“The truth about what happened to Park is more important than Beth staying out of trouble,” Peggy told her. “I know she’ll feel that way, too.”
“I think I found something.” Selena held up a small jar from the other side of the hill. “It’s definitely a honey jar.” She slapped at a few ants who were keeping warm in the trash and didn’t want to let go of their prize. “Can we go home now?”
“Does it have a blue label?” Peggy asked.
“No.” Selena looked at the jar again, her hopeful smile fading. “It’s white. Does it have to be a blue label?”
“The jar we’re looking for has a blue label.” Peggy started sorting through her trash again. “Sorry, sweetie. I forgot to tell you.”
“That’s okay.” Selena tossed the jar over her shoulder. “I’ll look for one with a blue label until I fall down and die of disease from being out here in this cesspool of human waste.”
“Wow! Nice words,” the soccer player beside her exclaimed. “Will you marry me and write my next thesis?”
They continued searching past midnight as garbage trucks continued to come in and dump their loads around them. It was cold but thankfully, not raining. The orange sky looked far off behind the glaring lights, bright stars invisible. The stench was overpowering. From time to time, someone groaned as they stepped into a partial cheesecake or a half-eaten chicken carcass.
Peggy’s back was beginning to ache and her fingers were numb, but she kept digging. Doubt was beginning to seep in with the cold. Hunter’s words nagged at her.
Even if they could find the jar and she could prove her theory about what happened to Park, who would benefit from it? It could reopen the investigation into her friend’s death. She was worried about Beth. A deeper inquiry would bring out some unpleasant facts about the couple that had managed to stay hidden so far. If someone had hurt Park, she didn’t want him or her to get away. Yet at what price? Foxx and Reddman stood to lose both their parents if Beth went to jail.
It was the scientist in her that kept her from calling off the whole thing. Discovering the truth and understanding what made something happen drove her. She could never put away a jigsaw or crossword puzzle until the whole thing was finished. She couldn’t stop wondering until she knew what happened to Park either. She hoped he’d want it that way, too. She prayed they could prove Beth wasn’t involved in any way.
Sam yelled from the top of the hill. Weary workers stood up and stretched as he ran down toward them. “I think I found it, Peggy! You said a blue label, right?”
She looked at the jar Sam held up in the light. It was the jar from the welcome basket given to Park by the hotel in Philadelphia. The label was a little messed up with some trash on it, but the jar was intact with the cap on tight. Peggy held it up to the light. The honey was at the same level she saw it on Beth’s kitchen cabinet. “You’re right, Sam. Good work! We can all go home now.”
Steve and Hunter stood beside her and looked at the dark gold, syrupy fluid. The hot, white lights made it seem brighter than it was, showing the small particles in the otherwise clear substance.
“I hope it’s worth it,” Hunter said, transfixed by it.
“I hope so, too.” Peggy put the bottle into a resealable plastic bag for protection. “We should know in a few hours. I have samples of honey and pollen in my collection. If I’m right, this could be what killed Park.”
“No matter what, didn’t the car accident still kill him?” Steve asked.
“Not if there were contributing factors,” Hunter explained. “I mean, technically, the crash still killed him. But if something made him crash, something someone did to him, it’s a whole other ball game.”
Peggy thanked everyone for coming and offered to take them all out for breakfast. No one had the heart to eat anything with the way they smelled. All of them agreed to a rain check on the food.
“Where are the TV cameras?” The landfill manager glanced around the empty drive as everyone was leaving and he was tucking in his clean shirt. “You promised me TV cameras.”
“They’ll be here.” Peggy walked by him quickly. “You’ll get your ten seconds of fame. Thanks for your help.”
He turned away and made a grunting sound. She wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or blowing her off. Either way, if she was right, there would be television cameras. If she was wrong, she supposed she owed the man fifty dollars.
Steve threw sheets over the car seats in the Vue. “I’m prepared this time. I’ve learned to expect the unexpected when I’m with you.”
“You’re a wise man.” She sighed heavily as she got in the car with the precious jar they’d all given up a night’s sleep for. “I hope to God I’m right.”
“Well, it’s only a theory. Anyone can make a mistake. You’ll have to look at something else if you’re wrong.”
“No, I mean I hope I’m right doing this. Sometimes all branches of science get so eager to show everyone the possibilities, to find the facts, they forget not everyone might be ready for them.”
Steve covered her hand with his. “If someone poisoned your friend, you’re right to find out. I’d want my friend to do that for me, even if it made other people’s lives uncomfortable for a while. You’re doing the last thing you’ll ever do for him, Peggy. Don’t feel bad about it.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure if Beth will feel the same way. But I appreciate the sentiment and the support.”
Steve dropped her off at her house. “I’d come in, but I have to go home and stand in the shower for an hour or two while I burn these clothes. Let me know if you find anything. I’ll be glad to go with you to the police or to talk to Beth. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
“And I’d kiss you for offering.” She grinned. “But I don’t think we should get that close. With both of us smelling this bad, it could cause some kind of explosion that would destroy the very fabric of time.”
He laughed. “No more science fiction for you. Good night, Peggy. I’ll talk to you later.” He didn’t try to kiss her.
