Poisoned Petals (12 page)

She hadn’t anticipated her father volunteering to go with her. Now she had to find some way to talk him out of it. “Steve is meeting me there. It’s fine.”

As if the world was determined to thwart her, Steve knocked on the side door that led into the kitchen. He saw the group standing near the coffeepot on the counter and let himself into the house. “Good morning.” He kissed the side of Peggy’s head. “You look a little funereal this morning.”

Paul frowned. “What are you up to, Mom?”

She finished her coffee and took Steve’s arm. “I’m not ‘up to’ anything. Steve stopped by to pick me up after all.”

Steve smiled and punted. “That’s right. I’m here to pick you up and go out. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“Is everyone going . . . where we’re going?”

“No. Just the two of us.”

“Ah!” He smiled, a few lines fanning out from his eyes. “A romantic tryst.”

“Not exactly,” she denied. “But let’s go. We’ll be late.”

“Let me ride along with you,” her father said. “I’ll be the only one up for hours once Paul leaves.”

“There’s not a problem with that, is there?” Paul watched her face.

“Not at all. I’ll talk to you later.” She kissed her son’s cheek. “Don’t look like that! You’d think I tried to steal the Statue of Liberty
and
the Hope diamond!”

“You
have
done a few things I wish I didn’t know about. Promise me you aren’t going to do anything weird.”

She smiled and patted his cheek. “Definitely not, dear. Have a nice day. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“What was he talking about, Margaret?” her father asked once they were outside the house in the cool morning air. Fog swirled around the gnarled old oak trees and cloaked the morning sun. “Have you done something weird lately?”

Steve grinned. “Did she do weird stuff as a kid?”

“All the time,” her father confided. “There was that time they were going to cut down an old oak in the village square. She chained herself to it. The fire department had to get a locksmith to get her off. She’s a pistol.”

“So what are we doing weird this morning, Margaret?” Steve asked her.

“Nothing. I believe
you
have a surgery this morning. You told me about it last night.”

He swore softly. “That’s right A poodle with a growth on his ear.”

“Wow! I’d like to see that!” Her father beamed.

“Good. Why don’t you go with Steve, and he’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll see the two of you later.” Peggy was already walking toward the garage as she spoke. Sometimes things worked out okay anyway.

“But I’d rather spend the time with you, sweet pea,” her father said. “Especially if you’re going to be alone.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Steve’s forehead furrowed. “What
do
you have in mind, Peggy?”

“Nothing weird or unusual. I just have to do a few things at the mortuary prior to Darmus’s memorial service. That’s all.”

“Then I want to go with you.” Her father decided the matter. “Maybe next time, Steve.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve nodded toward him, but his worried eyes stayed on Peggy. “Maybe you can keep her out of trouble. I don’t seem to be able to.”

Her father laughed. “Hasn’t worked out for me, either, son. But I’ll do my best.”

Peggy had enough of their banter. Really, you’d think she was a teenager! She pressed the remote to open the garage and took out her keys. Her father was going with her. There wasn’t much she could do about it.

Her truck started up easily when she turned the key. Her father climbed in after her and smoothed his hand over the dark interior. “This is a beauty!”

“Thanks. The back is filled with batteries, but it hauls a trailer pretty well. I can drive it around town on a single charge.”

“Wow! Did you do it yourself?”

“With some help from an engineering friend and a mechanic.”

“I have a tractor I’m tinkering with. It’ll burn hydrogen when I’m done with it.”

“Great minds,” she quoted, then applied herself to redirecting his attention. “Listen, Dad. I’ll drop you off at a coffee shop near the mortuary. Then when I’m done, I’ll pick you up.”

“Don’t be silly, Margaret! I’ll go with you, and then we can both get some coffee afterward.”

She argued with him, but nothing she said changed his mind. Sighing over the stubborn men in her life, she finally gave in. “I
do
have something unusual planned. I’m not really going to the mortuary to check on things for the memorial service. Not exactly anyway.”

“Really?” He grinned. “Could’ve fooled me!”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I’m the man who had to drag you home after they unchained you from that tree, little lady. You can’t fib to me. I don’t know about Steve and Paul. But I don’t think
they
believed you weren’t doing something weird, either. They just weren’t as stubborn about going with you.”

“All right.” She detailed her plan for him. “Once I do this, I’ll know one way or another about Darmus. No one else is going to look for this but me. I have to check it out.”

“You’re like a starving dog with a bone.” He shook his head. “But I understand that you have to know the truth. What can I do to help?”

TOGETHER, PEGGY AND HER FATHER walked into the venerable Charlotte mortuary whose sign boasted being part of the community for over one hundred years. The austere whitewashed brick building was only slightly softened by hundreds of boxwoods surrounding it. These were cut into such tortuous shapes that it pained Peggy’s eyes to look at them.

“What is wrong with those bushes?” her father whispered as they walked into the cool interior.

“Bad pruning. Don’t worry. The Potting Shed didn’t do it.”

“Can I help you?” They were met immediately at the double front door entrance by a young man in a dark blue suit and no-frills white shirt. The interior of the building was as forbidding as the exterior. Muted mauve and gray dominated the walls, which also held displays of awards and certificates. There were huge sprays of pink and white gladioli on every table. But instead of offsetting the feeling of being in a mortuary, they enhanced it.

“We’re interested in finding a coffin.” She smiled and patted her father’s hand.

