Pretty Poison (30 page)

The Warner children and the grieving widow walked to the coffin to lay a final white rose on it. Peggy couldn’t believe how small and pale Julie looked in her elegant black suit. She had a firm grip on both children’s hands. It was impossible to decipher the expression on her face. The tiny pillbox hat she wore was very chic. Even in mourning, she set the example for the other widows in Charlotte who would follow.

The service was brief. The crowd followed the pallbearers into the cemetery to bury their friend. Peggy looked at the faces of the women around her, especially the tall ones with long, dark hair. It was hard to believe how partial Mark was to that type with his own wife so tiny and blond.

She saw Ronda and Bob McGee talking to Julie. It would’ve been interesting to hear what was said between the two women. If Ronda was right and Julie knew she was seeing Mark, the looks alone would be more virulent than the poison that killed him. Peggy wondered if Ronda was back with Bob for the funeral or if they’d managed to reconcile. There was a lot to lose for both of them. A divorce would hurt Ronda as much as it would Bob.

Peggy remembered what Ronda told her about being certain Julie was the one who threatened her on the phone. Adding poison to the equation of Mark’s death made it possible that Julie could have killed her husband. Anyone could hit a man who was already unconscious on the floor. Of course, she had the perfect alibi. The entire household knew she was home that night with a sick child.

She watched Julie give the two children to Emma. From the look on the housekeeper’s face, she could tell how devoted she was to the mother and children. She studied the group from the Warner household with new eyes. Was it possible they weren’t as innocent of the situation as they seemed? The police checked out Molly Stone’s husband. But what about Mark Warner’s wife?

Peggy saw Julie break down into sobs at the graveside. A dozen hands reached out to take her arm, give her a handkerchief, ease her grief. If she didn’t love her husband and was capable of killing him, she was a good actress. Remembering how she’d been at the shop, wanting to see the place he was killed, Peggy considered she was probably reaching. Keeley was so close to being arrested for the murder. Her mind was grasping at straws.

She turned away from the rest of the service, commending the body to the earth. It was still painful for her to hear those words. She didn’t think any amount of time could make it less. Instead, she studied the flowers and arrangements sent to the memorial. Most were from well-known florists in the city. A few were actually flown in from out of state.

The flowers chosen were always more for color, consistency, and longevity than for meaning. There were daisies and forget-me-nots together in an arrangement. With Mark’s reputation, that was a joke. Faithful and loyal love wasn’t a priority in his life.

There were plenty of gladioli. Again, sincerity wasn’t a virtue either. Someone sent a huge spray of white carnations and red chrysanthemums.
Pure love. Admiration
. Yellow mums and striped carnations would have been more appropriate.
Slighted love. Disdain and rejection. I can’t be with you
.

A nice big pot of pansies was appropriate.
Thoughtful recollection
. Their card said they were from a group of people at Bank of America.

She looked up and noticed the service was over. People were paying their respects to the widow and wandering back to their cars. Her quest for yet another Warner woman seemed over, too. If another woman existed, she didn’t notice her being there.

She wondered if Keeley or Molly would’ve come if the circumstances were different. Even being sure the wife didn’t know what was going on, a mistress would have to be fairly brazen to come to her lover’s funeral. In Ronda’s case, she had no choice if she wanted to keep up appearances.

An odd wreath caught Peggy’s eye as she turned to go. She wasn’t able to see it with the crowd around the grave. In all the funerals she’d attended, she’d never seen another one like it.

The majority of it consisted of withered flowers. None of the other arrangements were in this state. It wasn’t caused by the weather. She looked at the tag. The flowers came from a reputable local florist, an acquaintance of hers. She couldn’t believe he’d been that careless.

The wreath was dotted with anemones, yellow carnations, and columbines. In the language of flowers, the wreath was a large proclamation of rejected love and pain. She couldn’t believe anyone would send such a thing to a funeral. But whoever was responsible knew the truth and might have been the one who put the columbine in Mark’s pocket. She looked for a card, but there was only the florist’s tag.

“It’s an interesting arrangement, don’t you think?”

