Peggy digested the information. She panicked just knowing her parents were coming. They hadn’t been there since John’s funeral. She always tried to be the one to visit them.
Aunt Mayfield was a difficult, complaining woman at best. Cousin Melvin had sleep apnea and fell asleep at dinner, in the bath, and during conversations. He snored loudly enough to be heard from one end of the house to another, and she didn’t even want to think about how bad his feet smelled.
“Are you still there, pumpkin?”
“I’m here, Daddy. That sounds great. Maybe Paul can get some time off, and we can all do some sightseeing or something.” She was careful to keep any doubt out of her voice. At least this way she had time to prepare for them coming.
“Don’t put yourself out, Margaret. We’re just coming to see you and Paul. Nothing fancy. What’s that sound?”
Peggy listened to Shakespeare’s alternate barking and howling. “That’s my dog. He’s waiting for his supper.”
“Got yourself a beagle? They make a good hunting dog. You remember Maisy. She could track anything. Remember that time your mama lost her car keys? Maisy found them.”
“Shakespeare is a Great Dane, Daddy. He doesn’t track much.”
“Great Dane, huh? What kind of name is that? No wonder he doesn’t track. You have to give him a proper name for a hunting dog. Call him Skippy or Yeller. Then he’ll track for you.”
She sighed. “I don’t want him to track anything, Daddy.”
“He’s not gonna be much of a hunting dog if he can’t track, Margaret.”
“I don’t really want to take him hunting. I don’t hunt. I’m a vegetarian, remember, Daddy?”
“Thought you’d grown out of that by now. Oh well. It still wouldn’t hurt you to give that dog a decent name.”
Peggy didn’t argue with him. “I’m looking forward to seeing you and Mama anyway. We’ll have a good time while you’re here.”
“Okay then. I’ll talk to you later. Give Paul a hug for us.”
“I will. Kiss Mama for me. Bye, Daddy.” She put down the phone and threw herself back in the chair. Her family was coming up to see her. The house was dirty. They hated Charlotte. She knew they’d try to convince her to come back home with them as they had after John’s death. And what about Steve? They were bound to notice that he was younger than her. And what would they think about the Potting Shed?
Peggy got to her feet and went to rescue Shakespeare. She took him out for a walk, then fed him and made a grilled cheese sandwich for herself. He still refused to eat. He lay down beside his food and groaned, looking up at her every few minutes. She tried to get him to eat by offering individual pieces of food. He covered his eyes with his paws.
Glad that he had another obedience class tomorrow, Peggy sat down at the kitchen table to eat her sandwich and drink her sassafras tea. She made it with plenty of sugar and milk until it was pink rather than red. It was the way her mother made it when Peggy was growing up. That thought brought on a whole group of issues she’d have to face when her parents came to visit.
Refusing to face those problems right away, Peggy watched the news for a while, then went upstairs to change clothes and check on her plants. Her Antares water lily was barely alive. She wasn’t sure if it was going to survive. Her experiment with the strawberries was completely destroyed, and she had mites on all of her plants. She was probably going to have to spray for them since she couldn’t use complementary planting to control them in that environment.
Sighing over the loss of time and her companions, she spent two hours trying to straighten up the mess and check on all of her plants. The frog helped himself to some of the mites, and she thanked him. “If I had a few more like you, I could clean them up pretty easy.”
She went back upstairs to her room and showered. Shakespeare was already in her bed when she came out. He hadn’t eaten anything or ripped anything apart, so she collapsed in bed beside him. His coat felt smooth and warm under her hand as she petted him. Her eyes were just closing when her computer made a loud beeping noise. Immediately, she jumped out of bed and checked her e-mail.
Nightflyer sent her an instant message: “r u busy? if not, let’s play!”
Peggy almost didn’t go. He’d ignored her summons. But curiosity finally won over impatience. She sat down in her chair and went to the new chess site. When she was logged on, she found Nightflyer waiting for her.
