Poisoned Petals plgm-3

by Joyce Lavene

  Peggy sat in Steve’s car for a long time looking at the white bag that contained Luther’s clothes. Ambulances rushed in and out from beneath the hospital’s wide canopy. The rain fell harder, and walkers scurried to find shelter. She didn’t realize how long she’d sat there until she noticed that it was dark.

  So this is what it is to grow old, she reflected on a melancholy bent. Your friends die. Your husband dies. The world changes and goes on without you.

  She was trying to keep John’s memory alive. There was the little plaque by the Potting Shed door, and the part of the Community Garden dedicated to him. All those things she did to keep him part of her life. She and Luther intended to do the same for Darmus. Now those plans were gone, too. Nothing stayed the same.

  Her cell phone rang in her pocketbook. It was Steve. He probably wanted to know where she was; she had left him with her parents for eight hours. People died, but life went on. The world wouldn’t be the same without Darmus and Luther. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “I was worried about you.” Steve’s voice was husky and quiet on the phone. “I heard about Luther’s death on the news. I’m sorry, Peggy.”

  “Me, too.” She fought to hold back new tears. “Is everything okay there?”

  “Yeah. We ordered pizza for dinner. Everyone is watching the History Channel right now.”

  “Thank you so much for staying with them.”

  “Are you coming home? Do you want me to come and get you?”

  She laughed. “I have your car and the keys for my truck. That might be difficult.”

  “I can ride your bike if I have to. It’s not that far. Sam heard about Luther, too. He’s here with me and Paul.”

  New friends, her mind whispered through her grief. That’s what happens. Life goes on and brings new friends and new loves. The seasons of life change, but flowers still bloom in the spring. The sun rises every day. Seeds are planted, and new flowers grow.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

  “All right. I’ll give you ten with traffic.”

  “Thanks, Steve.” She put away her phone and started the car. Life was too short at any age for the people you loved to die. Luther would be missed, but he wouldn’t be forgotten.

  5

  Cattail

  Botanical: Typha latifolia

  Family: Typhaceae

  This plant is found worldwide in swamps and bogs, along roadways and railroad tracks. All parts of it are edible. Native Americans have used it for generations for food and to weave baskets. A glue can be made from the stem. The pollen is used in fireworks.

  WHEN SHE GOT HOME and saw her family, Steve, Sam, and Paul waiting for her, Peggy started crying all over again. It distressed everyone so much that she forced herself to stop. She had to explain to her parents who Luther was and why he was important to her. She had to explain why she’d never brought Darmus home to meet them.

  But there really was no good explanation. It just never happened. Either they were away or Darmus was busy. Paul had a baseball game or John had to work. It was always something.

  “Are you hungry?” Steve asked quietly at her side.

  “Not really.” She sniffed. “But some tea would be nice.”

  “Chamomile, right?”

  “Yes. Thanks. With a touch of borage. It’s in the blue canister on the cabinet.”

  “Sit down,” her mother advised. “You’ll feel better.”

  Peggy didn’t remark, as she once would have, that sitting or standing, she’d feel the same. Some of that rebellious spirit she had as a child left her when she got married, had Paul, and grew more mature. Maybe her parents didn’t have all the answers, as her literal redheaded version of herself had once accused them. But she didn’t, either. It took a long time to see the truth.

  “How did it happen?” Sam asked. “I saw Luther at the garden yesterday. He looked okay to me.”

  “Holles thinks it might have been a heart attack. He said Luther had been hiding a heart condition so he could continue Darmus’s work. They probably don’t know yet what happened. I assume they’ll do an autopsy on him.”

  “Thank God he wasn’t a victim of violence.” Cousin Melvin snorted into sudden wakefulness. He had sleep apnea that caused him to fall asleep anytime, anywhere, when he was still for more than a few minutes. “That would be a terrible way to die.”

  “I don’t think he was,” Peggy reassured him. “I don’t know anyone who would hurt him anyway.”

  “There’s a lot of gang activity in that area,” Paul told them. “It was one of our concerns about putting the garden on Seventh Street in the first place.”

  “I’m sure the officers would have told Holles if Luther was injured or murdered.” Peggy took the fragrant cup of tea from Steve with a watery smile. She felt it all start to bubble up in her again. If she didn’t find something else to think about, she wasn’t going to stop crying that night.

  “It’s a terrible thing anyway.” Her father put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you lost your friend, Margaret.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and Peggy pushed herself to her feet. “I appreciate everyone’s concern, but it’s over. We have to move on. Has Paul showed you my plants in the basement yet?”

  They all looked at her as though she’d turned green and grown an extra head.

  “Margaret,” her mother reminded her, “grieving is a natural part of the process.”

