Fruit of the Poisoned Tree (2 page)

They sat through a few more speakers before the conference was over. While the others were leaving, Peggy walked with Debby to the developmental area of Longwood Gardens. She loved to see what they were working on and borrow some ideas for her own basement greenhouse.

“I’m glad Antares did so well for you,” Debby said, speaking of the huge, night-blooming water lily she’d sent her. “Your night-blooming rose was impressive. Thanks for bringing us one. We’ve been working on a variety of night- and twilight-flowering plants. Besides the water lily and the rose, we also have a dahlia and a hibiscus that are under development. I suppose you’ll be turning your eye on the magnolia now. That would be impressive at night.”

“Actually I’ve been working with a local farmer on more pest-resistant strawberries. They’ve made them big now, but they’re having problems with bugs they never had before.”

“I guess the bugs didn’t notice strawberries as much when they were the size of peas,” Debby quipped, “but now they’re the size of apples, it’s a different story.”

“That’s always the way it is.” Peggy admired a deep purple rose. “When you change one thing, you change ten more things with it. I love playing with flowers, but when I can help in a more practical sense, that’s when I really get involved. I’m also working with Darmus Appleby to help establish a community vegetable garden in Charlotte for next summer.”

Debby smiled and adjusted a water sprinkler. “When do you have time for that new beau of yours? With everything you take on, it can’t be easy to find time to hold hands while you watch a Sunday matinee.”

“It’s difficult.” Peggy’s eyes flashed as the image of two old people barely able to move filled her mind. “But don’t make it sound like I’m over a hundred and met the man in the wheelchair next to mine. I’m still capable of having a meaningful relationship. Having Steve in my life has been strange and stressful sometimes. I never expected to share my life with another man.”

Debby laughed as she held out her hands to protect herself. “I didn’t mean anything by it! Relax! You don’t have to convince
me.
You’ve never seemed older than thirty.”

“Oh hush!” Peggy smiled at her. “I’m a little sensitive about the whole age thing right now. I told you Steve is younger than me. I never thought about my age until I met him. Now sometimes I feel ancient. Like people look at us strangely when we’re together. I’m waiting for the first person to come up and ask if I’m his mother.”

“He’s not
that
much younger than you,” Debby, who’d met Steve at Christmas, reminded her. “As for anyone else, ignore them. You deserve to be happy. Steve is lucky to have you.”

“I try not to notice, but you’re talking to a woman born and raised in Charleston. When a thing wasn’t proper, you didn’t do it. I still haven’t told my parents about Steve. I know my mother will be shocked and horrified. She thinks the proper mourning time for a wife is still five years.”

Debby looked amazed. “You can’t
still
feel like that, can you? I thought when I got older I wouldn’t care what my parents think. You mean there’s no relief? You’ve taken all the fun out of getting old for me.”

“I suppose it might be different with different parents. Or if they die. That’s the only way it can get better for me. Not that I’d wish them harm in a million years. They might be proper and fussy, but they’re still my parents.” Peggy glanced at her watch. “I’ve loved being with you this weekend. You’ll have to come down and see us again. You can help out with the community garden. With your expertise, we could grow vegetables the size of footballs.”

“Maybe after the summer,” Debby said. “You know what my life around here is like once the weather gets warm. I never go outside the garden. I think by September I’m starting to feel a little green.”

They looked at the huge, sleeping garden outside the greenhouse. The lush green and vibrant colors of summer were months away. But the brown, drab landscape was full of promise in both their eyes. Gardeners’ eyes see more than what exists at that moment. They always see the possibilities of what
could
be.

The first snowflake broke Peggy’s dreamy-eyed gaze. She shivered, looking at the gray sky. Thousands of small, white flakes followed the first flake, tumbling into the garden. She wasn’t a big fan of cold weather, especially snow and ice. The idea of driving back to her hotel in Philadelphia made her cut her good-byes to Debby short. She wanted to be inside before the snow started accumulating on the street.

