for her ugly black hat and jammed it down on her head. She was never sure why she kept the thing until an emergency like this one came up. Then she was glad she had it. But she was definitely buying a new one for Darmus’s funeral. If there was a funeral!

  Another memoriam was in the paper that morning, this time from his fellow professors at UNCC. The service was being held at Mangum’s on the east side in two days. She didn’t plan to wait until there was a room full of mourners to find out the truth. Her plan was to go to the mortuary, take a long, last look at her friend, and make sure it was really Darmus lying there. Then she could put her mind at ease.

  Darmus was scheduled to be cremated in two days after the memorial service. She might not have another chance to make this right. Or feel like a damn fool trying!

  She went downstairs in a two-piece Anne Klein suit that had seen better days. The lightweight weave was a little nubby in places, but it suited her purpose. She didn’t want to wear her best. Lord knew what she was going to have to do once she got to the mortuary. But she was determined to do whatever was necessary to find out what happened to Darmus.

  “Good morning again, Margaret.” Her father kissed her forehead. “You’re lookin’ a trifle dark now. I thought your friend’s funeral wasn’t until the day after tomorrow?”

  Paul was there, eating the last of the stale donuts. His green eyes, so much like hers and her father’s, narrowed. “Where are you going, Mom? Don’t you have to open the Potting Shed?”

  “I have to go to Mangum’s Mortuary to meet the funeral director and go over Darmus’s service.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue. She picked up a cup and poured herself some coffee. She needed something stronger than another cup of herb tea.

  Paul nodded. “Oh yeah. Wish I could go with you, but I’m on duty again in twenty minutes.”

  She smiled at him, proud, despite herself, of how he looked in his dark blue patrolman’s uniform. It brought memories of her husband back to her. John walked a beat for ten years before making detective. His patrolman’s uniform was still in her closet. She couldn’t bear to part with it after he died. “That’s too bad. It would be nice not to have to go alone.”

  “I’ll go with you,” her father volunteered.

  Peggy tried to back herself out of the lie. “No, that’s all right. Where’s Mom? I thought you were going to the mall?”

  “She’s a little under the weather. Said she isn’t getting up until noon. You’d never guess she’s been a farmer’s wife for fifty-two years.” He shrugged. “I can go with you. No one should have to do these things alone.”

  She hadn’t anticipated her father volunteering to go with her. Now she had to find some way to talk him out of it. “Steve is meeting me there. It’s fine.”

  As if the world was determined to thwart her, Steve knocked on the side door that led into the kitchen. He saw the group standing near the coffeepot on the counter and let himself into the house. “Good morning.” He kissed the side of Peggy’s head. “You look a little funereal this morning.”

  Paul frowned. “What are you up to, Mom?”

  She finished her coffee and took Steve’s arm. “I’m not ‘up to’ anything. Steve stopped by to pick me up after all.”

  Steve smiled and punted. “That’s right. I’m here to pick you up and go out. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is everyone going . . . where we’re going?”

  “No. Just the two of us.”

  “Ah!” He smiled, a few lines fanning out from his eyes. “A romantic tryst.”

  “Not exactly,” she denied. “But let’s go. We’ll be late.”

  “Let me ride along with you,” her father said. “I’ll be the only one up for hours once Paul leaves.”

  “There’s not a problem with that, is there?” Paul watched her face.

  “Not at all. I’ll talk to you later.” She kissed her son’s cheek. “Don’t look like that! You’d think I tried to steal the Statue of Liberty and the Hope diamond!”

  “You have done a few things I wish I didn’t know about. Promise me you aren’t going to do anything weird.”

  She smiled and patted his cheek. “Definitely not, dear. Have a nice day. I’ll see you for dinner.”

  “What was he talking about, Margaret?” her father asked once they were outside the house in the cool morning air. Fog swirled around the gnarled old oak trees and cloaked the morning sun. “Have you done something weird lately?”

  Steve grinned. “Did she do weird stuff as a kid?”

