Pretty Poison (12 page)

“Can you be there with him at the arraignment?”

“Of course. And I’ll be entering a not-guilty plea, although we may have to consider diminished capacity if something’s happened to him.”

They walked out of the visiting area directly into Al and Jonas. Peggy ducked her head, but it was too late.

“What in blazes are
you
doing here?” Jonas’s nasal Northern accent filled the entryway.

Peggy started to speak, but Hunter inserted herself between her new friend and the irate police officer. “She’s my temporary legal assistant. I’m representing Joseph Cheever. If you have any legal questions, please address them to me.”

Al shook his head and purposely didn’t look at Peggy. Jonas glared at all of them, then marched into the visiting area.

“I guess that settles it then.” Peggy waved to Al. “See you later.”

“Peggy . . .” Al started, but it was too late. Peggy and Hunter were walking out the front door.

“What’s going on with her?” Jonas demanded.

“I honestly don’t know. I’ll talk to her.” Al knew from past experience that nothing he said would make any difference, but he would definitely talk to her.

Peggy and Hunter congratulated each other when they reached the steps. They both hugged Sam, leaving him with a confused look on his face.

“I’m staying here for a while.” Hunter took her briefcase from Peggy. “The assistant DA is on his way. I need to know what they have on Mr. Cheever.”

“Thanks for your help,” Peggy replied. “Please keep me in the loop.”

“Does this mean we’re still trying to find out who killed Mark Warner?” Sam asked her.

“Yes, it does.” Peggy told him about the interview as they drove back to her house. “I was right. They may want to blame this on Mr. Cheever, but he didn’t do it. From what he told me, the killer may be a woman.” She went on to tell him about Ronda McGee and her floral purchase. “She looks pretty strong. I think she could’ve done the job.”

“But what would her motive be?” Sam considered the matter seriously as he negotiated the afternoon traffic. “Unless maybe Warner was refusing to leave his wife for her.”

“I don’t know yet. Why does any human take the life of another?”

“You’re not going all philosophical on me, are you? I get a lot of that at school, you know.”

“It’s a valid question,” Peggy argued. “People kill people for many different reasons. Ronda may have a motive we can’t begin to understand.”

Sam turned into her driveway. “Looks like you have company.”

A Charlotte-Mecklenburg squad car was parked behind a green Saturn. Peggy groaned. “Oh no.”

Botanical:
Crocus sativus
Family:
Iridaceae

The crocus was highly valued in ancient times. Used in rituals, it was also a food and a source of dye. Its petals were scattered on the ground at social gatherings and on the bed of newly married couples. Crocus essence was used as a perfume. The stamens of autumn-flowering
Crocus sativus
are also known as saffron.

STEVE WAS WALKING the Great Dane in the front yard. Even though the dog was thin, it was all he could do to hold the leash. He tried to pull the animal toward Peggy, but it resisted, almost pulling him into a flower bed.

Paul made a beeline for his mother. “Who
is
that man? Is he the one who was here last night?”

Sam laughed. “I’ve got some studying to do. Give me a call later, Peggy. Hey, Paul.”

“Hey, Sam.” Paul turned back to his mother. “Is that
your
dog?”

Peggy frowned. She wasn’t crazy about his tone. “For now. I plan to look for his owner. I don’t want him to be taken to the pound.”

A huge, whooping shriek came from behind them. Clarice was about to come out and join in the conversation when she saw the Great Dane. Poopsie barked from her arms. “There it is! I knew I wasn’t imagining it. I’m going to call 911.”

“You don’t need to call anyone.” Peggy called the dog to her, and he immediately came running, dragging Steve behind him. “This is
my
dog, Clarice.”

“That’s the man who was here last night,” Clarice told Paul.

“The dog may look puny, but he’s all muscle.” Steve gave Peggy the leash, trying to catch his breath.

“Who are you?” Paul demanded. “Let’s see some ID.”

Peggy put her hand on Steve’s as he started to take out his wallet. “This is my son, Paul. Paul, this is Steve Newsome. He’s a vet. He brought my dog to me. That’s all. You don’t have to harass him.”

Paul stared at her hand on Steve’s. “A vet, huh? How much is he charging you for that flea-bitten mongrel?”

Peggy kept her Irish temper down with an effort. “I think we should go inside and talk about this. My daddy always told me it was ill-bred to stand outside and air your dirty laundry.”

Paul didn’t argue. He marched straight to the front door and waited for her with a mutinous look on his narrow face.

Clarice pouted. “Peggy, that dog is too big to live here. We only have that little fence between it and my Poopsie. Unless you plan to put up a bigger fence, it will have to go.”

“I plan for the dog to stay inside except when I walk him. I’ll talk to you later, Clarice.”

“Maybe I should go.” Steve handed her a bill for his services. “This is for you. If it’s not high enough, I can tack on more. I’m flexible. There’s a note on there about what you should feed him, further care. Basic stuff. If you have any questions or need help walking him, let me know.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry about all this.”

“That’s okay.” He smiled at her. “Paul looks like you, you know. I’ll talk to you later.”

Using a combination of pushing and pulling, she managed to get the dog into the house. Then she made Paul move the squad car so Steve could back out of the drive. She hoped her son would leave, too, but he pulled back in, slammed the car door, and confronted her.

“Let’s go inside and have some tea,” she suggested before she lost her temper.

Paul followed her into the kitchen. He sat down at the same table where he’d eaten as child. “What’s going on, Mom? You’ve never wanted a dog. Is that dude threatening you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She put the kettle on the stove. “I met Steve by chance. And I felt sorry for the poor dog. Just look at it.”

