A Corpse for Yew (16 page)

“That’s the trouble with snooping. I would’ve told you at some point. It was a long time ago.”

It was unforgivably rude to have asked about his dead sister. But how was she to know? She should have encouraged him to talk about himself, but their conversations always seemed to revolve around what they were doing. What
she
was doing.

They sat together quietly for a long time, the sound of Daisy’s breathing the loudest thing in the room. Peggy didn’t know how to begin another conversation. Steve seemed lost in his own thoughts. Probably depressed now that she’d reminded him of the loss of his sister.

Her cell phone rang, making her start at the sudden sound. It was her mother. She didn’t want to talk to her at that moment, but she supposed that if she didn’t, her parents might come looking for her. “Where are you, Margaret? We’ve been to the shop and now we’re here at your house. It’s getting late. Is anything wrong?”

Peggy glanced at her watch. It was a little after nine. She supposed that was late for farmers who were used to getting up at dawn. “I’m with Steve. He’s sitting with a sick dog.”

“Your father and I need to talk to you. Do you think you could come home for a few minutes?”

Peggy glanced at Steve, who was monitoring Daisy. With everything that had gone wrong between them that evening, she supposed she might as well go home. He’d want to stay here tonight, anyway. That might be for the best. They seemed to have reached a painful impasse. “I’ll be right there.”

“Parent issues?” Steve asked as she closed her phone.

“I guess you could call it that.” She shrugged. Where were the words she needed to make this right? “I’m sorry I looked through your room. I was just curious about you. Sometimes it seems as though I’ve known you forever, but it’s really been only a short time. There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

Steve stood up from his perch on a stool near Daisy. “You’re welcome to ask me anything. I didn’t realize I was keeping things from you. I would’ve been glad to give you the fifty-cent tour if you’d wanted it.”

She put her arms around him and hoped her kiss would say what her words seemed too awkward for. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you, too.” He smiled at her. “Thanks for cleaning the house, anyway. I guess I’m never home, so I didn’t notice how bad it is. There’s a beautiful redhead who keeps me occupied most of the time.”

“I’d be jealous if I didn’t know you don’t have enough time for anyone but me and my crazy life. Good night.”

“Breakfast tomorrow?” He held her hand. “I have some fresh cinnamon rolls.”

“I’ll be here.”

 

 

PEGGY WALKED QUICKLY DOWN THE sidewalk toward her house, careful of joggers in their shorts and tank tops. There was a wonderful row of black-eyed Susans lining the driveway of the house beside Steve’s. Their light golden petals and black “eyes” stood out from the dull landscape around them. No problem for them during the drought, unlike the mums on the other side, which were wilted and brown.

She’d really messed up, asking Steve about his sister. But how was she to know? The pistol on the bedside table would’ve been a better choice to confess her snooping. No matter why he had it there, it couldn’t be as bad as the memory of losing his sister.

She’d always been bad about asking inconvenient questions. Her mother still reminded her about a question she’d posed to their minister when she was twelve. They’d seen Reverend Mason on the street with a young woman who wasn’t Mrs. Mason. Peggy had bluntly asked him where his wife was. The good reverend had turned a terrible pasty color and hurried away. Lilla had explained the virtues of not asking personal questions of elders.

Reverend Mason had left the congregation abruptly the following week. Peggy’s mother had always told her it was the result of her rude question. As a child, Peggy had believed her. As an adult, she understood the situation. But there were still times she wished she could better analyze the situation before jumping in.

Her father was out in the yard exercising Shakespeare when she got back to her house. Traffic was still heavy on Queens Road, but the lighted windows of the houses around her showed that most of her neighbors were home. Her least favorite neighbor, Clarice Weldon, was gossiping over the fence between their yards with her mother. Peggy shuddered as she considered what the two of them might be talking about. No doubt her mother was pumping Clarice for information on Steve’s comings and goings.

“He seems thinner,” Ranson told her, looking at Shakespeare. “Are you sure you’re feeding him enough? He’s a big dog, you know.”

“He’s fine, Dad,” Peggy said. “Great Danes are slender by nature even though they seem large. If he eats too much, he won’t be able to get around as well.”

“That might be a good thing, Sweet Pea. This is a handful of dog you have here. Why didn’t you get yourself a nice cat that could catch mice in the house?”

“I don’t think there are mice in the house. Shakespeare might not catch them, but he’d probably play with them and make them run away.”

“There you are!” Lilla waved to her daughter and excused herself from Clarice. As she got close enough, she whispered, “That woman has no sense of propriety. I’ve noticed that about a lot of people up here.”

Peggy smiled as she opened the kitchen door. That meant Clarice had no information to share with her mother. “I’m going to put on the kettle. Would either of you like a cup of tea?”

“I would,” her mother responded. “Peppermint, if you have it. My stomach has been a little unsettled since we found that poor woman in the lake.”

“I’ll take one, too,” Ranson added. “But my stomach has been just fine. Maybe it’s because I didn’t know the lady.”

“And you didn’t see her,” Lilla reminded him. “It wasn’t like Cousin Lou last year. Mrs. Mullis had been dead for awhile and rolling around in that mud. I’ve never seen a dead person with red lips like that before. I guess it was makeup, but it looked bad on her.”

Peggy measured peppermint leaves into the infuser and put on the kettle for hot water. “What are you two doing out this late? Are you taking on city habits?”

Ranson laughed. “Your mother likes living close to grocery stores now. We have to go out every night and buy food, whether we need it or not.”

