Poisoned Petals

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  “Looking for some company?” Her father walked out of the house when he saw her.

  “Aren’t you and Mom doing something today?”

  He scratched his head. “She’s going to some crystal shop on the outskirts of town with your aunt. I’d rather do almost anything else.”

  “You know, it would be okay if you just said you’d rather be with me,” she told him. “But hop in. I’m going to set out a garden, so you’d better be prepared to work.”

  “Got a spare pair of gloves?”

  “Always.”

  She took her little truck to the Potting Shed, where they hitched up the trailer and loaded the magnolia tree, seven white rosebushes, twelve gardenia bushes, two white angel’s trumpets, plus shovels, rakes, pine bark, and mulch.

  She also added a statue she found that she thought Mrs. Turnbrell might like in the garden dedicated to her mother. It was a mother and child carved in white marble. It was large enough to see but not ostentatious.

  “That’s beautiful,” her father exclaimed after she checked in with Selena. “Why don’t they do father and child statues?”

  “I don’t know. Artists celebrate the mother-child bond.”

  He glanced at her as she backed out of the Potting Shed parking lot. “That’s what I mean! Mothers like your friend, Rosie, go off and raise their children alone. People make statues of mothers and children. What about the father figure? Like that comedienne always used to say, fathers get no respect!”

  Peggy laughed. “Maybe that could be your cause for the next thirty years.”

  Her phone rang. It was Al, finally returning a call. She explained to him about the cottonseeds she’d found in both offices, Darmus’s claim that he was drugged, and reiterated Holles Harwood’s intense interest in becoming the director of Feed America.

  “Peggy.” Al sighed, long-suffering. “None of those things are relevant. We have the records from the group showing substantial withdrawals before Luther took it over.”

  “Holles had access to those,” she argued. “He was Darmus’s assistant. And Holles is a botanist. It would have been simple for him to zap that hyacinth.”

  “Why not kill Darmus if he was willing to kill? Why drug him?”

  “Maybe he thought he could control him that way. Maybe he didn’t think about Darmus giving the group to Luther.”

  “Which brings us back to Darmus.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

  “Once in a while, you should turn on the news. That’s why people have TVs. Darmus confessed to killing his brother and stealing the money from Feed America this morning. He’s back in custody and has waived his right to trial. He’s guilty, Peggy. I’m sorry. I have to go back to work now.”

  She said good-bye and closed her phone.

  “What’s wrong?” her father asked.

  She told him what happened. “What would make Darmus do that?”

  “You mean besides a guilty conscience?”

  She pulled the truck into Mrs. Turnbrell’s yard, wishing now she hadn’t promised to do the job so she could spend the day finding out what happened to Darmus. But she was committed, and her customer was already out in the yard, waiting for them.

  Ranson waved to Mrs. Turnbrell. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to lay in this garden, Dad. Then I’m going to find out what happened.”

  Peggy had plenty of time to think as she started digging in the yard. Holles had to be at the bottom of this. He had contact with Darmus now that he was out of jail. He might even have found a way to introduce more fly agaric into Darmus’s bloodstream.

  She kept turning over the soil in the large, undulating spot they’d chosen for the white garden. Darmus sounded lucid to her when she saw him last, but that could change quickly with the right amount of hallucinogen.

  Or was it rational? In her experience, there was only one thing that could make a man do insane things. He was trying to protect someone. She needed some advice on what to do next, so she put in a call to Hunter Ollson.

  Thankfully, the dirt in the yard was well turned already. Down through the hundred years the house had been there, the hard, orange clay had been replaced by soft, black dirt. And Mrs. Turnbrell had already asked her lawn care service to dig up the spot she liked for the garden. All Peggy and her father had to do was lay it out and fill it in.

  Mrs. Turnbrell, Denise, as she insisted, didn’t like the idea of Peggy and her father out there alone working, so she put on some scrub clothes and gloves to lend a hand. They debated over the placement of the magnolia tree the most, since it would grow tall and broad and could hurt the rest of the garden by making it too shady. Finally, they agreed to put it in a corner.

  Denise made lemonade and cucumber sandwiches on white bread and brought them out while they all exclaimed over the white statue. “Wouldn’t a white fountain be nice, too?”

  “It would add a nice touch,” Peggy agreed.

  Hunter came up as they were finishing lunch. She took off her six-inch heels to walk across the thick, wet grass to get to Peggy. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. What’s up? You sounded frantic on the phone.”

  Peggy told her about the new development in Darmus’s case. “I don’t know if he’s still out of his head or not.”

  “Maybe his lawyer should plead diminished capacity.”

  “Could he do that?”

  “You said the police knew Darmus had the mushroom in his bloodstream.” Hunter unwrapped a rosebush while she talked. “They should know what it does, right? If not, you could tell them.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “And why are you talking to me instead of Darmus’s lawyer?”

  “The Council of Churches owns his lawyer. I don’t know if he’ll do what’s best for Darmus or for the churches.”

  “I suppose that’s true. He should’ve hired me. I haven’t had a decent case since—”

  “Something doesn’t make any sense,” Peggy interrupted her. “Darmus is drugged, decides to pretend to kill himself. Luther helps him with that poor man’s body they found in the house.”

