5 Buried By Buttercups

by Joyce

  Buried by Buttercups

  A Peggy Lee Garden Mystery

  By

  Joyce and Jim Lavene

  Copyright © 2012 by Joyce Lavene and Jim Lavene

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Emmie Anne Studios

  http://emmieannestudios.blogspot.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Garden Journal

  About the Authors

  Chapter One

  Angel’s Trumpet- Brugmansia - Angel's Trumpet is related to Datura or Jimson weed. It is an evergreen shrub that can be trained as a small tree. Produces large, drooping, trumpet-shaped flowers in white or pink shades. Wonderful fragrance. All parts of this plant are hallucinogenic and poisonous. Do not plant around children or pets. The basis for the drug Scopolamine.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Peggy Lee realized a 30-something man was trying to get her attention. He looked a little scruffy—needed a shave and a change of clothes. When he flashed his badge, she knew he must be a police detective or undercover officer.

  He was standing right beside her, but she’d been so interested in the investigation going on in the park that she hadn’t noticed him until he spoke.

  She glanced around herself. Had she strayed out of the boundaries set for the crowd? No. She was right where she should have been, even a little further back than those around her.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Detective Tanner Edwards. Lieutenant McDonald would like to speak to you.”

  She sighed. Now what? She couldn’t even show up at crime scenes without people getting their noses out of joint? The crime scene was right across the street from her house, for goodness sake. There were dozens of people watching what was going on.

  Peggy followed the detective out of the crowd. She could feel questioning gazes burn her back as people around her wondered why she was being escorted toward the cordoned-off space.

  She ducked under the tape. The fine fall weather had turned chilly during the night. A low fog had set in across the open ground. The branches of hundred-year-old pin oaks looked ghostly in it with their scarce, dangling leaves.

  The majority of the leaves had turned yellow and spun to the damp ground, sliding under her feet. The dogwoods’ leaves were red and green and had showy red berries that made a splash in the dim morning.

  There was still grass underfoot that was lush and green thanks to the hard work and chemicals used by the Mecklenburg County Parks and Rec Department. There wouldn’t be any worms living in that treated soil—a crime in itself. Most people didn’t seem to care.

  “Peggy!” Lieutenant Al McDonald greeted her with a cheerful smile. “Would you like some coffee? I’m sure there’s an extra cup around here somewhere.”

  She raised one cinnamon-colored brow in his direction. “It hasn’t been that long since we’ve seen each other, Al. You know I don’t drink coffee. Thanks for offering.”

  Al McDonald had been her first husband’s partner on the Charlotte Police force for twenty years. The men had spent hours together, shared each other’s lives. When Peggy’s husband, John, had been killed in a domestic dispute, it was Al who’d brought her the bad news.

  “That’s right. Sorry.” Al scratched the top of his head. His coarse, black, curly hair was graying now. His broad, dark face was aging but very dear to her. “I guess I was thrown off by this murder.”

  “Murder?” She tried to peek around the side of his much larger form. There was a body covered on the damp ground that she hadn’t been able to see from her previous vantage point. “What happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. You live right across the road. Did you see anything unusual?”

  Peggy knew Al had been recently promoted to lieutenant in the homicide division. She was sure he felt plenty of eyes on him too. Not only from the people who surrounded them, but his superiors as well.

  “The only thing I saw was the police cars pulling up earlier this morning. When do you think it happened?”

  “The ME says around midnight. You weren’t out walking your dog that late, were you?”

  Her green eyes narrowed. Of course he knew she wasn’t out walking Shakespeare at midnight. The Meyer’s Park area, with its hundred year old homes, was a quiet neighborhood. Not many people were out that late at night.

  “What is it you really want from me?” she asked, a little sharply. “We both know I’ve been on the outs with the police department. Are you asking for my help?”

  He laughed, sounding a little nervous. His dark brown eyes shifted away from her. “You were on the outs with Lieutenant Rimer, not me. He didn’t like your methods. I’ve known you most of my life. I could use your expertise on this one.”

  She smiled at him and squeezed his arm. “Why didn’t you say so? I take it you think the murder involves botanical poison.”

  Al took her elbow and led her toward the victim on the ground. “This is for your ears only, Peggy. I think we might have a serial killer in Charlotte. And he picked my division to kill people. How lucky can one new lieutenant get?”

  “How does Mary feel about your promotion?” Peggy stared at the form covered by a tarp. “Last time I talked to her, she wanted you to retire.”

  He shrugged his large shoulders. He’d once played football in college and still maintained that bulk that had made him a formidable fullback. “You know how it is. Mary wants me to retire. If I keep working for a few more years, I can retire with a better pension. She likes that idea. She always wanted to retire at the beach.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Peggy knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. They were standing by the victim. Drops of mist were falling on them from the pin oak branches. Peggy shivered, telling herself it was because of the chilly morning, not the fact that she was about to view a dead body.

