Poisoned Petals (34 page)

“All right! All right!” She was finally rewarded when she heard her father’s voice in the yard. “You better have to go and not just want to chase a squirrel!”

“Dad!” She traded names. “Dad! Can you hear me? I’m in the garage!”

Ranson poked his head in through the doorway. “Margaret? Are you in here?”

“Yes! Tied to the steering wheel. Can you come and cut this rope?”

Ranson ran into the garage, switched on the light, and used the knife in his pocket to cut the ropes that held her. “Shakespeare started going crazy in there. I thought he must have to go out in the worst way. He was doing everything but standing in my lap trying to get my attention.”

“We have to find Naomi and Abekeni.” Peggy threw the last of the rope that held her to the concrete floor.

“What happened out here? Where is Naomi?”

“After her lover tried to kill us, she got free and left to find him,” Peggy explained. “I have to go to the precinct and tell Al.”

“Don’t leave without me!” He let Shakespeare into the truck before him. “I found my pistol. I’m ready for action!”

“Dad!” Peggy shook her head, but she didn’t have time to argue. “Okay. You can go. But you have to leave the pistol in the truck.”

“Fine. Well, unless I see those polecats who tried to do you in! Let’s get ’em, sweet pea!”

Peggy knew she was going to be sorry, but she didn’t want to waste any more time. She found her spare set of keys and drove quickly to the precinct, not paying any attention to the speed limit signs and hoping someone would want to pull her over. But Queens Road was empty, and the ride to the precinct was uneventful.

She got out of the truck and ran inside, her father and Shakespeare following her. “I have to see Detective McDonald!” she told the sergeant at the front desk. “It’s an emergency!”

Shakespeare barked for good measure, wagging his tail with excitement, his huge tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“I’ll call him,” the sergeant promised, eyeing them warily. “Maybe you should take a seat.”

But Peggy didn’t wait. The door to the back offices buzzed open, and she took advantage of the moment, running through without looking back. She could hear her father and the desk sergeant competing with Shakespeare to see who could complain the loudest. She didn’t care. She raced back to Al’s office, still next to John’s old office, and threw open his door.

“Peggy! I was wondering what happened to you.” Al pushed out of his chair and glared at her. “Another few minutes, and I was going home.”

“Get on the phone,” she told him. “You have to alert Holles Harwood. Get a car over there. Abekeni might try to kill him tonight.”

“Abekeni? You mean Darmus’s son? What in the world—?”

“Just do it.” She collapsed into the chair in front of his desk. “Let’s not sacrifice anyone else, please.”

He grabbed the phone. “Peggy, you better be right.”

“In this case, I’m sure you’d rather be embarrassed than wrong.”

Al made the call. Peggy filled him in on what happened. The hands moved slowly around the wide clock face on the pale green wall. Ranson and Shakespeare joined them after Al told the sergeant it was all right. They spoke in muffled tones as though they wouldn’t be able to hear the phone when it rang telling them what happened.

Al’s radio sounded first, filling the room. “Shots fired. One officer down at the scene.” He got up from his seat. “Officer Lee is injured. Send backup to 121 Hampstead Place.”

Peggy jumped to her feet, not knowing if she could breathe. Her chest was so tight she might have been afraid she was having a heart attack if she could think of anything except losing Paul.

“Don’t panic.” Al grabbed his gun and his coat. “Stay here. I’ll let you know when I know something.”

“Take me with you, or I’ll follow you,” she barked. “You know I’m not staying here!”

Al shook his head. “Come on. But don’t get in the way!”

“One hundred and twenty-one Hampstead Place is where Holles lives.” She walked quickly beside him, leaving Ranson and Shakespeare to bring up the rear.

“Then it might be Abekeni. My God, how much more does Darmus have to take?”

Peggy didn’t say another word as Al drove through the night streets like a NASCAR driver. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t actually think besides a cold, analytical portion of her brain that kept pace with what they were doing. Drive down Tryon to Highway 49. Get off on the ramp. Follow the signs to Hampstead Apartments.
Oh, God, please let Paul be all right.

At that moment, she didn’t care about anything other than that. Nothing mattered. Not Darmus or Abekeni, not herself. Her mind replayed over and over the night John was killed. She saw Al’s face when he came to tell her. The face of the surgeon who told her there was nothing he could do. Her own face in the mirror at home when it was over, realizing he was gone. She didn’t even recognize herself.

There were already flashing lights in the apartment complex when they got there. An ambulance crew was getting out and starting toward a dark, grassy area illuminated by the orange lights above their heads. Two police cars were there, officers keeping the growing crowd back from the site.

She saw Rosie on the ground and for a moment, she thought she was hurt. Then she realized she was crying over Abekeni’s still form. Her face was distorted in anger and grief. Naomi knelt on the ground beside her, a lost and bewildered look on her face.

“I don’t see Paul,” Peggy said to Al, fear tasting like brine in her mouth. “Where is he?”