“Hello, Nightrose! Are you ready to play?”
“I’m ready. What happened to you? Are you okay?” Peggy made her opening gambit: pawn to e4
He returned: pawn to c5. “I’m fine. Just a little trip I had to take. Sorry I couldn’t let you know. I was off-line.”
“No computer? That’s awful. How did you survive?”
“It wasn’t easy. What have you been up to?”
“Don’t you know?” She moved her pawn to e5.
“I have a few ideas.” Knight to d5. “How is your friend doing?”
“Beth? She’s going to be fine. The police have made arrests for Park and Isabelle’s murders.” Knight to c3.
“The conservationist and the housekeeper. I know. But I don’t think Davis is responsible. Do you?” Nightflyer moved his pawn to f6.
Peggy shrugged and moved her pawn to d4. “He was at the hotel. He had access to the gift baskets. He had motive. It makes sense.”
“He only poisoned four baskets. There were ten lawyers staying at the same hotel. Why not put poisoned honey in all the gift baskets that went to the lawyers representing the firm that wants to drill for oil? Why only poison four of them?”
“Good point. Why do you think he would only poison four of them?”
“He wouldn’t. If Fletcher Davis is passionate enough about his cause to poison four men, why not all of them? Hotel videotapes show he had access to all of the baskets. But they don’t show him touching all of them.” Bishop to g7.
“He could’ve tampered with the videotapes.” Bishop to e3. “Or maybe he didn’t have time to poison the others. Maybe he panicked.”
“That’s possible. Or he didn’t do it.” Knight to d4. Nightflyer took Peggy’s pawn.
“Then who did?” Knight to f6.
“Perhaps someone who wanted to throw the blame on Tomorrow’s Children. Maybe even someone who wanted to murder Park and get away with it. Park is the only lawyer who also had his mother killed.”
“Which the police speculate Alice Godwin did, since she had the murder weapon, motive, and opportunity. She has no alibi between the time she left Beth’s at 9 and the time she found Isabelle at 10 and called Cindy Walker.”
“But just a few days ago, the police thought your friend committed both crimes. How reliable is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you don’t want to know since your friend is safe?”
“That’s not fair! I didn’t have to tell the police about the poisoned honey. I already jeopardized Beth and the children by being objective.”
“But you want to know the truth, Peggy. Who stands to gain by Park and Isabelle’s deaths? There may be someone besides Beth who fits the bill. Something still seems wrong to me. There are too many unanswered questions. I believe Cindy Walker is involved in some way.”
Peggy considered the questions as she poised to make her next move. “Maybe I’m too close to this. Everyone involved is like family. Beth is free now. The cases against Mrs. Godwin and Davis are strong. Why stir the pot because of a few unanswered questions?” She finally moved her queen to e2.
“That makes it difficult. But you’re a good researcher. You can’t quit until all the answers are there.” Queen to a5.
Peggy changed the subject. “You seem preoccupied tonight. Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing much. I may be going away again for a while. Don’t try to contact me. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”
“Safe? What’s going on?” She asked him. “Can I help in some way?”
“No. Thank you
for asking. I’ll contact you when I can. Thank you for the game.”
“But we haven’t finished . . .”
Nightflyer logged off, and the phone rang. She glanced at the clock on the computer. It was almost midnight. He was calling to explain the rest.
Instead, it was Beth’s parents in Salisbury. “We’ve been trying to contact Beth since ten when the kids went to bed,” her father told Peggy. “She’s been calling every night at ten to tell them good night. We had a time getting Foxx and Reddman to sleep. I don’t think it’s our phone line.”
“Have you tried her cell phone?” Peggy asked.
“Yes. We’ve been calling her all night on both phones. We even e-mailed her.”
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll let you know as soon as I get in touch with her.”
“Thanks, Peggy. We’re coming down there in the morning with the kids since this thing seems to be over. I know there’s nothing wrong with her. Maybe she went out.”
