Poisoned Petals (29 page)

 
THEY WERE LOUNGING in Steve’s kitchen eating muffins and drinking coffee much later than either of them had planned on leaving that morning. It didn’t matter. Peggy had lost her early jump on the day and was still smiling. Steve was ignoring messages from his answering machine.

“So you found cottonseeds in Holles’s office and Luther’s office. There was a piece of a cottonseed on the hyacinth you think killed Luther and at the crime scene in the Community Garden. Harwood’s brother owns a dairy farm where cows eat cottonseeds.” He went over what she’d told him. “That makes it look like he visited Luther. But couldn’t that be explained? He lived in a rural county where there are probably lots of dairy farmers.”

“It could be explained. But it’s all I’ve got.”

“So you think Holles drugged Darmus and talked him into pretending he was dead to take over Feed America. But they gave it to Luther, so he killed Luther. How could he be certain the Council of Churches would let him take over after that? Isn’t there someone else who could be in line for the job?”

“Not as far as I can tell. There’s not a lot of order in the organization. They relied heavily on Darmus running the group. And they
did
let Holles take over when Luther died.”

“I see. And of course, he’s still running it.”

“But he won’t be running it from prison if he’s convicted of killing Luther.”

“So what’s next?” Steve sipped his coffee. “I know you have something else in mind.”

“I’m going to talk to Al about the cottonseeds. It might not mean anything, but I think he should know.”

“Good plan.” He approved. “Get the police involved.”

“And I’m going to plant my white garden.” She got to her feet and stretched. “I’ll see you later.”

“Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

He smiled lazily. “I feel so cheap. Not even the promise of dinner. You might as well have left some money on the bedside table.”

“You’re crazy!” Peggy laughed as she kissed him. “You might not want to see me at dinner. I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk after so much unusual exercise today. I haven’t planted a large garden like this or—or—”

“Or made love?”

“That, too . . . in a long time.”

“Thank you.” He hugged her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And thank
you
!”

His phone rang again, and while he answered it, Peggy slipped out the kitchen door. This was a good thing. Isn’t this what she was thinking about last night when she couldn’t sleep and she was worried about doing something stupid with Nightflyer? She walked home quickly, not noticing the traffic now, humming under her breath as she got the truck out to go to the Potting Shed.

“Looking for some company?” Her father walked out of the house when he saw her.

“Aren’t you and Mom doing something today?”

He scratched his head. “She’s going to some crystal shop on the outskirts of town with your aunt. I’d rather do almost anything else.”

“You know, it would be okay if you just said you’d rather be with me,” she told him. “But hop in. I’m going to set out a garden, so you’d better be prepared to work.”

“Got a spare pair of gloves?”

“Always.”

She took her little truck to the Potting Shed, where they hitched up the trailer and loaded the magnolia tree, seven white rosebushes, twelve gardenia bushes, two white angel’s trumpets, plus shovels, rakes, pine bark, and mulch.

She also added a statue she found that she thought Mrs. Turnbrell might like in the garden dedicated to her mother. It was a mother and child carved in white marble. It was large enough to see but not ostentatious.

“That’s beautiful,” her father exclaimed after she checked in with Selena. “Why don’t they do father and child statues?”

“I don’t know. Artists celebrate the mother-child bond.”

He glanced at her as she backed out of the Potting Shed parking lot. “That’s what I mean! Mothers like your friend, Rosie, go off and raise their children alone. People make statues of mothers and children. What about the father figure? Like that comedienne always used to say, fathers get no respect!”

Peggy laughed. “Maybe that could be your cause for the next thirty years.”

Her phone rang. It was Al, finally returning a call. She explained to him about the cottonseeds she’d found in both offices, Darmus’s claim that he was drugged, and reiterated Holles Harwood’s intense interest in becoming the director of Feed America.

“Peggy.” Al sighed, long-suffering. “None of those things are relevant. We have the records from the group showing substantial withdrawals
before
Luther took it over.”

