Poisoned Petals (10 page)

She was trying to keep John’s memory alive. There was the little plaque by the Potting Shed door, and the part of the Community Garden dedicated to him. All those things she did to keep him part of her life. She and Luther intended to do the same for Darmus. Now those plans were gone, too. Nothing stayed the same.

Her cell phone rang in her pocketbook. It was Steve. He probably wanted to know where she was; she had left him with her parents for eight hours. People died, but life went on. The world wouldn’t be the same without Darmus and Luther. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“I was worried about you.” Steve’s voice was husky and quiet on the phone. “I heard about Luther’s death on the news. I’m sorry, Peggy.”

“Me, too.” She fought to hold back new tears. “Is everything okay there?”

“Yeah. We ordered pizza for dinner. Everyone is watching the History Channel right now.”

“Thank you so much for staying with them.”

“Are you coming home? Do you want me to come and get you?”

She laughed. “I have your car and the keys for my truck. That might be difficult.”

“I can ride your bike if I have to. It’s not that far. Sam heard about Luther, too. He’s here with me and Paul.”

New friends,
her mind whispered through her grief.
That’s
what happens. Life goes on and brings new friends and new loves. The seasons of life change, but flowers still bloom in the spring. The sun rises every day. Seeds are planted, and new flowers grow.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

“All right. I’ll give you ten with traffic.”

“Thanks, Steve.” She put away her phone and started the car. Life was too short at any age for the people you loved to die. Luther would be missed, but he wouldn’t be forgotten.

WHEN SHE GOT HOME and saw her family, Steve, Sam, and Paul waiting for her, Peggy started crying all over again. It distressed everyone so much that she forced herself to stop. She had to explain to her parents who Luther was and why he was important to her. She had to explain why she’d never brought Darmus home to meet them.

But there really was no good explanation. It just never happened. Either they were away or Darmus was busy. Paul had a baseball game or John had to work. It was always something.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asked quietly at her side.

“Not really.” She sniffed. “But some tea would be nice.”

“Chamomile, right?”

“Yes. Thanks. With a touch of borage. It’s in the blue canister on the cabinet.”

“Sit down,” her mother advised. “You’ll feel better.”

Peggy didn’t remark, as she once would have, that sitting or standing, she’d feel the same. Some of that rebellious spirit she had as a child left her when she got married, had Paul, and grew more mature. Maybe her parents didn’t have all the answers, as her literal redheaded version of herself had once accused them. But she didn’t, either. It took a long time to see the truth.

“How did it happen?” Sam asked. “I saw Luther at the garden yesterday. He looked okay to me.”

“Holles thinks it might have been a heart attack. He said Luther had been hiding a heart condition so he could continue Darmus’s work. They probably don’t know yet what happened. I assume they’ll do an autopsy on him.”

“Thank God he wasn’t a victim of violence.” Cousin Melvin snorted into sudden wakefulness. He had sleep apnea that caused him to fall asleep anytime, anywhere, when he was still for more than a few minutes. “That would be a terrible way to die.”

“I don’t think he was,” Peggy reassured him. “I don’t know anyone who would hurt him anyway.”

“There’s a lot of gang activity in that area,” Paul told them. “It was one of our concerns about putting the garden on Seventh Street in the first place.”

“I’m sure the officers would have told Holles if Luther was injured or murdered.” Peggy took the fragrant cup of tea from Steve with a watery smile. She felt it all start to bubble up in her again. If she didn’t find something else to think about, she wasn’t going to stop crying that night.

“It’s a terrible thing anyway.” Her father put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you lost your friend, Margaret.”

Her lower lip trembled, and Peggy pushed herself to her feet. “I appreciate everyone’s concern, but it’s over. We have to move on. Has Paul showed you my plants in the basement yet?”

They all looked at her as though she’d turned green and grown an extra head.

“Margaret,” her mother reminded her, “grieving is a natural part of the process.”

“It might be,” her daughter acknowledged, “but I’m not going to walk around blubbering because Luther and Darmus are gone. They wouldn’t like it any better than I would.”

Her father nodded. “Okay, sweet pea. You can show us your garden if you want to.”

It sounded conciliatory to her, but she wasn’t going to press it. She felt like a piece of sponge cake that had been left out in the rain. Inside, she was slowly crumbling but fighting not to let everyone else see it. Her hands trembled and her legs were unsteady as she led the way downstairs. Sam turned on the lights as they went down the old wood staircase that swept into the basement.

Peggy was always better here. This huge room was the heart of who she was. In one corner was her large pond where the new cattails she planted were growing. They were a new breed and were heartier and able to grow broader spikes and thicker roots to divide. The cattail was almost completely edible. It was possible to make a flour substance from the tops and boil the roots like potatoes. In an increasing effort to help feed the poor of the world, Peggy had joined a group of botanists who were encouraging and expanding the number of native plants that could be grown as food.

“Over here are my hardy soybean plants. I’m working to try to get them to grow in less than an inch of topsoil in extreme conditions, hot or cold.” She bit her lip when she realized she was about to mimic Darmus’s words to her. “There can never be too much research into the idea that no one on this planet should ever go hungry.”

“Are these blue gourds?” Her father was looking through another section of the basement. “I don’t know how well they feed the hungry, but I sure like ’em.”

Peggy smiled. “I’m just playing with those. Like the Carolina Flamingo parrot tulips in the front yard. I can’t be serious all the time, and neither can my plants!”