  “It might be,” her daughter acknowledged, “but I’m not going to walk around blubbering because Luther and Darmus are gone. They wouldn’t like it any better than I would.”

  Her father nodded. “Okay, sweet pea. You can show us your garden if you want to.”

  It sounded conciliatory to her, but she wasn’t going to press it. She felt like a piece of sponge cake that had been left out in the rain. Inside, she was slowly crumbling but fighting not to let everyone else see it. Her hands trembled and her legs were unsteady as she led the way downstairs. Sam turned on the lights as they went down the old wood staircase that swept into the basement.

  Peggy was always better here. This huge room was the heart of who she was. In one corner was her large pond where the new cattails she planted were growing. They were a new breed and were heartier and able to grow broader spikes and thicker roots to divide. The cattail was almost completely edible. It was possible to make a flour substance from the tops and boil the roots like potatoes. In an increasing effort to help feed the poor of the world, Peggy had joined a group of botanists who were encouraging and expanding the number of native plants that could be grown as food.

  “Over here are my hardy soybean plants. I’m working to try to get them to grow in less than an inch of topsoil in extreme conditions, hot or cold.” She bit her lip when she realized she was about to mimic Darmus’s words to her. “There can never be too much research into the idea that no one on this planet should ever go hungry.”

  “Are these blue gourds?” Her father was looking through another section of the basement. “I don’t know how well they feed the hungry, but I sure like ’em.”

  Peggy smiled. “I’m just playing with those. Like the Carolina Flamingo parrot tulips in the front yard. I can’t be serious all the time, and neither can my plants!”

  When there was nothing else to see in the basement, she moved them all upstairs. Cousin Melvin was visibly drooping after going through the downstairs tour of the house. She stopped at the thirty-two-foot blue spruce in the foyer. “I’m sorry for dragging you through this. Maybe we should all get a good night’s sleep and start again tomorrow.”

  Paul kissed her cheek. “I’m going, too. I’ll see all of you for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, stay the night, Paul,” his grandmother coaxed. “That way, we’ll see you some in the morning, too.”

  “Wish I could, Grama, but I have to work tonight. I think I better go home.” He kissed her cheek, and she hugged him.

  “
All right. But try to come early tomorrow evening. We haven’t heard about your girlfriend yet.”

  Paul glanced at Peggy, who shrugged. “There isn’t a girlfriend right now,” he said. “I’m kind of between.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” his grandfather declared. “A fine-looking boy like you and a professional, too! What are the young women up here thinking? If you lived in Charleston—”

  “Go now, Paul,” Peggy warned, “before he launches into his speech about the graces of Charleston.”

  “Margaret!” Her father looked shocked. “Charleston is your home, too! I think your son would prosper there.”

  “Not tonight, Dad. Good night, Paul. See you tomorrow.”

  Ranson and Lilla kissed their grandson and said their good nights to him as Cousin Melvin and Aunt Mayfield found their bedrooms.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, too, banning any emergency,” Steve told Peggy. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she replied without thinking. “I’m always fine.”

  He hugged her as Paul waved before walking out the front door. “Take it easy on yourself, huh? This has been a shock. And just for the record, you didn’t look fine when you came home. No one is fine all the time, Margaret Anne.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not you, too!”

  “Okay. Just wanted to make sure I had your attention. You were looking a little glazed over there for a minute.” Steve smiled and waved to her parents. “Good night. It was nice meeting both of you.”

  Ranson shook his hand. “You, too, Steve. I hope to see you again before we have to leave for home.”

  “I’ll find some excuse to be here tomorrow.”

  “Great!”

  When the heavy oak door closed behind him and the dead bolt slid into place, she and her parents started up the wide circular marble staircase that led to the second floor.

  “Steve’s very nice,” her mother said with a sigh. “He lives close by?”

  “Yes.” Peggy switched off the downstairs lights, leaving only a soft glow that illuminated the stairway. “We’ve become very close in the last few months.”

  “I could see that”

  Peggy’s eyebrows lifted.

  “He knew where to find everything in your kitchen!”

  “Sometimes I think he uses it more than I do,” Peggy replied with a smile.

  “That’s very close.”

  “Not tonight, Lil,” Ranson said, wrapping one arm around Peggy’s shoulders. “Good night, sweet pea. Get a good night’s sleep so your mother can interrogate you in the morning.”

  Lilla nudged him in the chest with her elbow, then hugged her daughter. “We’ll talk, won’t we, Margaret?”

  There was no real answer to that. Of course they’d talk. Some of it would be great. Some of it, like always, would make her want to run away. Her mother had that effect on her. She loved her, but it was hard to be her daughter and be so different sometimes.

  Peggy smiled and waited until they were in their bedroom before she urged Shakespeare into her room and closed the door. Steve was right. It had been a bad day. Tomorrow would be better. She needed some sleep and a better frame of mind.