“Holles had access to those,” she argued. “He was Darmus’s assistant.
And
Holles is a botanist. It would have been simple for him to zap that hyacinth.”

“Why not kill Darmus if he was willing to kill? Why drug him?”

“Maybe he thought he could control him that way. Maybe he didn’t think about Darmus giving the group to Luther.”

“Which brings us back to Darmus.”

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Once in a while, you should turn on the news. That’s why people have TVs. Darmus confessed to killing his brother and stealing the money from Feed America this morning. He’s back in custody and has waived his right to trial. He’s guilty, Peggy. I’m sorry. I have to go back to work now.”

She said good-bye and closed her phone.

“What’s wrong?” her father asked.

She told him what happened. “What would make Darmus do that?”

“You mean besides a guilty conscience?”

She pulled the truck into Mrs. Turnbrell’s yard, wishing now she hadn’t promised to do the job so she could spend the day finding out what happened to Darmus. But she was committed, and her customer was already out in the yard, waiting for them.

Ranson waved to Mrs. Turnbrell. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to lay in this garden, Dad. Then I’m going to find out what happened.”

Peggy had plenty of time to think as she started digging in the yard. Holles had to be at the bottom of this. He had contact with Darmus now that he was out of jail. He might even have found a way to introduce more fly agaric into Darmus’s bloodstream.

She kept turning over the soil in the large, undulating spot they’d chosen for the white garden. Darmus sounded lucid to her when she saw him last, but that could change quickly with the right amount of hallucinogen.

Or was it rational? In her experience, there was only one thing that could make a man do insane things. He was trying to protect someone. She needed some advice on what to do next, so she put in a call to Hunter Ollson.

Thankfully, the dirt in the yard was well turned already. Down through the hundred years the house had been there, the hard, orange clay had been replaced by soft, black dirt. And Mrs. Turnbrell had already asked her lawn care service to dig up the spot she liked for the garden. All Peggy and her father had to do was lay it out and fill it in.

Mrs. Turnbrell, Denise, as she insisted, didn’t like the idea of Peggy and her father out there alone working, so she put on some scrub clothes and gloves to lend a hand. They debated over the placement of the magnolia tree the most, since it would grow tall and broad and could hurt the rest of the garden by making it too shady. Finally, they agreed to put it in a corner.

Denise made lemonade and cucumber sandwiches on white bread and brought them out while they all exclaimed over the white statue. “Wouldn’t a white fountain be nice, too?”

“It would add a nice touch,” Peggy agreed.

Hunter came up as they were finishing lunch. She took off her six-inch heels to walk across the thick, wet grass to get to Peggy. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. What’s up? You sounded frantic on the phone.”

Peggy told her about the new development in Darmus’s case. “I don’t know if he’s still out of his head or not.”

“Maybe his lawyer should plead diminished capacity.”

“Could he do that?”

“You said the police knew Darmus had the mushroom in his bloodstream.” Hunter unwrapped a rosebush while she talked. “They should know what it does, right? If not, you could tell them.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“And why are you talking to me instead of Darmus’s lawyer?”

“The Council of Churches owns his lawyer. I don’t know if he’ll do what’s best for Darmus or for the churches.”

“I suppose that’s true. He should’ve hired me. I haven’t had a decent case since—”

“Something doesn’t make any sense,” Peggy interrupted her. “Darmus is drugged, decides to pretend to kill himself. Luther helps him with that poor man’s body they found in the house.”

“Money is missing from Feed America,” her father continued. “At least one person wants Darmus’s position. But Luther is dead. And everything points toward Holles.”

“Holles?” Hunter frowned. “There can’t be more than one person with that name! Sam’s friend?”

“Yes.” Peggy explained what she knew about him.

“So you think he killed Luther and drugged Darmus?” Hunter put a rosebush in the hole Peggy’s father dug for it.

“But why would Darmus turn himself in to the police again?” Denise asked as she put mulch around the plant and watered it. “Surely he didn’t do it to protect Holles?”