  “All the time,” her father confided. “There was that time they were going to cut down an old oak in the village square. She chained herself to it. The fire department had to get a locksmith to get her off. She’s a pistol.”

  “So what are we doing weird this morning, Margaret?” Steve asked her.

  “Nothing. I believe you have a surgery this morning. You told me about it last night.”

  He swore softly. “That’s right A poodle with a growth on his ear.”

  “Wow! I’d like to see that!” Her father beamed.

  “Good. Why don’t you go with Steve, and he’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll see the two of you later.” Peggy was already walking toward the garage as she spoke. Sometimes things worked out okay anyway.

  “But I’d rather spend the time with you, sweet pea,” her father said. “Especially if you’re going to be alone.”

  “I’ll be fine, Dad.”

  Steve’s forehead furrowed. “What do you have in mind, Peggy?”

  “Nothing weird or unusual. I just have to do a few things at the mortuary prior to Darmus’s memorial service. That’s all.”

  “Then I want to go with you.” Her father decided the matter. “Maybe next time, Steve.”

  “Yes, sir.” Steve nodded toward him, but his worried eyes stayed on Peggy. “Maybe you can keep her out of trouble. I don’t seem to be able to.”

  Her father laughed. “Hasn’t worked out for me, either, son. But I’ll do my best.”

  Peggy had enough of their banter. Really, you’d think she was a teenager! She pressed the remote to open the garage and took out her keys. Her father was going with her. There wasn’t much she could do about it.

  Her truck started up easily when she turned the key. Her father climbed in after her and smoothed his hand over the dark interior. “This is a beauty!”

  “Thanks. The back is filled with batteries, but it hauls a trailer pretty well. I can drive it around town on a single charge.”

  “Wow! Did you do it yourself?”

  “With some help from an engineering friend and a mechanic.”

  “I have a tractor I’m tinkering with. It’ll burn hydrogen when I’m done with it.”

  “Great minds,” she quoted, then applied herself to redirecting his attention. “Listen, Dad. I’ll drop you off at a coffee shop near the mortuary. Then when I’m done, I’ll pick you up.”

  “Don’t be silly, Margaret! I’ll go with you, and then we can both get some coffee afterward.”

  She argued with him, but nothing she said changed his mind. Sighing over the stubborn men in her life, she finally gave in. “I do have something unusual planned. I’m not really going to the mortuary to check on things for the memorial service. Not exactly anyway.”

  “Really?” He grinned. “Could’ve fooled me!”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “I’m the man who had to drag you home after they unchained you from that tree, little lady. You can’t fib to me. I don’t know about Steve and Paul. But I don’t think they believed you weren’t doing something weird, either. They just weren’t as stubborn about going with you.”

  “All right.” She detailed her plan for him. “Once I do this, I’ll know one way or another about Darmus. No one else is going to look for this but me. I have to check it out.”

  “You’re like a starving dog with a bone.” He shook his head. “But I understand that you have to know the t
ruth. What can I do to help?”

  6

  Lemon Verbena

  Botanical: Aloysia triphylla

  Family: Verbenaceae

  Lemon verbena was brought to Europe by Spanish explorers in the seventeenth century from Argentina and Chile. It was grown for its lemony oil that was used in perfume and beverages until cheaper lemongrass oil replaced it. The plant has medicinal sedative properties.

  TOGETHER, PEGGY AND HER FATHER walked into the venerable Charlotte mortuary whose sign boasted being part of the community for over one hundred years. The austere whitewashed brick building was only slightly softened by hundreds of boxwoods surrounding it. These were cut into such tortuous shapes that it pained Peggy’s eyes to look at them.

  “What is wrong with those bushes?” her father whispered as they walked into the cool interior.

  “Bad pruning. Don’t worry. The Potting Shed didn’t do it.”