  The melancholy that sank into her after learning about Darmus’s death was bad enough. She wasn’t close to Luther, but he pulled himself together when he had to. He truly rose to the occasion. But being brutally honest with herself, she knew she was more depressed because his death brought everything back about Darmus’s death. She didn’t want that sadness hanging over her shoulder again, whispering in her ear before she went to sleep.

  She put on some soft blue cotton shorts and a tank top. Shakespeare lay on the bed watching her, tail thumping when he thought she might come near enough to scratch his head.

  The presence of other people in the big old house again was a strange feeling. It had been so long since there was more than just her there. Paul occasionally spent the night, but they usually ended up downstairs talking until morning. It wasn’t the same as having people sleeping around her. She missed that sometimes.

  Mostly, her life and memories of time with John filled the house, even when she was alone. She rarely thought of it as being empty. There was always so much to do and so much to plan to do. More than one friend pointed out how busy her life had become since John’s death. She supposed it was her answer to grief. But for her, it was better than lying in bed crying every night or running back home to her mother and father.

  Peggy lay down on the bed next to Shakespeare but couldn’t sleep. She stroked his fur and thought about Darmus. He had a lot of plans, too, and a lot of dreams. He always had. His dark eyes glowed with them when he spoke. There was a fire in him that wouldn’t be quenched.

  She thought about the fire again. She couldn’t help it. She saw Darmus lying next to the stove. The arson investigator said he was standing next to it, trying to light it when it didn’t come on. Not the brightest thing from a brilliant man. Why didn’t he smell the gas? She could smell it from outside.

  She recalled how cold his arm had been when she tried to move him. She sat up in bed. Was that something she remembered to tell the investigator when she talked to him at the hospital that day? Why was he so cold? Even if he’d died the instant the stove blew up, he wouldn’t have been dead long enough to be cold. She’d tried to put it from her mind. Now it came back to haunt her.

  And why did Luther have Darmus’s wedding band when he died in the garden? It should have been on Darmus’s finger. She’d seen his will. He’d asked to be buried with it. It had never been off his finger since he and Rosie broke up.

  Peggy realized she’d accidentally put it into her pocket instead of putting it back into the bag with Luther’s possessions. She got up and took it out and looked at it.

  There was no doubt it was Darmus’s. She remembered him showing it to her when he was planning to propose to Rosie. The fact that he still wore it and had never remarried told her he never really got over Rosie. He might have been dedicated to his causes, but he always held Rosie in his heart. What would he have said if he’d known they had a son together?

  She wished he’d confided in her more. He was a very private person. She knew him better than anyone but always knew he held back. Darmus was very conscious of his role as a teacher and a facilitator. He wanted people to admire him to the point of shutting people away from the real person he was.

  He never welcomed the spotlight Feed America brought him. He seldom appeared in public except for his classes. He let other volunteers take the limelight for his accomplishments.

  He wanted to work behind the scenes, but sometimes Peggy felt he lost himself in trying to be an icon for the world. His view became too lofty and too untenable. They’d argued about some of his extreme ideas. Peggy always took the middle ground. Now she regretted those arguments. He wanted to be more than his humble beginnings in Blacks-burg, South Carolina. She understood that concept now.

  She was almost asleep when she heard the ping of her computer telling her she had email. Thinking a diversion might be nice, she went to check it out.

  Good evening, Nightrose.

  Peggy sat back in her chair with a sigh. She hadn’t heard from Nightflyer in weeks. Her online chess partner and sometimes informant was always sketchy about his appearances and disappearances, but she thought she’d ask anyway.

  Where have you been? She typed back to him.

  Busy, as always. Would you like to play some chess?

  That would be nice. The usual site?

  You know me. I have a link to a new place.

  Peggy agreed, though she didn’t really know him. All she knew about him was what he wanted her to know. She knew he’d been with the CIA when John was alive. She knew he worked with John. But otherwise, she was in the dark about Nightflyer, except he was either paranoid or really needed to be careful. She couldn’t tell which.

  He appeared when he wanted to, usually out of the blue, and played a very good game of chess. He knew
things about people, things he shouldn’t know. He’d explained that away as curiosity. She’d accepted the explanation but privately thought he must sit around monitoring information constantly. Where he was when he was doing that was a mystery to her.

  She’d had him investigated by the police when she first met him online. Then he proved himself to her with knowledge about John she didn’t believe he could get any other way but by knowing him. And she remembered John telling her he worked with a strange man from the CIA on a case. Nightflyer had been helpful to her, but she was always a little wary of him. She was always a little excited when she heard from him, too, she admitted, even though she was way too old to feel that way about some strange man! Especially with Steve in her life.