“Be careful!” Debby waved as Peggy backed her rental car out of the deserted parking lot. “Call me when you get to your hotel. I want to be sure you make it safely back.”

“I will. Thanks for a wonderful time! Come and see me when you have a chance.”

Despite Peggy’s dread of frozen roads, one she had in common with most Southern-born women, the drive back wasn’t as bad as she feared. The snow melted as it hit the ground, creating a slushy mix on the pavement. But the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation was out with trucks and plows. The slush never had a chance to freeze on the road. She wasn’t sure what it would be like later that night. But by then, she’d be home.

February in the Carolinas might have some frost, but snow was unlikely. And if it
did
snow, she wouldn’t have to drive in it. That was one good thing about living in an area that didn’t have much frozen precipitation. The city was never prepared for it. She could only hope they never would be. Let the people who moved there from other states complain that they couldn’t get out in bad weather. Sensible people didn’t want to try.

Her thoughts of home were banished by some kind of commotion at the front of the Four Seasons Hotel where she was staying. The entire street and sidewalk were blocked with people. She thought at first there was an accident, but there was no sign of an ambulance or mangled cars.

She maneuvered her car close to the hotel entrance, wondering what was going on. It looked like a rally of some kind. Her cell phone rang as she noticed the signs and banners.
“Clean up your act! Give life a chance!”
Some of the people were made up to look like corpses with white faces and blackened eyes. They chanted slogans about saving the planet that she hadn’t heard since she was in college.

“Hey, Peggy! How’s the conference? Did little Nick wow them?” Her assistant, Sam Ollson, asked her across the miles between Pennsylvania and North Carolina.

“They loved him,” she told him. “I thought I’d never get through the applause.”

“Really?” Surprise made his youthful voice squeak. He was in his second year of college, hoping to go to med school and have a career as a surgeon. He’d worked for her at her garden shop, the Potting Shed, since it opened two years ago.

“No. Not really. But I think I made my point. Now little Nick and I are looking forward to coming home. There’s something going on here, Sam,” she said as the hotel concierge approached her car. “I have to go.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. “It’s some kind of demonstration or something. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sorry for the delay, ma’am,” the concierge said as she put away her cell phone. “We’ve called the police. This should be cleared up shortly.”

“What’s the problem?” She looked at the angry people as they swarmed around the hotel. A dark limousine pulled up at the hotel, positioning itself directly in front of the entrance. She could hear the police sirens coming closer.

“Protesters. They’re holding meetings here at the hotel about drilling for oil and gas in some popular wilderness area. People are pretty worked up about it. But we didn’t expect anything like this. If you want, you can leave the car here. I’ll have it taken care of once this is cleared up.”

“Thanks.” She handed him the keys, scooped her possessions out, and headed around the limousine toward the door. As she walked past, the driver opened one of the limousine doors, and her friend, Park Lamonte, stepped out of the car. “Hey there! I didn’t know you were staying here, too.”

Mindful of the protesters who started pushing and shouting when they saw him, Park took her arm and walked quickly with her into the hotel. “It’s nice to see a friendly face, Peggy, but you picked a bad time to visit. These jokers would like to have my head on a platter. Sorry I have to hustle you in this way. I don’t want you to get hurt if this gets ugly.”

“How are you involved with them?”

“A company I work for is doing some testing they aren’t crazy about,” he explained. “I’m only one of a dozen lawyers working on paving the way for business to continue. The world has to progress, right?”

Peggy recalled the signs outside.
“Keep the bay clean! Find an alternative to oil!”
“I don’t know, Park. Not all progress is good progress. Are you sure you’re on the right side?”

He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m on the side that makes the most money, like always. That usually decides who’s right. How long are you in town? Would you like to have dinner tonight? I have a reservation at the Fountain Restaurant here in the hotel.”

“I’m afraid my flight leaves at three.” She glanced at her watch. When she looked back at him, she was appalled to notice how gray his complexion was. “You look exhausted. Maybe you should take a vacation with Beth and the boys when you get home.”