  “Can I help you?” They were met immediately at the double front door entrance by a young man in a dark blue suit and no-frills white shirt. The interior of the building was as forbidding as the exterior. Muted mauve and gray dominated the walls, which also held displays of awards and certificates. There were huge sprays of pink and white gladioli on every table. But instead of offsetting the feeling of being in a mortuary, they enhanced it.

  “We’re interested in finding a coffin.” She smiled and patted her father’s hand.

  “Preplanning.” The young man sighed and smiled at the heavens above him. “What a wonderful gift to give your loved ones. What did you have in mind?”

  “I want something showy. You know what I mean?” Her father took over the discussion, wrapping his arm around the young man’s thin shoulders and walking toward the tasteful display of coffins they could see in the next room. “None of that plain urn stuff. I want a big, gaudy coffin. The Cadillac. You know what I mean, son? I want to be noticed when I go out.”

  He sounded like a Texas oil magnate, but it worked. The young man was so enthralled by the idea of a pricey funeral that he totally missed Peggy slipping out of the cold room. She went quickly past the array of wall sconces and niche urns, still hearing her father’s voice booming in the eerie quiet.

  Now that she was here, she almost lost her nerve. How was she going to find Darmus’s coffin? What was she going to say if someone stopped her and asked what she was doing?

  “Excuse me.” A young woman stopped her. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Peggy answered with more aplomb than she felt. “I’m looking for—for my stepbrother, Darmus Appleby. I flew in from Charleston to see him before the memorial service. My brother, Luther, said he arranged it for me.”

  “Oh dear.” The woman glanced at her planner. “I don’t have anything about it.”

  “I have something here from Luther, if that would help.”

  “I should probably call him.”

  “Well that’s part of the problem. Luther is dead now, too.” Peggy’s heart was beating fast. She broke out sobbing for all she was worth. She staged some of it, but some was real. She was crying for Darmus and Luther, for John and her good friend, Park Lamonte. All were men who died too early. Then there was her Aunt Sue and her cousin, Velma, who died in a boating accident last year. Poor, pretty, young Velma.

  “I don’t see what harm it can do.” The young woman put away her planner and smiled at Peggy. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Peggy blew her nose on a delicate lace handkerchief she’d brought specially. Normally, she despised them. Germ carriers.

  “I’ll take you back and give you a few minutes with the deceased.”

  “Thank you.” Peggy sniffled in her crushed black felt hat and worn black suit. “Thank you so much.”

  But when they got to the holding area where the deceased loved ones waited for their memorial services, Darmus’s coffin was sealed.

  “I had so wanted to see his face one more time,” Peggy complained. What am I going to do now?

  “Oh dear,” the young woman in the dark brocade suit muttered. “I forgot the coffin was sealed. There wasn’t supposed to be a viewing. No one realized you were coming.”

  Peggy dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “We had a falling out. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”

  “Of course not.” The woman patted her hand. “I can’t do anything about the coffin being sealed. I’m sorry. I can give you a few minutes of private time with him. That’s the best I can do.”

  It would have to be enough. “Thank you.” Peggy smiled at her and sat down beside the huge bronze-colored coffin. “I’ll just sit here with him for a while.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll come back and check on you.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, dear.” Peggy looked around the room as the woman left her. It was filled with coffins and flowers. She concentrated on the flowers and their meanings. Gardenia plants said I love you secretly. Daisy was for loyal love. Gladiolus meant sincerity. Forget-me-not said memories. Cyclamen for good-bye. Even orange daylily for hatred. The freezing air was perfumed by them. She wondered how many people knew what the flowers they sent really meant.

  But enough romanticizing flowers. It was always too easy to fall back into the world she loved. She had a job to do, and there was no time to be squeamish. She didn’t anticipate the body being locked in a sealed coffin. It could look suspiciously like another attempt to conceal Darmus’s identity.

  Of course, Darmus was badly burned, her logical side argued. It wouldn’t be unheard of to keep the coffin sealed. In any case, she had a sturdy letter opener with a rose top in her pocketbook. It was a gift from the National Gardening Association. She always carried it with her in case she needed to protect herself. She’d never used it, but it seemed a fitting way to break it in.