“Well, it’s not like at home, where our pantry was stocked with plenty of food I canned over the summer. There’s not even any dried apples. We have to be careful now. If something happened that the grocery store wasn’t open in the morning, we could go hungry.”

Peggy smiled at the idea as the kettle began to whistle. She knew she wouldn’t be able to disabuse her mother of the idea, even though it was laughable to think Harris Teeter wouldn’t open tomorrow. Her parents had always lived an hour or better from the nearest store. This was a new experience for them.

“Anyway, we were out when it occurred to me that you might know something else about Lois. We had a historical society meeting this afternoon and Geneva had a small memorial for her. Everyone is wondering when the funeral will be.”

“The medical examiner hasn’t released the body yet,” Peggy told her. “It shouldn’t be too much longer. I’m sure Chief Mullis will keep you posted.”

“Dorothy was telling us that the chief was the one who dropped Mrs. Mullis off out there at the lake. Imagine that! She also said the chief is her only heir. They have one of those agreements like you have with this house. That big house and all those wonderful antiques will go to her nephew.”

Peggy put the three cups of tea on the table while her father got the honey and a spoon from the counter. “How did Dorothy find out about the chief dropping his aunt off at the lake?”

“I’m not sure.” Lilla sipped her tea without honey before adding a large dollop. “Maybe she knows someone else in the family.”

“Maybe.” Peggy felt sure the chief wouldn’t have shared this information with many people. As testy as he was about it today, she didn’t think he’d enjoy answering questions from anyone else about how this happened. Even if Dorothy knew someone in the family, it was hard for Peggy to believe she’d know what happened. But how else could she know?

“Is there anything out of place with Mrs. Mullis’s death?” Ranson asked as he fetched some Oreos from the bread box. “There must be some reason the ME is keeping her so long.”

“Is that true?” Lilla slapped her husband’s hand as he reached for more than one cookie. “I know the ladies think she was killed by that bone digger. They think Jonathon was behind it. Have you found anything like that?”

“Even if she had”—Ranson grabbed two cookies—“she couldn’t tell us. Margaret can’t give out that information. But I’d be glad to volunteer my services if you need any help in that vein, Sweet Pea.”

Peggy thanked him for the offer. “I think Mrs. Mullis ate yew berries,” she confided.

“That’s why her lips were so red.” He whistled. “Can’t let these city people out in the wild without them eating poison berries.”

“Do you think Jonathon or the bone thief might’ve made her eat them?” her mother asked around a crumb of an Oreo she’d popped into her mouth.

“There’s no evidence of that,” Peggy said. “I think Lois’s death is going to be ruled an accidental poisoning. But until the ME releases the report, no one else can know that.”

“I won’t say a word,” her mother promised.

Ranson laughed as he ate the last Oreo. “It’s what she
doesn’t
say that will get us all in trouble.”

PEGGY WAS UP EARLY THE next morning after spending most of the night in her basement, working on her plant experiments. She’d already called Steve to ask how Daisy was doing. He told her the dog had passed the crisis point and would probably survive this ordeal. He was going to sleep for a few hours before going to the horse farm and checking on his patients there.

Shakespeare had been out, and was munching his food as she sipped her peach tea and looked in the backyard. The old oaks still retained most of their leaves, though it would have been better for them if they’d dropped early. Most of the smaller trees had been leafless for months as they fought to survive. The roots of the hundred-year-old oaks went down a long way, and probably were able to tap into groundwater other trees couldn’t find. That was why they lived so long.

The fall air was cool and humid after the rain yesterday. Peggy had smelled acrid smoke in the breeze as she’d walked Shakespeare. The early morning news identified the source of that smell as the remnants of a brush fire the fire department had finally contained before dawn. It was the thing of nightmares, everyone’s worst fear. Fire at this point, with water resources low and every stick and shrub tinder dry, could be catastrophic. She didn’t want to think about the loss.

But that started her agile mind in another direction with another loss. Lois Mullis. She sighed. Was there anything to the Shamrock Historical Society’s feelings about her death being foul play?

Admittedly, there were odd circumstances. Why Chief Mullis would drop his elderly aunt who had a heart condition in a remote area by herself was a question she’d like to have answered. But unless he confessed to killing her out there with yew berries, it seemed to be an open-and-shut case of death by accident. The chief might well be responsible for that accident.

True, there was the bone thief; the ladies wondered if he could’ve been involved in Lois’s death. But her nephew, technically Peggy’s boss, seemed to think that was a ridiculous idea. And the original supposition by the ladies that Jonathon was involved seemed lame.

It came back to Chief Mullis again. Peggy took a deep breath and finished her tea. She planned to spend most of the day at the Potting Shed now that her part in the investigation of Lois’s death was over. She was going to ride her bike there and enjoy the cool breezes. What was to stop her from riding a slightly different route and possibly passing someone she knew?

She walked by a little honesty plant she’d put in the ground that spring. It wasn’t looking very good. The gray leaves, shaped like coins, were drooping even after yesterday’s rain. She took a moment to put a little more mulch around the roots. It might not make any difference, but she didn’t want to see the poor thing suffer. Fertilizing it would be useless until the root system had a chance to mature. She gave it a kiss for luck, then went to the garage and unlocked her bike.

She ran her hand over the covered silhouette of the 1940 Rolls Royce, which she and John had talked about restoring. But it had proven to be an expensive proposition, particularly since Peggy had wanted to convert the engine to run on hydrogen. She supposed she should sell it so someone else could enjoy it, but she didn’t know if she could stand to part with the memories.