  “Money is missing from Feed America,” her father continued. “At least one person wants Darmus’s position. But Luther is dead. And everything points toward Holles.”

  “Holles?” Hunter frowned. “There can’t be more than one person with that name! Sam’s friend?”

  “Yes.” Peggy explained what she knew about him.

  “So you think he killed Luther and drugged Darmus?” Hunter put a rosebush in the hole Peggy’s father dug for it.

  “But why would Darmus turn himself in to the police again?” Denise asked as she put mulch around the plant and watered it. “Surely he didn’t do it to protect Holles?”

  “No.” Peggy’s habit of thinking out loud had put another person in the loop. “But Darmus might have done it to protect his new family from a trial.”

  Hunter snorted. “It’s better to be guilty than to defend yourself?”

  Peggy stopped digging and looked at her. “It might be if something could come out at that trial that would be embarrassing for them.”

  “Like what?” Hunter debated.

  “I’m not sure,” Peggy answered. “I’ll have to ask Darmus.”

  “Good luck trying to see him.”

  “I know.”

  Denise shaded her eyes against the midday sun and looked down her driveway. “Looks like we have company.”

  It was Steve. He came up the hill toward them. Peggy felt her face go red despite the floppy hat and sunscreen she wore. But it had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with the new passion she saw in his eyes when he smiled at her. Who would have thought I’d ever see that look in another man’s eyes? Truly, no one ever knew what was going to happen next.

  “How are things going?” he asked everyone, but his gaze was on her.

  “Fine,” her father told him. “We’ve made good progress.”

  �
��Maybe I can help. I have a few hours before my next appointment.”

  With Steve’s help, the task went even faster. The magnolia tree was in the ground, despite some hard shale they encountered. All but three of the roses were planted, and there was only one gardenia left to plant.

  Peggy warned Denise that the angel’s trumpet they’d planted was sensitive to chilly weather. “It would be better to cover it until you’re sure it won’t get too cold at night.”

  Denise nodded, looking for a place to put the mother and child statue. She looked up when Sam’s truck parked on the street. “You have a lot of friends, Peggy! No wonder your shop is so popular.”

  Peggy waved to Sam and Keeley. They came up the hill slowly, their clothes already dirty. Keeley had a big streak of dirt across her nose.

  “I guess you don’t need our help.” Sam surveyed the scene. “I should have known you’d find some way to get it done just to prove me wrong.”

  “That’s not true. But it was sweet of you to come,” she replied. “I think the garden is going to turn out okay.”

  “I think so, too.” He put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, Peggy, I’m sorry for acting the way I did about this. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Don’t go there, Sam.” Steve dug another rosebush hole.

  “I know.” Sam smiled and shook his head. “I promise to try not to do it again.”

  “Nice wording,” Hunter said. “You could still be a lawyer.”

  “No thanks.” He looked at the plants that were still out of the ground. “Let’s wrap this up, huh? I have plans for tonight”

  “With Holles?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Peggy, you should tell him.”

  “Tell me what?” Sam picked up a shovel.

  “Your friend might be a killer,” Ranson said. “You should know.”

  “That’s stupid.” Sam glanced at Peggy. “This has your fingers all over it.”

  Peggy told him what she knew about Holles, including his visit to her and the cottonseeds she’d found. “I think he may be involved.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Holles isn’t a killer!” Sam exclaimed. “Just because there are cottonseeds around doesn’t mean anything. I know he’s ambitious, but that doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “I agree,” Peggy said. “But there are the other things as well.”

  “He sounds a little dangerous to me,” Denise added.

  They all turned to look at her. She smiled and blushed before turning back to look for the best place for her statue.

  “Anyway,” Sam began again, “Holles isn’t guilty of anything. Let’s move on to the next suspect.”

  “Do we know the identify of the dead man Darmus and Luther used to fake Darmus’s death?” Hunter spat grass out of her mouth as she threw a shovelful of dirt into the air by accident.

  “Yes,” Peggy said. “Why? Do you think he could be part of the equation?”

  “I know Luther says that man didn’t have a family or anything. But what if he did have a family, and they’re getting revenge on Darmus?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam criticized.

  Hunter glared at him. “I agree. I think your boyfriend being a killer makes more sense.”

  Peggy stepped between the brother and sister. “Okay, you two! This won’t get us anywhere.”

  “Neither will blaming Holles for this. He’s a little driven, Peggy. But no more than Hunter.” Sam dropped the last gardenia into the ground at his feet. “We don’t think she killed anyone, do we?”

  “Maybe I’ll leave now.” Hunter got up off the grassy slope. “It was nice until you got here. Let me know if I can do anything to help, Peggy.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “Anything to keep you and the extra dirt out of our hair.”

  When Hunter was gone, Sam started shoveling dirt in to cover the root balls on the rosebush Steve had just planted. “You don’t really think Holles had anything to do with what happened to Luther, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” Peggy admitted. “And maybe Hunter had the right idea. Maybe what happened has nothing to do with Feed America. What if I’ve been looking so hard in one direction that I’ve missed the real answer?”

