Peggy introduced the two men to Steve. She stumbled over naming him as her fiancé even though the flower-shaped ring gleamed on her finger. It would take some doing to get used to calling Steve the man she was going to marry.
The four of them sat down at a huge conference table that seemed to be little used. The conference room was almost pristine with its pale blue carpet and matching upholstery on the chairs. Good housekeeping, Peggy considered, not seeing a speck of dust anywhere in the room. Even more impressive, a tall ficus by the window was very well cared for. The soil looked as though it had been recently replaced, and the tree leaves were bright green and shiny.
“To bring the discussion up to where we are this evening,” Professor Burris began, “let me begin where Dr. Lee and I met at her shop.”
Peggy knew a lecture when she heard one. Not surprising, since Professor Burris had been teaching for a long time. Many of her colleagues knew only one way to relate information—lecturing as though it were a seminar. She interrupted as he took a breath to describe the plants she helped him purchase.
“What Professor Burris is trying to say is that I asked him about his experience with local historical artifacts.” She withdrew a photo of the carnelian ring from her pocketbook. “This is the ring in question. No one seems to know what it is or where it came from. It’s listed in the museum catalog as a carnelian ring circa 1863. I was hoping he would be able to tell me something about it.”
Professor Burris cleared his throat to speak, but Hawkins had already picked up the photo. He exclaimed, “Of course! I know this ring very well. That teenager they hired to take my place at the museum would recognize it, too, if he’d ever taken the time to read my notes. I left specific notes behind on every artifact cataloged during my time here.”
“Is it from the Civil War?” Peggy asked.
“Yes. It was one of four rings made with the emblem of one of the more prestigious companies to fight for the South. It was one of the last great efforts to commend the soldiers and their officers. The Confederacy ran out of money shortly after. It’s the only such ring left, as far as I know.”
“I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with Lois Mullis’s death in the newspapers,” Peggy said, “but I believe this ring may have played an important part in what happened to her.”
“How is that possible? The ring has been here in the case for the last ten years.” Hawkins peered at the photo again. “I thought Mrs. Mullis died at the lake.”
Peggy explained how she’d come to have possession of the ring. “We’re fairly sure Mrs. Mullis took the ring out of the case and, for whatever reason, transported it to the lake. She may have been killed for it.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Hawkins took out a large white handkerchief and mopped his brow with it. “That’s terrible! What is that new director thinking of, allowing artifacts to be checked out like this is the public library?”
“It wasn’t exactly his fault. Jonathon accused Mrs. Mullis of stealing that ring and a few other pieces. His accusation was ignored, possibly because she sat on the board of directors. He was accused in turn of leaving the museum door unlocked and facilitating thefts from the museum.”
“Yes. I suppose I could understand that. I wouldn’t have allowed it in my time here, but things change.” Hawkins shrugged. “I don’t know what else I can tell you, Dr. Lee. I’m glad the ring was found.”
“Did you know Mrs. Mullis?”
“Very well. She was an upstanding patron. Her husband was also a pillar of the museum. They both sat on the board for many years. It’s difficult for me to imagine Mrs. Mullis doing anything of this nature.” He paused and glanced at the three other people at the table. “Except, of course, for the feud.”
“Feud?” Professor Burris leaned forward on his elbows. “That sounds interesting, Stanly. What feud is that?”
“Well, it started when we received the ring and several other artifacts, which were supposedly owned by the same officer in that regiment I mentioned. Unfortunately, the artifacts were unearthed in a field in South Carolina, where this group fought their final battle. Because of that, there’s always been some question of which officer the artifacts, and the ring, belonged to.”
“You mean all four families of the officers who received the matching rings all claimed it?” Peggy took out a pad of paper, preparing to write their names.
“Not exactly.” Hawkins smiled in the quick, rabbitlike fashion of a man who’s used to appeasing others. “There are only two remaining families of the four officers. The other two died in the 1900s. Our question came into play when another family, who also sat on the museum board, challenged the ownership of the ring.”