“No.” Peggy’s habit of thinking out loud had put another person in the loop. “But Darmus might have done it to protect his new family from a trial.”

Hunter snorted. “It’s better to be guilty than to defend yourself?”

Peggy stopped digging and looked at her. “It might be if something could come out at that trial that would be embarrassing for them.”

“Like what?” Hunter debated.

“I’m not sure,” Peggy answered. “I’ll have to ask Darmus.”

“Good luck trying to see him.”

“I know.”

Denise shaded her eyes against the midday sun and looked down her driveway. “Looks like we have company.”

It was Steve. He came up the hill toward them. Peggy felt her face go red despite the floppy hat and sunscreen she wore. But it had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with the new passion she saw in his eyes when he smiled at her.
Who would have thought I’d ever see that look in another man’s eyes?
Truly, no one ever knew what was going to happen next.

“How are things going?” he asked everyone, but his gaze was on her.

“Fine,” her father told him. “We’ve made good progress.”

“Maybe I can help. I have a few hours before my next appointment.”

With Steve’s help, the task went even faster. The magnolia tree was in the ground, despite some hard shale they encountered. All but three of the roses were planted, and there was only one gardenia left to plant.

Peggy warned Denise that the angel’s trumpet they’d planted was sensitive to chilly weather. “It would be better to cover it until you’re sure it won’t get too cold at night.”

Denise nodded, looking for a place to put the mother and child statue. She looked up when Sam’s truck parked on the street. “You have a lot of friends, Peggy! No wonder your shop is so popular.”

Peggy waved to Sam and Keeley. They came up the hill slowly, their clothes already dirty. Keeley had a big streak of dirt across her nose.

“I guess you don’t need our help.” Sam surveyed the scene. “I should have known you’d find some way to get it done just to prove me wrong.”

“That’s not true. But it was sweet of you to come,” she replied. “I think the garden is going to turn out okay.”

“I think so, too.” He put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, Peggy, I’m sorry for acting the way I did about this. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t go there, Sam.” Steve dug another rosebush hole.

“I know.” Sam smiled and shook his head. “I promise to try not to do it again.”

“Nice wording,” Hunter said. “You could still be a lawyer.”

“No thanks.” He looked at the plants that were still out of the ground. “Let’s wrap this up, huh? I have plans for tonight”

“With Holles?” Hunter asked.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Peggy, you should tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Sam picked up a shovel.

“Your friend might be a killer,” Ranson said. “You should know.”

“That’s stupid.” Sam glanced at Peggy. “This has your fingers all over it.”

Peggy told him what she knew about Holles, including his visit to her and the cottonseeds she’d found. “I think he may be involved.”

“That’s ridiculous! Holles isn’t a killer!” Sam exclaimed. “Just because there are cottonseeds around doesn’t mean anything. I know he’s ambitious, but that doesn’t make him a killer.”

“I agree,” Peggy said. “But there are the other things as well.”

“He sounds a little dangerous to me,” Denise added.

They all turned to look at her. She smiled and blushed before turning back to look for the best place for her statue.

“Anyway,” Sam began again, “Holles isn’t guilty of anything. Let’s move on to the next suspect.”

“Do we know the identify of the dead man Darmus and Luther used to fake Darmus’s death?” Hunter spat grass out of her mouth as she threw a shovelful of dirt into the air by accident.

“Yes,” Peggy said. “Why? Do you think he could be part of the equation?”

“I know Luther says that man didn’t have a family or anything. But what if he did have a family, and they’re getting revenge on Darmus?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam criticized.

Hunter glared at him. “I agree. I think your
boyfriend
being a killer makes more sense.”

Peggy stepped between the brother and sister. “Okay, you two! This won’t get us anywhere.”

“Neither will blaming Holles for this. He’s a little driven, Peggy. But no more than Hunter.” Sam dropped the last gardenia into the ground at his feet. “We don’t think
she
killed anyone, do we?”