“Preplanning.” The young man sighed and smiled at the heavens above him. “What a wonderful gift to give your loved ones. What did you have in mind?”

“I want something showy. You know what I mean?” Her father took over the discussion, wrapping his arm around the young man’s thin shoulders and walking toward the tasteful display of coffins they could see in the next room. “None of that plain urn stuff. I want a big, gaudy coffin. The Cadillac. You know what I mean, son? I want to be noticed when I go out.”

He sounded like a Texas oil magnate, but it worked. The young man was so enthralled by the idea of a pricey funeral that he totally missed Peggy slipping out of the cold room. She went quickly past the array of wall sconces and niche urns, still hearing her father’s voice booming in the eerie quiet.

Now that she was here, she almost lost her nerve. How was she going to find Darmus’s coffin? What was she going to say if someone stopped her and asked what she was doing?

“Excuse me.” A young woman stopped her. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Peggy answered with more aplomb than she felt. “I’m looking for—for my stepbrother, Darmus Appleby. I flew in from Charleston to see him before the memorial service. My brother, Luther, said he arranged it for me.”

“Oh dear.” The woman glanced at her planner. “I don’t have anything about it.”

“I have something here from Luther, if that would help.”

“I should probably call him.”

“Well that’s part of the problem. Luther is dead now, too.” Peggy’s heart was beating fast. She broke out sobbing for all she was worth. She staged some of it, but some was real. She was crying for Darmus and Luther, for John and her good friend, Park Lamonte. All were men who died too early. Then there was her Aunt Sue and her cousin, Velma, who died in a boating accident last year. Poor, pretty, young Velma.

“I don’t see what harm it can do.” The young woman put away her planner and smiled at Peggy. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thanks.” Peggy blew her nose on a delicate lace handkerchief she’d brought specially. Normally, she despised them. Germ carriers.

“I’ll take you back and give you a few minutes with the deceased.”

“Thank you.” Peggy sniffled in her crushed black felt hat and worn black suit. “Thank you so much.”

But when they got to the holding area where the deceased loved ones waited for their memorial services, Darmus’s coffin was sealed.

“I had so wanted to see his face one more time,” Peggy complained.
What am I going to do now?

“Oh dear,” the young woman in the dark brocade suit muttered. “I forgot the coffin was sealed. There wasn’t supposed to be a viewing. No one realized you were coming.”

Peggy dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “We had a falling out. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”

“Of course not.” The woman patted her hand. “I can’t do anything about the coffin being sealed. I’m sorry. I can give you a few minutes of private time with him. That’s the best I can do.”

It would have to be enough. “Thank you.” Peggy smiled at her and sat down beside the huge bronze-colored coffin. “I’ll just sit here with him for a while.”

“That’s fine. I’ll come back and check on you.”

“That’s very sweet of you, dear.” Peggy looked around the room as the woman left her. It was filled with coffins and flowers. She concentrated on the flowers and their meanings. Gardenia plants said I love you secretly. Daisy was for loyal love. Gladiolus meant sincerity. Forget-me-not said memories. Cyclamen for good-bye. Even orange daylily for hatred. The freezing air was perfumed by them. She wondered how many people knew what the flowers they sent really meant.

But enough romanticizing flowers. It was always too easy to fall back into the world she loved. She had a job to do, and there was no time to be squeamish. She didn’t anticipate the body being locked in a sealed coffin. It could look suspiciously like another attempt to conceal Darmus’s identity.

Of course, Darmus was badly burned, her logical side argued. It wouldn’t be unheard of to keep the coffin sealed. In any case, she had a sturdy letter opener with a rose top in her pocketbook. It was a gift from the National Gardening Association. She always carried it with her in case she needed to protect herself. She’d never used it, but it seemed a fitting way to break it in.

Carefully, she slid the long, thin blade between the top and bottom of the coffin lid. There appeared to be a silicone gel between them. The letter opener cut through it slowly, but it wasn’t easy. She was making progress when she heard voices coming into the room.

Looking around for a place to hide before they kicked her out, Peggy went for the most sensible opportunity. There were several empty coffins, probably used for display, scattered around the huge, dimly lit room. With only a small moment of squeamish repugnance, she selected a silver coffin, climbed inside, and closed herself in it.

There was enough room for her to lie flat on her back, and that was all. She felt the satin lining around her face, under her hands and neck. It smelled like new material. Her skin crawled at the thought of being closed inside the thing, but she was glad she had done it when she heard the voices in the room around her.

“We’ll have Mr. Austin set up for later today.” It was the voice of the young man who’d been talking to her father.
Where is Dad?

“What about that old guy wandering around out there?”

“He’s fine. Trying to pick out the right coffin. I wanted to give him a few minutes to get himself together. He was a little emotional.”

“All right. Don’t give him too long. He’ll be out the door faster than you can count sheep!”

Both men laughed. Then she heard the sound of their footsteps on the marble floor and the door closing. At least she was alone again. Peggy sighed and pushed at the coffin lid.

It wouldn’t budge. A thrill of fear trickled down her spine.

She tried again. Nothing. Some locking mechanism must have moved into place. Or maybe it wasn’t made to be opened from the inside. A panic born of unscientific imagination coursed through her. She wanted to bang her fists against the lid until someone came.

Relax!
She forced herself to take deep, even breaths.
I’m not buried alive or anything. Not even close to an Edgar Allan Poe story. Think!