“Only one?” Professor Burris shook his head. “Many fine Southern families were lost after the war.”
“Yes,” Hawkins continued. “The Waynewright family, Thomas and Agnes, were the other family. There was some debate between the families as to which officer the artifacts belonged to. Of course, since both families were heavy donors and important to the museum, we had to come up with a solution that would appease the Waynewrights and the Mullises.”
“So there was a feud between these two families about the ring?” Steve summed up.
“Maybe not so much a feud,” the retired museum director backtracked. “Perhaps that was the wrong terminology. It was more that both families believed they could claim ownership of the pieces, so neither would allow the ring to bear any name. We agreed to keep the artifacts and the ring anonymous.”
“And did that help?” Peggy’s mind was racing forward with the information.
“For the most part,” Hawkins said. “There were occasional flare-ups. You have to understand and appreciate how important historical significance is to some families in this area. We can be very history-proud, and these pieces would’ve meant a great deal to either family if it could claim them.”
“So Lois took the ring out of the case and had it in her pocketbook at the lake,” Peggy thought out loud. “But Mrs. Waynewright believed that ring was hers as well. She may have known from Jonathon that Lois had taken it.”
“But certainly you aren’t thinking that Agnes Waynewright would hurt Lois Mullis because of the ring, are you?” Hawkins asked with a nervous twitch near his eye. “I-I didn’t realize what I had to tell you would be repeated.”
“I’ll try not to repeat it if I can help it,” Peggy promised. “But this could be the missing information I’ve been looking for.” She thanked the two men, and Steve got to his feet beside her. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Hawkins.”
He stood quickly and came around the table to her. “Dr. Lee, you simply can’t tell anyone about this disagreement between the two families. It could ruin the museum. That young pup they have running it won’t know how to handle it.”
“I’m sure Dr. Lee will do what’s right with what you’ve told her,” Professor Burris assured him. “No matter what, you could be an anonymous source, Stanly. Don’t be so nervous. You aren’t the director anymore.”
Peggy asked to see the other artifacts claimed by both families. They weren’t as impressive as the carnelian ring: an old canteen, a compass, and a belt in another case. As with the ring, there was no identification beyond that the artifacts had been found in South Carolina and had belonged to a Confederate officer.
Hawkins pointed out some hollow gourds in the case that had been found on the battlefield. “The same men probably used these, too. Their survival equipment was as important as their trappings of wealth and society.”
When they had finished looking at the exhibit, Peggy thanked both men for meeting her there. Hawkins asked again about protecting what he’d told her. She promised nothing, but told him she’d do the best she could to keep him out of the fray.
When she and Steve were back in the truck, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and thought about the possibilities. “Mrs. Waynewright still drives. But if she wanted the ring so badly, why didn’t she go in the m
ud and get it?”
“Maybe she killed Lois, Lois dropped the ring, and Mrs. Waynewright thought it was lost in all that muck.”
“But why kill her now?” Peggy started the truck. “They’d been at peace over it for some time, according to Mr. Hawkins. Why now?”
“Maybe because Lois stole the ring from the case.” He shrugged and yawned. “How about if we talk about this over dinner? I’m starving.”
They talked about the ring as they ate pizza and watched a rerun of an old movie they both liked. Peggy’s mind was too busy with connecting all the dots for her to go right to bed at eleven, after the news. She went downstairs and spent some time on her experiments with Shakespeare at her feet.
She realized by two a.m. that she was going to have to pay Mrs. Waynewright a visit. She looked up the old lady’s address on the Internet, recalling what Jonathon had said about picking her up last that fateful morning, then managed to go to bed and close her eyes until the alarm went off at six.
PEGGY GOT THROUGH BREAKFAST, eating as she bustled around the kitchen. She was bristling with anticipation of what she’d learn that day. The night had brought some clarity as she considered what role Mrs. Waynewright could’ve played in Lois’s death.