  “But what is the real answer?” Steve questioned.

  “I don’t know yet.” Peggy placed the white mother and child statue in a sunny place near the last gardenia as Denise suggested. “But it’s there. I just have to find it.”

  When the garden was done, Denise thanked them all. “I’d like to do something to help you with Darmus, Peggy.”

  “Thank you, but there’s not much that can be done.” When was she going to learn not to involve strangers in her quest for the truth?

  “How about if I could get you into the jail to see your friend and ask him a few questions?”

  Ranson smiled. “Is your husband a lawyer or a judge?”

  “Not my husband.” Denise smiled and took off her gardening gloves. “I’ve been a circuit court judge for sixteen years. I think I could get you in there.”

  Peggy was astounded. “Thank you. That would be great!”

  “I’ll set it up and give you a call. Don’t forget to find a pretty white fountain for me.”

  “I won’t,” Peggy promised. “I’ll let you know when I have one for you to look at.”

  Peggy went home to shower and change. She’d promised to spend some time with her mother and Aunt Mayfield after checking in on the Potting Shed. They were going to the Mint Museum to look at a quilt display.

  It was a difficult promise to keep when what she really wanted to do was spend all her time trying to find out what happened to Luther and Darmus. She kept going over it in her mind as Aunt Mayfield and her mother remarked on the green squares in one quilt and the yellow triangles in another. She was the first to admit she didn’t know much about textiles. They were gorgeous to look at, but when it came to sewing, she was all thumbs.

  “Look at the color in that one, Margaret.” Aunt Mayfield nudged her when she wasn’t paying enough attention. “Have you ever seen the like?”

  “It’s not as good as Maw-Maw’s,” Lilla answered. “Now she knew how to make a quilt! Made it in half the time it takes most people, too!”

  “That woman could do anything,” Aunt Mayfield agreed with a shake of her glossy brown curls.

  Peggy looked at the quilt that hung on the wall in the museum. It was supposed to resemble watermelon slices, green outside, red inside, thick with black seeds. The slices were turned all different ways, connecting in a pattern that was probably difficult to make. She had a hard time just looking at it. But then she never cared much for abstract art.

  The repetitive pattern made her think about other things, too. Everything was repeated in the universe. It was a scientific fact. Patterns were what made meteorology, biology, and astronomy work. They showed people what to expect in a series of seemingly random events.

  There was a pattern that was happening in Darmus’s life right now. Every step was following it. It should be possible to anticipate the next step. If she could just see what the pattern was!

  “Margaret?” Her mother brought her attention back to them. “Aunt Mayfield and I would love to go to that ice cream place Sam was telling us about. The one with the really thick milkshakes.”

  “MaggieMoo’s. All right.” Peggy glanced at her watch. She had enough time to do that and then go to the Potting Shed to close up for the night. Darmus was getting lost in the shuffle of events that were making up the pattern of her life right now. It couldn’t be helped. She was only one woman in search of the truth.

  MaggieMoo’s ice cream parlor was crowded, like usual. Peggy had to insist they get their milkshakes to go so she could drive them home. Although she’d promised Selena she’d be there by five, she was already running late. Honestly, she didn’t know why the poor girl put up with her abuse, bless her heart!

  Her mother and Aunt
Mayfield were a little put out, but they drank their triple-thick shakes in the car without complaint. Peggy felt sure their silence was mostly due to the big straws in their mouths. They were too busy sucking to voice their grievances.

  Peggy had to drop them off at the house without going in. As she turned to back out of the drive, she noticed stiff muscles in places she wasn’t used to having them. It was the white garden. She wasn’t used to digging, hoeing, and planting. It was something more, too. Peggy smiled at the recollection of that morning at Steve’s, which started so badly but ended so well.

  But now wasn’t the time to daydream, she reminded herself as she tried to maneuver down Providence Road in heavy Charlotte traffic. It was already ten after five. She deserved to have Selena quit on her for her carelessness. She didn’t know what had happened to her. She was always on time when John was alive. But maybe that was because of John and not her. Funny how the lines between people could get blurred after spending so many years together.

  She finally reached Brevard Court and parked her truck behind the Potting Shed. As she started to run inside, she realized her legs were refusing to oblige. Grimacing, she walked slowly up the back stairs, with all of her poor abused body complaining it needed a nice, long, hot bath if she wanted to keep going at her usual frantic pace.

  Selena was sitting behind the counter, getting receipts together and patiently checking out stock lists to be sure they matched what she’d sold that day.

  “I’m so sorry,” Peggy said, putting down her pocketbook. “Time got away from me.”

  “It’s okay.” Selena sighed. “You’re so lucky to have a life. I wish I had one.”

  Peggy realized she was in for one of Selena’s sulks. But she figured she deserved it. She’d left her alone all day. “What’s wrong?”

  Selena sighed again. “People love you, Peggy. They do things for you. No one loves me. No one does anything for me. They barely know I exist.”

  “I think you need a night out with some friends.” Peggy shooed her out from behind the counter. “Put your sandals on and call a few girlfriends. I want to treat you for all the extra things you’ve done for me lately.”