  Carefully, she slid the long, thin blade between the top and bottom of the coffin lid. There appeared to be a silicone gel between them. The letter opener cut through it slowly, but it wasn’t easy. She was making progress when she heard voices coming into the room.

  Looking around for a place to hide before they kicked her out, Peggy went for the most sensible opportunity. There were several empty coffins, probably used for display, scattered around the huge, dimly lit room. With only a small moment of squeamish repugnance, she selected a silver coffin, climbed inside, and closed herself in it.

  There was enough room for her to lie flat on her back, and that was all. She felt the satin lining around her face, under her hands and neck. It smelled like new material. Her skin crawled at the thought of being closed inside the thing, but she was glad she had done it when she heard the voices in the room around her.

  “We’ll have Mr. Austin set up for later today.” It was the voice of the young man who’d been talking to her father. Where is Dad?

  “What about that old guy wandering around out there?”

  “He’s fine. Trying to pick out the right coffin. I wanted to give him a few minutes to get himself together. He was a little emotional.”

  “All right. Don’t give him too long. He’ll be out the door faster than you can count sheep!”

  Both men laughed. Then she heard the sound of their footsteps on the marble floor and the door closing. At least she was alone again. Peggy sighed and pushed at the coffin lid.

  It wouldn’t budge. A thrill of fear trickled down her spine.

  She tried again. Nothing. Some locking mechanism must have moved into place. Or maybe it wasn’t made to be opened from the inside. A panic born of unscientific imagination coursed through her. She wanted to bang her fists against the lid until someone came.

  Relax! She forced herself to take deep, even breaths. I’m not buried alive or anything. Not even close to an Edgar Allan Poe story. Think!

  Her mind raced and her heart thumped loudly in the muffled silence. She could always scream when someone came back into the room. What if no one comes back for hours? I could always . . .

  Cell phone! It was in h
er pocket. She inched her hand down her side until her fingers touched it. Actually, the coffin was rather spacious. There was plenty of room to move her arms and legs. She could even lift her head a little.

  Never mind! Sometimes she wished her brain would be a trifle less analytical.

  She brought the cell phone back up to her face. That part was a little tricky, even though the sides weren’t tight against her. The whisper of her hand moving against the satin liner made her shiver. But she managed to get the phone up and flip it open. The blue light came on.

  The light was haunting in the utter darkness. She had her father’s cell phone on speed dial, but when she pushed the button, there was no response. She tried again. The call went straight to voice mail. The third time, she left him a message. “Dad, I’m trapped in a coffin. Please come into the third room on the right and look for the silver coffin.” The beep sounded to end the message. Peggy finished anyway. “Please hurry.”

  She closed the phone, keeping it against her heart. She felt better. If he didn’t answer, she could call 911. She could even call Mangum’s and tell them she was trapped. She could plead a lapse in brain function made her fall over into the coffin. As long as someone came and got her out, she didn’t care!

  She heard the door to the room open and close again and then there was a swish-thump noise. Forgetting she didn’t want to get caught, she kicked her feet against the coffin lid and screamed for all she was worth. When the lid finally opened, she popped up like hot toast.

  “I thought you were trying to sneak in here and do this, Margaret. You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.” Ranson nodded at the coffins around them. “Excuse the pun, folks.”

  She hugged him tightly, and he helped her climb out of the coffin. “I climbed in here to hide, and the lid stuck.”

  He examined the inside of the coffin. “Not quite ready yet, huh?”

  She shivered. “Not yet, Dad. Thanks.”

  “So, did you find out what you came here to find out?”

  “Not yet.” She didn’t realize she’d left her purse on the floor by Darmus’s coffin until she noticed the letter opener still jammed in the side of the bronze coffin. It was a miracle no one else noticed. It reminded her that people see what they expect to see. “But I’m not leaving until I do.”