“I hope you’re going to call Paul or Mai to go with you,” Steve said as he put his plate in the dishwasher. “I don’t think you should go by yourself, in case this woman really poisoned someone over some old stuff.”
“I’m just going over to talk to her, not accuse her. She’s at least eighty. She can’t convince me to eat poison berries, so I think I’m safe.”
Steve kissed her. “For my sake, and to keep me on schedule with my patients so I don’t have to go with you, call a buddy. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed. “I think Paul is off this morning. I’ll give him a call. But honestly, if this attitude continues, I might have to find another fiancé who doesn’t worry so much.”
“If that’s what you need to do”—he grinned wickedly—“be sure to put my ring in the mail.”
“Is that all I mean to you—this ring?”
“That and all the hours of worry I didn’t have before I met you. Look at my hair. I’m going gray.”
She hugged him and kissed him again. “I promise not to do anything that will worry you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Just to be on the safe side, call me when you leave the Waynewright house.”
She promised to call him, and waved as he pulled out of the drive. Fortunately, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him or make him go gray. She knew Mrs. Waynewright was basically harmless. Besides, all she planned to do was talk to her about the family feud. Where was the harm in that?
As she was leaving, her mother pulled up to the house and jumped out of her car. “Margaret! Geneva got the most astonishing phone call late last night. The old museum director—his name escapes me right now—told her Mrs. Waynewright might be responsible for what happened to Lois. Can you believe it?”
“No.” Peggy really couldn’t believe it. This made matters much worse. There was no doubt in her mind that Geneva had called Mrs. Waynewright as well. How was she supposed to go in and talk to her?
“Are you on your way to the Potting Shed?” her mother asked.
“No. Not exactly. At least, not until later. Selena is opening this morning. I have some business I have to take care of.”
“Great! Would you mind if I ride along with you? Your father wants to teach me to play some new game he’s learned. It sounds like peanut butter.”
“Pinochle,” Peggy supplied. “You play other games. What’s wrong with pinochle?”
“Ranson is becoming obsessed with games,” Lilla complained. “He’s at that senior center eight hours a day, playing one thing or another. Honestly, who thought he even liked playing games?”
Peggy didn’t particularly want to hear her mother complain about her father. But Lilla might be just the ticket for talking to Mrs. Waynewright without arousing her suspicion. “Okay. I’m on my over to the Waynewright house. I have a few questions I want to ask Mrs. Waynewright.”
“Oh, no! You aren’t going after her about this thing with Lois, are you?”
“No, of course not.” Lying to her mother was so much easier than lying to Steve. It might be because she’d had so much more practice at it. “I just need to know what she remembers from that day.”
Lilla went along despite her misgivings. The ride between the two houses was short even in Monday morning traffic. The first thing Peggy noticed as she got out of the truck was the yew bushes on the east side of the house.
A lot of people had them, she told herself. That in itself wasn’t cause for suspicion. If Mrs. Waynewright had wanted to use yew berries on Lois, she could’ve gotten them from the museum as well.
While she looked at the bushes, her mother was already at the front door of the impressive, redbrick, two-story house, ringing the bell. Peggy took a look around the yard, but everything was as it should be. The flower beds were perfectly mulched, though not a thing was blooming. The white trim on the house had recently been painted.
What was she looking for, anyway? Was she expecting a neon sign with an arrow pointing to Mrs. Waynewright’s house that said I’M GUILTY? She shook her head and quickly joined her mother as the front door opened.
A young Hispanic woman ushered them inside. The foyer was dark and a little dreary, but in good shape. It smelled wonderful thanks to a huge vase filled with star lilies. A dour man with a white wig stared out from his portrait near the entrance to the front sitting room. Peggy felt his eyes on her, and shivered. Was this the mysterious Civil War ancestor who may or may not have owned the carnelian ring?