Peggy looked up quickly and smiled at the widow. “Yes. It’s surprising.”

Julie touched the wreath with her gloved fingers. “I wonder what someone was trying to say. Or maybe the florist just had a bad day.”

“That’s probably it.” Peggy took Julie’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a husband is a terrible thing. I’m so glad my son was grown when I lost mine. He was a great source of comfort for me. If I can help in any way, please let me know.”

“Thank you.” Julie watched as the cemetery workers began to cover the coffin. “There are times when I can’t believe he’s gone. I guess I’m still in shock.”

“I’m sure. Especially with all the difficulty trying to find out what happened to him.”

“Yes. That’s been hard. It was bad enough thinking some homeless man killed him for his shoes. But now to find out one of his girlfriends did it.” A delicate shudder ran through her diminutive frame.

“One of them?” Peggy seized on her words. “Was there more than one?”

Julie smiled. “My husband led a full and active life, Mrs. Lee. He was a very vigorous man. I couldn’t keep up with his needs. We had an understanding. He was a good husband and a good father.”

“You’re a better woman than me. If I’d found out my husband was sleeping around, I’m not sure what I would’ve done. I guess it’s my Irish temper. John would’ve had a bad headache from the frying pan I hit him with, if nothing else. Men can be such a burden.”

“That’s true. But it’s the way God intended it. Women are supposed to be chaste, except when they’re bearing children. Men don’t have those restrictions. I suppose it’s all part of the infinite plan.”

Peggy agreed in principle. “I wish you well, Julie.” She looked down at the green grass still untouched by frost beneath the two-hundred-year-old oak tree. “Oh look, a clover. I’ll pick it for you for luck.”

Julie stayed her hand. “That’s a five-leaf clover, Mrs. Lee. Those are unlucky. Only the four-leaf kind brings good fortune.”

“Well, you don’t need that then, do you?” Peggy smiled at her. “Take care, Julie.”

Making her way back to the bike rack, Peggy dialed the number for the Potting Shed on her cell phone. “I have something I have to check into, Selena. Can you watch the shop for a little while longer?”

 

 

“HEY PEGGY ! I HAVEN’T SEEN you in ages! What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Hi, Mort.” Peggy closed the door to the tiny florist shop in the East End. The scent of carnations, roses, and mums was overpowering. “I’ve been busy as always. How about you?”

“Me, too.” The man continued working on a large floral wedding arrangement. “What can I get for you?”

“I saw some of your work today.” She wandered through the shop, looking at the huge striped tiger lilies and masses of baby’s breath. “It was a little strange.”

He laughed. “But it made you look at the tag, right?
That’s
what’s important. Are you talking about the Simpsons’ baby shower? That cradle made out of bachelor’s buttons was an inspiration. The problem was getting so many pale pink flowers. I had to order on-line from a dozen hot-houses.”

“I wish I’d seen that, Mort. But I was talking about the wreath at the Warner funeral.”

“Oh. That.” He sighed and lost his smile. “You know
I
didn’t come up with the idea for that monstrosity. But you do what the customer wants, right?”

“Right.” She touched the velvet petals on a rose. “There wasn’t a sympathy card on it. Who was the customer?”

“Now, Peggy. You know I can’t tell you. Some of my customers rely on my discretion. If people thought I’d take their orders and tell everyone who had them made up, I’d lose a lot of cheating husbands and unfaithful wives.”

She laughed as she neared the counter where he was working. “Like a lawyer or a doctor, right?”

“Exactly. I have a reputation to protect.”

“Did you ever do business with Mark Warner?”

“I guess it won’t hurt to admit it since he’s not gonna be much of a customer anymore. But, yeah, he was a big spender. Liked to send the ladies plenty of flowers.”

Peggy snapped the end off a red carnation and handed it to him. “What about Mrs. Warner?”

Mort put the flower in place on the arrangement. “If you tell anyone else, I’ll deny it.”

“So she’s bought flowers here before?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.

“Only this one time.” He snapped the end off another carnation. “The woman knew what she wanted. I think she
knew
what those flowers meant.”