  “Are you okay with this?” Al knew better, but asked anyway.

  “I’m fine.”

  Al had one of his officers flip back the gray tarp. There was a man in a suit and tie beneath it. His face was ghastly white and his eyes were closed. There didn’t appear to be any bruises or signs of violence on his person, at least from the waist up.

  Peggy’s sharp eyes saw at once why Al had called her over. Tucked into the pocket of his suit coat was a bunch of buttercups. The bright yellow color made the red of the man’s tie stand out even more against his white shirt.

  “Buttercups,” she said. “Not your usual boutonnière—and out of season. Do you think those have something to do with the murder?”

  “You don’t recognize him by any chance, do you? Maybe someone from the neighborhood?” His voice whispered like the leaves falling from the trees around them, as he drew her away from the body.

  “No. I’m sorry.” She tried to put the dead face from her mind.

  When they were well away from the crowd, Al finally got down to business.

  “I haven’t specifically told anyone about my serial-killer theory yet. I think this is victim number two. The first victim was found in similar circumstances with some white flower pinned to his chest. The ME called it Jimson weed.”

  Peggy didn’t like the sound of that. “Angel’s trumpet. Deadly poison.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Is it alphabetical?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Al glanced around at the crowd. “I hope this is it. I don’t need something like this as my first case.”

  “No, I suppose you d
on’t.” She smiled at the frown on his dark face. “How did I miss a person killed by angel’s trumpet in the paper?”

  “We didn’t release that information.” He shrugged. “I was hoping it would help identify the killer later.”

  “But now you have what appears to be a second victim killed by poison.”

  “We can’t tell for sure about this one yet. The ME says the poison appeared to be administered the same way.”

  “Was it ingested? Burned mouth and tongue?” she asked.

  He looked surprised. “No. Should that have been there too?”

  “Only if your victim ate the buttercups.”

  “The angel’s trumpet poison was injected into the first victim. This man had a needle mark in the same place, right side, just below the ear.”

  Her brows knit together. “No wonder you think the same person is responsible. I suppose you haven’t released that information yet either.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m trying to keep this as quiet as I can. I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything to anyone, especially the press.”

  “You know I won’t,” she promised. “What can I do to help?”

  “You could assist on this case. You’re trained to be a forensic botanist. I could get you on the payroll, at least for the investigation. I really need your help here, Peggy. No one knows poisonous plants like you do.”

  “There are some.” She grinned. “But they don’t live around here. I’d be glad to help. I could use the paycheck to keep The Potting Shed up and running.”

  “Tough times,” he agreed. “Thanks for helping me out. This is my first homicide case, as the lead officer, anyway. I need a big win to impress everyone if I’m going to retire on a lieutenant’s pension. I’ve got nothing right now.”

  “All right.” She put aside the fact that she’d been booted out of her forensic consultant’s position by his predecessor. This was different anyway. This was for Al. “I’ll come by the station later.”

  Al hugged her then looked around with a sheepish expression. Obviously he was worried how that would play with his superiors too.

  Peggy made her way back through the crowd. She saw several familiar faces, her neighbors for the past thirty years. One of them was new. She tried to hurry past him. It didn’t work.

  “Mrs. Lee.”

  Mr. Bellows—she didn’t know his first name—he’d introduced himself to her that way. He’d moved in next door to her last year. She’d only thought Clarice Weldon and her apricot-colored poodle, Poopsie, were annoying.

  Mr. Bellows complained about everything. He was creepy to boot with his sallow face and cold blue eyes. He was always stepping out in front of her, seemingly from nowhere.

  “Mr. Bellows.” What else could she do but acknowledge him?

  “I could hear your dog barking last night.”

  “I’m sorry. He was a little nervous. Steve isn’t home and he—”

  He raised one gloved hand. “I don’t care. These concerns are your own. Keep him quiet.”

  “I do the best I can.” She didn’t go on to say that she felt safer with Shakespeare barking when he’d heard something unusual, especially when she was in the big house alone. Mr. Bellows had made it clear that it didn’t matter to him.

  “Have you thought about selling your home and moving into the country with your menagerie?”

  Peggy’s temper flared. “I don’t think my one dog counts as a menagerie, Mr. Bellows. I’m sorry he bothered you. Maybe you should sleep with earplugs!”

  She stormed off, not caring what he thought of her. He was always complaining about how the gardenia bushes grew between their houses and that her crape myrtles blew purple flower petals into his yard. It was exasperating!

  It was still early enough that Queen’s Road wasn’t crowded with traffic headed for uptown Charlotte yet. She crossed the street to her house. She could hear Shakespeare barking loudly from outside. Bellows certainly wasn’t going to like that.

  Shakespeare was her one-hundred and forty-pound Great Dane. She’d rescued him from a man who’d been abusing him.