He rubbed his hand over his face. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Damn bed’s too soft. The hotel is booked up so I can’t trade. I’m only here for a few more days. I’ll be okay. But you’re looking fine. I’d say that new man in your life is good for you. I still haven’t had a chance to meet him.”

“That’s because you’re always so worried about being on the side that makes money. Sometimes you have to be on the right side because it’s right. It’s not always about the money.”

She knew Park long enough and well enough to speak her mind. She knew he was driven to succeed by some inner demon that poked him with a sharp pitchfork every time he tried to sit down and rest. He wasn’t a bad man, just misguided sometimes. Knowing his parents, she was surprised he wasn’t much worse.

Looking away from his red-rimmed blue eyes as they stepped into the elevator to go to their rooms, she pushed number six for her floor. She sighed at their personal differences that were mostly ignored in the light of their long-standing friendship.

They knew each other in college. He grew up with her husband, John Lee. John was a police detective for twenty years. They consulted on many police cases over dinner at one of their houses. Park didn’t leave her side for three days when John was killed two years ago. “I guess I’ll have to make an appointment for you to meet Steve.”

“Don’t be that way, Peggy. Let’s go ahead and make plans to get together for dinner. I’m back in Charlotte on Thursday. Can you do dinner Friday evening at seven? I know Beth is free that night. I talked to her this morning.”

“I think I can manage that.” She smiled at him, not liking the terrible darkness in his eyes. He looked more than tired to her. It had probably been years since he’d even thought of having a medical checkup. “Steve and I will be there. Take care of yourself. Don’t leave Beth alone so much if you don’t have to.”

He hugged her, shifting his expensive alligator briefcase to his left hand as the elevator reached his floor. “You worry too much. Have a good flight, Peggy. I’ll see you back in Charlotte. Friday night. Don’t forget now.”

She watched as Park walked toward his room down the elegantly appointed hallway. A tall, scraggly looking young man in ripped jeans and a red T-shirt approached him as he took out his key card.

“What are
you
doing here?” Park asked, visibly drawing back.

“You
know
why I’m here,” the young man returned before the elevator doors closed on the scene.

Peggy stabbed her finger on the three button to return to Park’s floor, but the elevator went to her floor first, then back to his. By the time the doors opened again, both men were gone. She thought about trying to find his room but decided against it. Whatever was going on between them was none of her business. That alone wouldn’t usually stop her. But there was a long line of doors to knock on since she didn’t know the right room number. She didn’t want to miss her flight. And Park could take care of himself.

She went back to her floor and used the key card to open her hotel room door. After putting down the insulated bag that held the tobacco plant and her pocketbook, she noticed the flowers that had been delivered while she was gone. They were beside a large gift basket from the hotel that she hadn’t opened yet.

She didn’t need to read the card on the flowers to know they were from Steve. He was the only one likely to send Queen Anne’s lace as a gift. He already knew her so well she felt like they’d been together for years rather than months. Where he’d managed to find the flowers in the dead of winter was another story. She suspected Sam had something to do with it. He had access to most of the greenhouses in and around Charlotte.

She opened the card and saw the broad, masculine handwriting.
“Shakespeare and I miss you. We hope you enjoy this ‘fantasy.’ Come home soon. Love, Steve.”
She brushed her hand across the broad top of the flowers. They were one of her favorites. Most Americans refused to see it as anything but a weed. In England, however, it was cultivated for its lacy beauty. Its traditional meaning in floriography, the language of flowers, was
fantasy.
Steve must have looked that up.

Seeing the flowers and reading the card made her eager to get on the plane and go home. The Potting Shed was in capable hands while she was gone, but she missed being there, helping her customers get ready for spring. Some gardeners got depressed in the winter. She knew spring was always just around the corner. In Charlotte, North Carolina, the temperate climate meant an early spring. After the one or two obligatory ice storms in January, February was mild, and March would be warm, already beginning the spring growth cycle.