Peggy agreed and hung up the phone. Something in the tone of Beth’s father’s voice told her he was lying when he said he knew there was nothing wrong with her. She dialed Beth’s phone number. When she didn’t get an answer, she called her cell phone. When there was no response there either, she put on a sweater and jeans, then peeked in at Shakespeare and decided to take him with her.
It was only a short ride down Providence Road to Myers Park, but it would make her feel better if he was with her. “Promise you won’t trash the house once we get there. And you won’t pull me through a tree.”
The dog wagged his tail and barked enthusiastically. Peggy took that as a good sign and slipped on his leash. She put on her purple jacket and scarf, slipped heavy purple gloves on her hands. “I hope there’s nothing wrong either,” she told the dog as she worried out loud. “But let’s go see.”
Queens Road was completely empty. The traffic lights blinked yellow, glittering on the damp pavement. Peggy raced her bike through the silence, between the shadows of the empty oak trees and the slumbering houses. Shakespeare kept pace with her in his long, loping stride.
All the stores at the corner of Providence Road were shuttered and sleeping. Two police cruisers were parked in the empty parking lot. They were turned so that the driver’s side windows were facing each other as they watched her go by. Peggy would have waved. She probably knew them. But with one hand holding Shakespeare’s leash and the other holding the handlebars, she didn’t think she could manage it.
Providence Road was empty, too. The big Presbyterian church sat squat and solid on the corner. Light showed through the stained glass windows and spilled into the street. Peggy looked at the window where Jesus was tending the flock of sheep. It was comforting somehow to see that image as she rode through the night. Beth was fine. Probably just sleeping heavily. Lord knew she needed a good night’s sleep.
Riding through Myers Park without the standard walkers, runners, baby carriages, and Volvo station wagons was much easier. It gave her a different perspective. She could’ve been in her house asleep like these people. This was what it was like on the outside looking in. She felt like the only person alive in the world. The wind blew through the streets, rattling the winter bones of the trees. She’d be glad to see morning slip over the horizon.
She parked her bike on Beth’s front porch. Shakespeare panted and furiously wagged his tail but otherwise stood at her side as she rang the doorbell over and over. Beth might be angry to be woken up this late. But they’d have a good laugh over some hot tea while she called her parents to let them know she was all right. She’d understand their concern and regret that she missed talking to her boys before bedtime. She was a good mother.
When there was no response to the doorbell, Peggy went around through the wet grass starting to gather frost to the back of the house. She pounded hard on the door and yelled for Beth. There was still no response. She looked up at the dark windows in the house. Beth must be exhausted. She was sleeping like the dead.
The thought caused a shiver to slip down her spine and added renewed vigor to Peggy’s attempts to get in the house. When trying to wake her friend from outside didn’t work, she reached up over the light for the spare key. It was gone. With all the turmoil of recent days, it wasn’t surprising. But the knowledge made her feel even more uneasy.
She looked at the kitchen window, gauging how thick it was. Park had all new windows put in last summer. He wouldn’t thank her for what she was about to do. And insurance might not pay for it. If it didn’t, she’d pay. It was worth it to get into the house and find out what was going on. She was going to feel like a fool if she walked upstairs and Beth was asleep in her bed. But that was a chance she had to take. Too much had happened to this family in a short time to ignore the doubt gnawing at her stomach.
Peggy had never purposely broken a window in her life. She wrapped her scarf around her hand as she’d seen on some television show or movie. It made sense to protect herself from the glass. Shakespeare barked and whined at her side. She shushed him and moved intently toward the window. It was low enough for her to scramble through once she broke it.
Shakespeare barked and whined again, tugging hard at the leash. “I told you that you had to be good.” She turned to him, realizing she might have to tie him up on the porch. He was sitting beside a large, heavy shovel. She looked at her hand, bound in her purple scarf, then back at the dog. “If you’re trying to tell me there’s an easier way, you’re right.”
She took the scarf off her hand and snatched up the shovel. Shakespeare wagged his tail at her choice, then stood quietly beside her as she closed her eyes and smashed the shovel through the window.