When there was nothing else to see in the basement, she moved them all upstairs. Cousin Melvin was visibly drooping after going through the downstairs tour of the house. She stopped at the thirty-two-foot blue spruce in the foyer. “I’m sorry for dragging you through this. Maybe we should all get a good night’s sleep and start again tomorrow.”

Paul kissed her cheek. “I’m going, too. I’ll see all of you for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Oh, stay the night, Paul,” his grandmother coaxed. “That way, we’ll see you some in the morning, too.”

“Wish I could, Grama, but I have to work tonight. I think I better go home.” He kissed her cheek, and she hugged him.

“All right. But try to come early tomorrow evening. We haven’t heard about your girlfriend yet.”

Paul glanced at Peggy, who shrugged. “There isn’t a girlfriend right now,” he said. “I’m kind of between.”

“That’s ridiculous!” his grandfather declared. “A fine-looking boy like you and a professional, too! What are the young women up here thinking? If you lived in Charleston—”

“Go now, Paul,” Peggy warned, “before he launches into his speech about the graces of Charleston.”

“Margaret!” Her father looked shocked. “Charleston is
your
home, too! I think your son would prosper there.”

“Not tonight, Dad. Good night, Paul. See you tomorrow.”

Ranson and Lilla kissed their grandson and said their good nights to him as Cousin Melvin and Aunt Mayfield found their bedrooms.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, too, banning any emergency,” Steve told Peggy. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied without thinking. “I’m always fine.”

He hugged her as Paul waved before walking out the front door. “Take it easy on yourself, huh? This has been a shock. And just for the record, you didn’t look
fine
when you came home. No one is fine all the time, Margaret Anne.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not you, too!”

“Okay. Just wanted to make sure I had your attention. You were looking a little glazed over there for a minute.” Steve smiled and waved to her parents. “Good night. It was nice meeting both of you.”

Ranson shook his hand. “You, too, Steve. I hope to see you again before we have to leave for home.”

“I’ll find some excuse to be here tomorrow.”

“Great!”

When the heavy oak door closed behind him and the dead bolt slid into place, she and her parents started up the wide circular marble staircase that led to the second floor.

“Steve’s very nice,” her mother said with a sigh. “He lives close by?”

“Yes.” Peggy switched off the downstairs lights, leaving only a soft glow that illuminated the stairway. “We’ve become very close in the last few months.”

“I could see that”

Peggy’s eyebrows lifted.

“He knew where to find
everything
in your kitchen!”

“Sometimes I think he uses it more than I do,” Peggy replied with a smile.

“That’s
very
close.”

“Not tonight, Lil,” Ranson said, wrapping one arm around Peggy’s shoulders. “Good night, sweet pea. Get a good night’s sleep so your mother can interrogate you in the morning.”

Lilla nudged him in the chest with her elbow, then hugged her daughter. “We’ll talk, won’t we, Margaret?”

There was no real answer to that. Of course they’d talk. Some of it would be great. Some of it, like always, would make her want to run away. Her mother had that effect on her. She loved her, but it was hard to be her daughter and be so different sometimes.

Peggy smiled and waited until they were in their bedroom before she urged Shakespeare into her room and closed the door. Steve was right. It had been a bad day. Tomorrow would be better. She needed some sleep and a better frame of mind.

The melancholy that sank into her after learning about Darmus’s death was bad enough. She wasn’t close to Luther, but he pulled himself together when he had to. He truly rose to the occasion. But being brutally honest with herself, she knew she was more depressed because his death brought everything back about Darmus’s death. She didn’t want that sadness hanging over her shoulder again, whispering in her ear before she went to sleep.

She put on some soft blue cotton shorts and a tank top. Shakespeare lay on the bed watching her, tail thumping when he thought she might come near enough to scratch his head.

The presence of other people in the big old house again was a strange feeling. It had been so long since there was more than just her there. Paul occasionally spent the night, but they usually ended up downstairs talking until morning. It wasn’t the same as having people sleeping around her. She missed that sometimes.

Mostly, her life and memories of time with John filled the house, even when she was alone. She rarely thought of it as being empty. There was always so much to do and so much to plan to do. More than one friend pointed out how busy her life had become since John’s death. She supposed it was her answer to grief. But for her, it was better than lying in bed crying every night or running back home to her mother and father.

Peggy lay down on the bed next to Shakespeare but couldn’t sleep. She stroked his fur and thought about Darmus. He had a lot of plans, too, and a lot of dreams. He always had. His dark eyes glowed with them when he spoke. There was a fire in him that wouldn’t be quenched.

She thought about the fire again. She couldn’t help it. She saw Darmus lying next to the stove. The arson investigator said he was standing next to it, trying to light it when it didn’t come on. Not the brightest thing from a brilliant man. Why didn’t he smell the gas? She could smell it from outside.

She recalled how cold his arm had been when she tried to move him. She sat up in bed. Was that something she remembered to tell the investigator when she talked to him at the hospital that day? Why was he so cold? Even if he’d died the instant the stove blew up, he wouldn’t have been dead long enough to be cold. She’d tried to put it from her mind. Now it came back to haunt her.

And why did Luther have Darmus’s wedding band when he died in the garden? It should have been on Darmus’s finger. She’d seen his will. He’d asked to be buried with it. It had never been off his finger since he and Rosie broke up.