“I owe you a cup of coffee, Mort. Good luck with the wedding.”

“Just remember,” he said as she was leaving, “you didn’t hear it from me.”

 

 

PEGGY MET WITH AL for a few minutes while he ate a late lunch. She told him everything she suspected about Julie Warner, including what Ronda told her about the threatening phone call.

Al ate his Reuben sandwich and listened politely. Then he pointed his pickle at her and blasted her theory. “I can’t believe you were married to a detective for twenty years and don’t have any faith in us getting the job done.”

“I have faith in you, Al, but—”

“But you’re still sneaking around pretending to be a private detective or something!” He took a bite of his pickle. “We know about the threatening phone call to Ronda McGee. We checked it out, but we couldn’t trace it. As for all this flower business, I know you don’t think the lieutenant is going to listen to a bunch of stuff about funeral wreaths having meaning.”

“It’s no more ridiculous than making poison from anemones,” she argued. “You may not understand it, but it makes sense to people who do. It would be like saying a threat in French was less dangerous than a threat in English!”

“Don’t you think we considered Julie Warner as a suspect? We checked her out. She was home with a sick child. A housekeeper saw her there all night, and she talked to her child’s doctor at about the same time as the murder. We’re not incompetent.”

Peggy tapped her fingers on the desk. “The housekeeper would do anything for her. She hated Mark and felt like he took advantage of Julie. Lying to police isn’t that big a deal. As far as talking to her doctor, she could’ve called him while she was standing over her husband’s dead body.”

Al stared at her. “You really hate this woman, don’t you?”

“I don’t hate her at all,” she defended. “I’m looking for the truth.”

“The truth that doesn’t involve your friend.”

“I know Keeley is innocent. Can you say the same about Julie?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “You see, that’s what separates a detective from everybody else. I’m surprised you didn’t realize it sooner. A detective is objective. I don’t have a friend involved in this. If I did, I’d exclude myself from the case. You’re too emotional, Peggy. You can’t see the facts clearly.”

She got to her feet. “Thanks for listening anyway. I have to go to the shop.”

Al didn’t try to keep her, shaking his head as she walked to the door. “No hard feelings?”

She smiled at him. “No. I know you mean well. You’ve got a blob of mustard on your chin. You might want to wipe it off before you see Jonas again. Next time, get an extra napkin.”

 

 

SAM WAS AT THE Potting Shed with Hunter, Selena, and Keeley. They were sitting behind the counter while a few customers walked through the store. Peggy wasn’t sure if she should tell them her theory about Julie. It was likely they’d be
too
receptive. After all, as Al pointed out, they were emotionally involved.

As she walked toward them, Steve came in through the front door. The lights in the courtyard were flickering on in the gloomy twilight. Another storm front was getting ready to pounce on the city. The weather warmed in anticipation, but the depressing atmosphere weighed heavily on them all.

“I think we need to have a party,” Sam said, giving Peggy his chair. “Hey, Steve. How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Steve went to stand beside Peggy, squeezing her shoulder. “What’s with all the gloom and doom?”

Peggy smiled at him, a little zing zooming through her at his touch. Still, she wondered why he hadn’t called.

“The police are about to arrest Keeley,” Hunter told him. “My car had a flat, and I chipped my nail trying to change it.”

“That’s nothing,” Selena told them. “I had a man try to return two hundred pounds of fertilizer today. He insisted it smelled bad and wanted some that smelled good.”

Peggy laughed. “What did you do?”

“I sent Keeley to the drugstore for some baby powder, then I sprinkled it into the fertilizer. He was happy. I couldn’t tell any difference, but whatever works, right?”

“I hate to top everybody’s bad day,” Keeley added. “But my lawyer thinks the police are about to arrest me, and they probably have an airtight case so they don’t look stupid again. I think I get the prize for the worst day. We won’t go into the fact that they ripped my apartment into shreds looking for evidence. Then they descended on my car. They’re like locusts.”

Everyone sympathized with her. Peggy offered to take them all out for pizza if they’d help close up the shop. “Maybe we can sit down and come up with something brilliant to turn all of this around.”