“Mrs. Waynewright!” her mother gushed when she saw the older woman. “Margaret and I wanted to pay you a visit after hearing that terrible gossip being spread about you. Geneva told me what that man had to say. Can you imagine the nerve?”
Peggy suppressed a smile, now actually glad she’d brought her mother along. There was no ice to break or tiptoeing around the subject. “Yes, Mrs. Waynewright. This is a terrible thing.”
Agnes Waynewright sat stiffly in a nineteenth-century pecan rocking chair with excellent handwrought scroll-work on the arms and back. Her lap was covered by a blue crocheted blanket. She didn’t acknowledge them until they’d stood before her for several long moments. Finally she looked up. Her gray eyes were distant and foggy.
“Are you all right?” Lilla asked her.
“I’m quite all right,” she replied in a cold voice. She brought the biggest pistol Peggy had ever seen from under the blanket. “It’s you who should look to your own well-being.”
“That’s interesting. An 1851 Colt revolver. Thirty-six caliber, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve never seen one in person.” Lilla took a quick step back and threw up her hands. “I can leave if that’s better for you. I didn’t mean to cause you any anxiety.”
“I think you should both sit down over there on the settee.” Agnes Waynewright waved the gun at them.
Peggy realized this wasn’t a game—and, worse, just because the pistol was old didn’t mean it wouldn’t kill one of them. There was no doubt in her mind that the old lady couldn’t shoot both of them, but she really didn’t want to make a choice on which one that would be. “Mrs. Waynewright, this won’t help. If you’re responsible for Lois’s death—”
“Responsible?” The old lady cackled, near hysteria. “I killed Lois Mullis. I did what was necessary for the family honor. It was the least I could do for my great-great grandfather. All this time I’ve let it go that Lois had taken what was rightfully mine. And those men at the museum didn’t understand. They know nothing of honor and pride.”
“But why kill her now?” Peggy pushed, then bit her lip. This might not be the best time for answers. She glanced around the room, hoping the young Hispanic woman was watching, but she didn’t see her.
“You’re right, of course. I should’ve done it years a
go. It seemed the best for all involved if my great-great-grandfather’s ring was kept locked away at the museum, even if it didn’t bear his name. Then Lois took it and began taunting me with it. She told me she’d meet me early at the lake and let me see it. It was simple to put the yew berries into a plastic bag and offer her some. How was I to know she’d fall into the mud with the ring?”
Lilla choked. “So you really did kill her? I can’t believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter. Everyone will know now, since that fool of a museum director can’t keep his mouth shut. My name will be in the newspaper. My mother would die of shame. A lady never has her name in the newspaper.”
“Did you get the yew berries from your bushes outside?” Peggy asked as she saw Mrs. Waynewright was complacent about being caught.
“Yes. Seeing them that morning inspired me. I almost didn’t go through with it. Then Lois didn’t want me to touch the ring. Imagine! My own ancestor’s ring. Like her great-great-grandfather would’ve been awarded such a prize. He had to buy his commission, you know. What kind of gentleman does that?”
She went very quiet then, and the gun drifted into her lap. Lilla looked at her daughter. “What do we do now?” she whispered. “You do this kind of thing all the time. Should we take the gun from her or call 911?”
“I think we should do both.” Peggy got to her feet. “We may need an ambulance as well.”
“I’ll make the phone call. You take the gun.”
Peggy went over and put her hand on the old gun. She thought it probably wasn’t loaded, but she was wrong. The bullets were of a size that would’ve done some serious damage.
The old lady’s hand was like ice. She looked up as Peggy gently took the gun. “People don’t understand about honor anymore. If we’d been men, we could’ve dueled for the artifacts and the ring. It would’ve been so much more glorious. Honor would’ve been satisfied.”
Peggy didn’t know what to say. She took the gun and walked away.
A Corpse for Yew Page 26