AN HOUR LATER, AFTER taking a long shower, Peggy threw away her ancient gray sweat suit. She walked Shakespeare after cleaning up what was left of Mai’s begonia, which he’d managed to knock on the floor. There wasn’t much, but she found one healthy stem just above a leaf node and cut it off. After dipping the end in rooting hormone, she put the cutting in some moist potting soil and said a little prayer over it as she put it into the kitchen window. It couldn’t hurt.
Peggy sat down at the kitchen table when she was finished and looked at the jar of honey in the plastic bag. It would be simple to throw it back in the garbage. Hunter, Sam, and the other kids out there at the landfill wouldn’t care what happened now that the adventure was over. Hunter might even welcome not seeing the jar again. Peggy could explain to Steve, and he’d understand.
It was only that nagging voice in the back of her head that drove her to search for the jar once she’d thought about the bee pollen found in Park’s system. It was seeing Park’s tired face at the hotel when he invited her to dinner when they got home. It was recalling when he stood beside her as they lowered John’s coffin into the ground. Sense and reason were fighting a losing battle against those powerful images in her mind.
If she was right and the honey was poisoned, the chances were the police would begin looking at Beth again as a suspect. She had opportunity. They’d argue she had motive. Peggy couldn’t offer them a better suspect. She didn’t know for sure she ever could. How much satisfaction would there be in seeing Beth behind bars for a crime Peggy knew she didn’t commit? To see her children raised by grandparents or strangers?
She roused herself from her slumped, exhausted position at the kitchen table. On the other hand, if the honey was poisoned and it was responsible for Park’s death, someone killed her friend. Or at least contributed to his death. She had a responsibility to him as well. She had to trust her instincts. Beth didn’t do this. She had to believe they would find the person who d
id this to Park, even if Beth had to suffer some discomfort while they searched for the truth.
Making the decision gave her the strength to put the kettle on the stove and go upstairs to get dressed. She had no classes that day, but she was due at Whiskers and Paws for Shakespeare’s first obedience class that afternoon. Plenty of time to go in and talk to Mai and spend some time at the Potting Shed.
She put on her warm cranberry-red sweater and matching wool slacks, then fussed with her hair before finally covering it with a cranberry wool cap. She drank her tea and ate some orange bread before closing Shakespeare into the laundry room. “You only have yourself to blame,” she told the whining Great Dane. “If you’ll stop vandalizing the house, I’ll let you out. Until then, you’re under restriction.”
Peggy rode her bicycle through the early morning traffic before rush hour. It was cold, frost making her face feel tight. There was light on the horizon behind the tall buildings that made up the downtown area of Charlotte as the sun began to rise. It would be another hard night for the trees and plants around the city. The heavy white frost lay thick as icing on a birthday cake as she locked her bike in the rack outside the uptown precinct.
“Can I help you?” the sergeant behind the desk asked brusquely when she walked through the door.
She glanced at the three men and one woman already waiting in the outer area. They looked back at her with vacant stares and hostile expressions. “I’d like to see Mai Sato. Is she in?”
“Not yet. Take a seat.”
Peggy sat by the side door that led to the offices in the back. John had worked here for twenty years, but everything had changed since he died. Once in a while, she met someone who’d worked with him. Mostly his friends were retired or had changed divisions.
She looked at the ficus she’d managed to save from extinction last fall. The police department didn’t have the budget to hire the Potting Shed or any other plant service to take care of the random plants at each of the precincts, according to Al. Moving the plant away from the door helped it survive in the hostile office environment, but it wouldn’t last for long without some care. She stuck her fingers in the soil. It was too dry. She’d mention it to Mai when she saw her. Someone had to water the thing once in a while, and she didn’t see that task falling to Jonas or Al.
Mai finally came in about forty-five minutes later. “Peggy! What are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story.” Peggy stood up on stiff legs from her hard wood chair. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure. I have a meeting at ten. But I’d love to talk to you until then.” Mai took Peggy back to her office that wasn’t much larger than a broom closet.
Peggy explained about her theory and her hunt through the landfill during the night as Mai made coffee.
The assistant ME’s eyes widened as she listened. “I can’t believe you did that!” She hit herself in the forehead with the palm of her hand. “What am I saying? Of course I can. Did you bring the honey with you?”
Peggy pulled it out of her book bag. She set the jar in the plastic bag on Mai’s desk. “I haven’t tested it yet. I thought it might be better if we did it here.”
Mai didn’t touch the plastic bag, just looked at it. “You know, even if we find the same pollen in this honey, we won’t be able to use it as evidence. Anything could’ve been added or tampered with other ways.”
“I understand the chain of evidence.” Peggy’s green eyes were thoughtful. “But if the enzymes you found in Park’s body match the enzymes in the honey he got from the hotel, it might give you something to work with that you can use as evidence.”
“This could bring forward a case against his wife.” Mai didn’t shrink from telling her the truth. “She had opportunity, since the honey was at home with him. She had motive, ten million dollars’ worth of motive. You could be opening up a big can of worms with this jar.”
Peggy sighed and looked at the jar. “I know.”