  The dog was always excited to see her and worried when she was gone. She’d had him for a couple of years and they got along very well together—especially since he was her first pet.

  She opened the side door to the kitchen. She hadn’t closed it and set the alarm as she should have. She’d only been gone for a short time and was close by. Her son, Paul, also a police officer, would have thrown a fit. Doors were made to be locked and alarms to be set. Peggy loved him dearly but he could be a little paranoid at times.

  Shakespeare greeted her by running toward her then pulling up short so that he slid across the hardwood floor in the large kitchen. She rubbed his head and gave him some breakfast as she put on the kettle for tea.

  Peggy had lived in the big, turn-of-the-century house since John Lee had brought her here from Charleston South Carolina as a young bride. He’d frequently complained about the quirks and problems with living in the rambling house which had belonged to several generations of his family.

  John had inherited the house, but Paul would not. At some point, John’s nephew would inherit. Until then, Peggy was staying put.

  Upkeep was ridiculous and sometimes improbable. It was difficult to replace items with duplicates when they were so old.

  She didn’t care. Peggy loved the old house as if it were a part of her family’s history. She loved the feel of the cool marble stairs on her feet in the summer. She loved all the nooks and crannies. She kept a thirty-foot blue spruce growing in the entrance hall. Each room in the house had a fireplace. The ceilings were still the original plaster.

  The basement was her passion. Here she dabbled and played with Mother Nature. In her botanical lab, she cross-pollinated and modified, looking for new varieties of plant life for pleasure as well as medicinal and other purposes.

  The basement sprawled the length and width of the entire house but it still wasn’t enough room for her ‘experiments’. French doors opened into an acre garden that she cultivated by the season. Here she once produced a coveted black rose.

  Under a two-hundred-year-old oak with branches thicker than her body, she grew purple mushrooms. She’d produced a small green melon that tasted exactly like a peach one summer. She’d also created a water lily that glowed in the dark.

  Someday she’d be forced to move a lifetime’s worth of work and memories somewhere else. Not today.

  Today, it looked as though she was going to help Al find a killer. First tea and an English muffin. She needed to take a shower and get dressed. She’d have to call her partner at The Potting Shed, Sam Ollson, and let him know what was going on. She’d need him to open the shop.

  She glanced at the laptop on the old wood kitchen table. There was a green light flashing. That meant Steve had called. With a little thrill, despite their old married status of one year, she went to answer it.

  Paul and Steve had taught her how to use Skype for when one of them were out of town. Steve was at a veterinary conference in Tampa for a few days. He attended dozens of conferences and workshops during the year.

  It was always good to hear his voice and see his face, even if sometimes he looked a little like a cartoon. That was only when they had a bad connection.

  “I didn’t know if you were going to answer,” he said after she’d logged in.

  “I was a little busy.”

  “Code words for getting caught up in your tomatoes or some other experiment in the basement.” He smiled at her. “I’m at least as important as a purple tomato.”

  “At least. How’s the conference?”

  “Boring. I’ve learned a few things about treating terriers and a new billing system that I’ll probably never use. How’s Shakespeare doing?”

  “He’s fine. Are you still coming back tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Is something up?”

  She laughed. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you look
particularly pleased with yourself. You’ve been worried for weeks about The Potting Shed. Now you look happy. New revenue source?”

  “I had a little good news this morning—well, good for me—not really good for the two people who died recently due to poison.”

  “They want you to work with the police again?” He looked surprised. “I thought you weren’t doing that anymore.”

  Peggy told him about Al asking her to help with the case. “I couldn’t say no. He needs me.”

  He shook his head. “Someone always does. Just be careful. I can’t rescue you from Tampa.”

  “Like you’ve ever had to rescue me.”

  “There was that time with the fire. And that time the man tried to shoot you.” He counted off his rescues on his fingers. Some of them were true—not all.

  “I’ll be extra careful until you get home.” She smiled at him, seeing his face that she’d once thought so ordinary, making her happier than anything else. “You be careful too. I’ll pick you up at the airport tomorrow. I love you.”

  “I love you too. If there are any changes to the schedule, I’ll let you know.”

  His face disappeared from the screen. Peggy touched the space where he’d been. This was better than not seeing him at all. Still, it left a lot to be desired. She’d be happy when he was home again.

  Despite their age difference—Peggy was almost ten years older—they were very happy together. She had never believed she would ever love another man after John. Steve Newsome had been a gift from heaven. He’d changed her life again just as she’d thought it was settled and over.

  She was about to close the laptop when she noticed an email had come in. She recognized the name. Nightflyer.

  It surprised her to hear from her old, online chess buddy. It had been a long time since he’d contacted her.

  Peggy opened her email, ignoring the hundreds of emails from fellow botanists and friends around the world.

  She read Nightflyer’s email. “More will come. What flower comes after buttercup?”

  Chapter Two