Half expecting an alarm to go off, Peggy stood back for a moment. When nothing happened, she used the shovel again to clear all the glass fragments away from the ledge. She tied Shakespeare’s leash to the water spigot under the aperture and pushed herself up and in through the window. Shakespeare started barking as soon as he realized he was about to be left out of the adventure. Peggy ignored him and ran up the stairs to Beth’s bedroom.
Beth was asleep, one arm sprawled above her head. There was a small lamp spreading light across the table and the bed. Peggy looked at her friend’s face. Relief made her sag into a chair beside the table. She was sleeping so peacefully. No hint of all the trauma she’d been through. There were still dark circles in the hollows of her eyes. Tracks that might have been tears stained her face.
Beth was fine. Of course she was fine. Peggy had broken into her house for nothing. She was going to have to buy Beth a new kitchen window because she acted impulsively instead of thinking the matter through. Some researcher!
But she realized as she watched Beth sleeping that she was too still, too quiet. No one slept that deeply. Not naturally anyway. The lamplight caught on a small plastic bottle on the brown carpet at her feet. She reached down for it. It was a prescription bottle. The top was gone, and it was empty. She looked at the information on the label. It was Nembutal, a barbiturate sleeping aid. The date was from yesterday. Yesterday! All the pills were gone! “Oh my God! Beth!”
Peggy frantically dialed 911 on the bedside phone. She barked her location at the operator who answered, then went to help her friend.
If she’d been in bed since before ten p.m., if she’d taken that many pills five hours ago, would she be able to survive?
“Wake up, Beth! You have to wake up!” Peggy jumped on the bed with her friend, pulled back the comforter, and tried to get some response. Beth’s pulse was slow and weak. She roused briefly, trying to speak, but didn’t open her eyes.
“You can’t do this! Think about Reddman and Foxx. They need you. You have to call them.” Peggy grasped at straws. She had to do what she could until the paramedics got there. “You didn’t call them last night. They’re still up waiting for you. You have to call them.”
Beth opened her eyes a little as Peggy forced her into a sitting position. “Peggy?” Her voice was slurred and heavy.
<
br /> “That’s right. You have to wake up now. Where’s the phone? Foxx and Reddman need to talk to you.”
“Park . . .”
“I know.” Peggy heard the sound of a siren in the street below. “I know you loved him. But you can’t leave yet. You have to hang on. Things will get better.”
The phone on the bedside table rang. The paramedics were pounding on the front door. Peggy left Beth on the bed and ran down to let them in. She answered the phone as the paramedics examined her friend. It was Beth’s parents. Peggy briefly explained what happened and told them they should come quickly.
“She still has a chance,” one of the paramedics said. “We have to get her to Presbyterian Hospital fast. Are you her mother?”
“No,” Peggy answered. “Her parents are on the way.”
Peggy rode in the front of the ambulance with the driver while the other paramedic stayed with Beth in the back. She watched him continue to check Beth’s vital signs as he reported to the hospital.
We have to get there in time. Those boys can’t lose both their parents. Beth has to live.
“Who found her?” The doctor at the emergency room demanded when they finally got to the hospital. “What has she taken?”
Peggy produced the empty bottle from her pocket. “I found her. I think she took these.”
The doctor shook his head. “Jesus Christ! What could be that bad?”
“Her husband was murdered, and she’s been on trial for his death.” Peggy looked at the doctor and shrugged. “Help her, please. I know she wants to live.”
“We’ll do what we can. I’ll let you know when I have some idea of what’s going to happen.”
“Thank you.” One of the paramedics showed Peggy to a waiting area. She sank down into an orange plastic chair and buried her face in her hands. She suddenly remembered Shakespeare and reluctantly called Steve to go and rescue the dog after she explained what happened.
“Is she all right?” Steve asked in a voice heavy with sleep.
Fruit of the Poisoned Tree Page 25