Mai put on surgical gloves. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
11
Sassafras
Botanical: Sassafras albidum
Family: N. O. Lauraceae
Sassafras was used by Native Americans for infections and gastrointestinal problems. It was one of the first exports from the New World as a beverage and medicine, the originator of the term “root beer.”
“IT’S DEFINITELY HORSE CHESTNUT honey.” Mai looked at the two samples under the microscope. “And it matches the pollen we found in Mr. Lamonte. Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”
Peggy sighed. It was a bittersweet victory for her since there was no way of knowing how it would affect Beth. “The horse chestnut tree is so poisonous, it will kill the bees that harvest the pollen for the honey. But you know how persistent bees are. They keep going, passing it on to the next workers, all the while eventually killing the hive.”
“My poison chart tells me these trees only grow in California.” Mai took off her glasses. “This honey came from Pennsylvania.”
“Your poison chart is partially correct,” Peggy agreed. “But the trees also grow in Ohio and a few other states. The horse chestnut is actually in the same family as our own native buckeye. So the honey could be harvested in a good many places. But no respectable honey grower would allow that tree near their bees.”
“I suppose the question then would be who put the poisoned honey in the jar. Was it an accident or something done on purpose?”
“We should contact this producer, Elmwood Farms, and see what they know about it. There may be other tainted jars.”
Mai nodded. “I’ll run this by the ME and see what he thinks. I hope you realize that if this is the only jar, the problem is going to fall in Mrs. Lamonte’s lap again.”
Peggy understood that possibility and hoped it was just a bad batch of honey, as tragic as that would be. “Have you heard anything about Isabelle’s autopsy?”
“Not yet. I’m sure that will be another factor.” Mai shrugged. “If her death is ruled an accident, the daughter-in-law will be less attractive for a case about the husband.”
“Thanks, Mai. Please keep me posted.”
Mai squeezed her hand. “I will. You did the right thing. I know it had to be hard for you.”
“Let’s hope for the best, shall we?” Peggy gathered her book bag and coat. She was almost out the door when she ran into Jonas.
He stepped back out of the way for her to leave Mai’s office. Then he recognized her. “Please tell me you aren’t here to help with anything.” He sneezed and blew his nose on a handkerchief.
“I told you all those bottled-up emotions would give you a cold! I’m here to visit Mai,” she maintained. “You act like I wasn’t a big help solving the Warner case. You know, you could use a forensic botanist on staff.”
He sneezed a few times, then laughed. “We don’t have a budget for anything right now, Peggy. I’m not sure what a forensic botanist does, but I’ll let you know if the position becomes available. As for the Warner case, that was dumb luck and being in the right place at the wrong time. I hope you realize you were lucky you weren’t killed.”
“I hope you realize you’d have the wrong person in jail right now if it weren’t for me,” she scolded, not caring about the interested onlookers in the hall. “And a forensic botanist can do many things for a police department, including help catch people who use poison to murder people.”
“I realize I could’ve had another dead body to add to my homicide file if you weren’t so lucky!” he said in a nasal voice, then glanced at Mai, who looked away. “And if I hear of anyone from this department helping you, he or she will face suspension. Amateurs don’t belong in this business! We’re the police, not some Girl Scout group looking to earn merit badges!
“I’m sure he or she is quaking.” Peggy moved smoothly past him. “You need to relax, Jonas. You’re not doing a bit of good for your stomach, you know. You have to watch that!”
“Look. I like you, Pe
ggy. I really do. You’re a good person, and I know you mean well. But this isn’t the place for a good person to help out. Try the Salvation Army or the Red Cross.”
Before she could speak, Jonas slammed the door to Mai’s office with her on the outside. She could hear him questioning the girl from the hall. It wouldn’t do him any good. The deed was already done. She knew Mai wouldn’t knuckle under to him. Really, he could be such a tyrant!
Peggy unlocked her bike from the rack outside after an unproductive discussion about the state of the plants in the precinct building with the desk sergeant. Why have plants at all if no one wanted to care for them? The sergeant was unsure why the ficus was there, but he didn’t plan on watering it. He told her he’d be happy to set it out on the street, if that would make her happy. She left before she did any more damage.
Charlotte streets were picking up traffic as the brilliant blue sky beamed down on them. The smells of the city—bus diesel, coffee, garbage, and rubber from a hastily applied brake—assailed her. She was glad to finally reach the Potting Shed and shut herself inside with the aroma of potting soil and old wood. It would be wonderful to lose herself in her plants for a while and not think about death and dying. Plants were the ultimate faith in life. When she planted a small sprout and watched it grow, she knew she was adding to the chain of life.
An order of Hoop’s blue spruce and Gold Mop thread cypress arrived as soon as she got her coat off and started getting set up for what she hoped would be a busy workday. She signed the delivery sheet for the driver, then got to work moving the two-foot trees into the back storage area.
All twenty of the trees were on back order from a company in the North Carolina mountains. They were hearty, beautiful trees that would provide their owners with years of enjoyment. The blue spruce wouldn’t grow as big here as in a cooler climate, but it would still be a nice ornamental. With its milky blue needles and conelike shape, it would enhance any yard.
Fruit of the Poisoned Tree Page 16