A loud crash made her run into the dining room. The dog was on top of the eight-foot table. A Waterford crystal bowl that had been in her family for five generations was shattered on the floor. She groaned, and the dog whined, moving close enough to lick her face. Then he jumped down and ran into the kitchen. Before she could get there, she heard another crash and Paul swearing.

“Get this damn dog off of me!”

The dog had made a running leap, knocking man and chair over. He was standing on top of Paul, wagging his tail and licking his face.

Peggy grabbed the leash and pulled the dog into the large pantry. She turned on the light and closed the door as the kettle started to whistle. “There now. Let’s have some tea.”

They sat beside each other, ignoring the dog’s plaintive whines from the pantry. Peggy sipped her orange peppermint tea and mentally tried to force her son to talk to her.

Paul sniffed the brew. “What
is
this?”

“Tea. I mixed it myself.”

He pushed the cup away. “I’m not really thirsty, thanks anyway. Mom, you don’t realize what it’s like in the real world. You’ve got your little shop and your students. It seems safe. But that dead man in your shop should be a warning to you. There are people out there who could take advantage of you. You’re a helpless widow with some money and a big house. Lots of men would like to get their hands on you.”

Peggy stifled her laughter. He was serious. He was always serious. “I appreciate what you’re trying to tell me. I always try to be careful.”

“Really? Is that why Al called me from the county lockup to tell me you sneaked in to see a man accused of murder? I don’t call
that
trying to be careful.”

She tried to be tolerant. She knew how hard his father’s death was on him. But she was only going to take so much. “Paul, I’ve been in this world a long time. I think I can handle myself.”

“Mom—”

“Drink your tea, Paul. It’s good for you.”

He took a sip and made a face. “You can’t help your homeless friend, you know. They found all of Warner’s stuff in his backpack. He was wearing Warner’s shoes, for Christ’s sake! He stripped them off of a dead man. Case closed.”

“All I’ve done is found him a lawyer,” she explained. “But just because he was cold doesn’t mean he killed the man. What was his motive? He can get free shoes at the shelter.”

“I never knew you had such a soft heart.” Paul smiled and shook his head. “First a homeless man, then a dog. What’s next?”

Peggy got up and put her arms around him. “Don’t you remember the one-legged frog we found in the backyard that summer? We took him away from a black snake who wanted him for lunch. We kept him alive by catching flies and tying strings on them so he could eat them. I’ve always had a soft heart, honey. It’s not going to change now.”

“I guess you’re right. And I’m sorry. I’m overreacting because I feel guilty leaving you here all alone. I want things to be different between us from now on.”

“Because I can’t take care of myself?”

He kissed her cheek. “No. Because I love you.”

“I love you, too. You know this will always be your home, too.”

“I can’t move back in, Mom. Thanks for offering. I might be seeing someone. I’d like you to meet her, if things work out.”

Peggy took a deep breath.
That was close!
“I’d love to. Just let me know when.”

She watched Paul leave, waving to him from the doorway. This was a good thing. She didn’t want him to live with her again, but she wanted their relationship to be closer. She heard a loud thump from the pantry and ran back into the kitchen.

The dog managed to knock down a ten-pound bag of white flour. He was covered in it. She looked up at the shelf. It was a good five feet off the floor. It seemed impossible that he could reach it. But the proof was standing in front of her, a ghost dog with a large, dopey grin and a wagging tail.

“I really didn’t want to live with
you
either,” she scolded him. “But we’re stuck with each other until I find your owner.”

The dog barked and wagged his tail even harder, showering everything in the pantry with flour. Peggy sighed and dragged him to the big sink in the laundry room. Getting him into it was a whole other thing. By the time she was finished with him, she was covered in flour and only half of the dog was really clean.

Deciding they both needed some exercise, Peggy put on her gardening clothes and gloves. She found a rope, attached it to the dog’s collar, then tied it to the porch. He bounced around on the grass until he came to the end of his tether. Then he whined and stared at her as she started in on separating her wood crocus bulbs.

While her backyard was an experimental garden, her front yard was as normal as any of her neighbors’. There was a huge circular bulb bed set to bloom according to the various seasons. The little wood crocuses were always the first in spring. Their purple heads peeked shyly from under the brown dirt while there was still ice on the ground. It only took a few days of sun and warm temperatures to bring them back.

After that, the tulips and hyacinths argued for space in March and April. May brought the irises, followed by the cannas in June and July. The dinner plate asters filled the garden in August. Mums began flowering in September and stayed around until November. The bulb bed was always busy.

“What are you still doing here?” Peggy found a small pink rose blooming beside a large piece of white quartz. The poor little thing was leggy and almost brown with frost, but it held its head high. A small azalea bush sheltered it from most of the cold temperatures. She gave it a dose of water and fertilizer, then continued separating her bulbs.

She separated and replanted about half the bulbs in the bed. Then she covered the whole thing with peat to protect it over the winter.

She turned her gaze on a small area near a stone bench. It had been one of John’s favorite places to sit. A leafless Japanese cherry tree draped its branches across one side. A brass sundial kept pace with the day. It was a gift from Paul for John’s birthday the year he died.

Peggy knew the tree needed pruning. She didn’t know if she had the heart to do it. She could still remember John bringing it home one afternoon. He’d been so proud of it.

She took out her pruning shears and straightened her spine. Memories or not, the tree needed a good trim. Her cell phone rang as she approached the tree. She let out a sigh of relief, even as she chastised herself for being a coward.

“Hi Peggy.” Keeley’s voice sounded distant on the phone. “I got your message. What’s up?”