“He’s here.” Al’s voice was calm and deep. “He’s here somewhere.”

They rode around to the left of the crime scene. Al parked the car as Ranson tried to contain Shakespeare, who was throwing himself against the window. Peggy was out before Al could turn off the engine, searching the faces of the people there. Officers took statements from onlookers, glancing at her as she walked by. A paramedic rolled another stretcher from the back of an ambulance while his partner called in someone’s vital signs.

It was at that moment that Peggy saw her son. He was sitting on a curb beside the ambulance holding a thick wad of bandage on his forearm. Blood, a strange dark shade against the white, seeped out around his hand.

“Paul!” She forced herself not to throw her body against him and sob. “Are you all right?”

“I got a crease, Mom. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’ll get a few days off for it, rookie,” Al told him. “I hope you’re satisfied.”

Paul winced as the paramedic moved his hand away from the bandage. “It could have been worse.”

“Always.” Al settled his weighty body beside him on the curb. “What happened here, son?”

“We took the call to check on Harwood’s apartment and got here to find Naomi—or Ms. Bates—and Abekeni trying to get into the building. Abekeni turned and fired. I returned fire. His bullet grazed my arm. He fell to the ground.”

“You killed my son!” Rosie yelled, running toward Paul. “Peggy, your son killed my Abekeni!”

She was stopped by Paul’s partner who looked at Al for instructions.

“Take her and the Bates girl in for questioning.” Al dealt with the problem. He looked down at Paul. “I think you’re headed for the hospital. Good work, Officer Lee.”

Sam and Holles, both barefoot and shirtless, stood outside, watching the scene, confusion on their faces. Peggy couldn’t find the energy to hail Sam and explain. She wanted to fall on the ground and not get up again. Her legs didn’t feel like they had the strength to carry her back to the car.

Sam saw her and walked over to where she sat beside Paul on the ground. “Peggy.”

“Sam.”

He shrugged and nudged some grass with his foot. “So I’m scheduled to do the Parkers’ yard next week. Is that okay with you?”

She smiled. “I’m sure Mrs. Parker wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. If two friends can’t get mad and say a few stupid things to each other without it being the end of the world, what are friends for?”

“Thanks.” Sam looked at Paul. “Thank you, too, dude.”

Paul shook his hand. “That’s my job.”

Sam nodded and left them. He took Holles’s hand and walked back into the apartment building.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Paul asked after the paramedics convinced him he had to ride on a stretcher.

“I will be,” she promised. “Once I go home and totally fall apart, I’ll be fine.” She breathed a silent word of thanks toward the night sky. She’d been lucky this time.

 
PEGGY WALKED WITH STEVE through the quiet only found in cemeteries. Albert Jackson and Luther Appleby had been buried that morning.

A simple plaque bore Albert’s name. There were no mourners. But Peggy put a bouquet of waxy white lotus flowers on his grave.

“What do those mean?” Steve asked.

“Mystery and truth. I thought they were apt for his ending.”

Steve hugged her close to him. “It was ironic, wasn’t it? Paul killing Darmus’s son.”

“I know.” She drew her black shawl closer to her against the chill. “The kind of irony I could live without.”

She got a late warning from Nightflyer about Abekeni. He’d found a store photo of the young man in an herbal shop in Asheville and managed to produce a receipt for the fly agaric he’d purchased. It was useless in the long run. But it made Peggy decide to take the contract position with the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department. If she could use her knowledge to help people, she was going to do it.

A slight figure came toward them through the misty graveyard. He carried a green Army duffel bag and wore his coat with the collar pulled up close to his face against the cold. His shoulders were bent, his head down. He shuffled his feet through the carpet of leaves that littered the pathway.

Darmus looked up as he approached them. A shaft of sunlight broke through the mist, illuminating his face. “Peggy. I thought I’d find you here.”

She didn’t rush to greet him as she would have weeks ago. Nothing could ever be the same between them again. Even with their long-standing friendship, the shadows of sorrow would stand in the way. “Darmus. Are you leaving?”

“Yes. There’s nothing left to fight over now. The Council of Churches has abandoned Feed America.” His grim eyes played over the austere landscape. “I wish to God I had never started it.”

“You tried to do something wonderful,” she consoled. “There was no way for you to know.”

“Maybe if I’d looked up from teaching once in a while to live, I might have seen. I don’t know.”

“Where are you going?”

“Away. The charges aren’t clear against me yet. They may never be. If they want me, they’ll have to come find me. I don’t care.”

Peggy couldn’t help him. He was broken, depleted. She didn’t care about the shadows. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him. “Take care of yourself. And call me when you can.”

His look of amazement was genuine. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me again. My son shot Paul and tried to kill you. I will never forgive myself for that. I thought I could protect him, even though I knew he killed Luther.”

“It wasn’t you.” She had tears in her eyes. “Not even the part that
was
you. The mushroom almost destroyed your brain.”

He hugged her with one arm. “Ah, pretty Peggy. You are a true friend.” He looked up at Steve. “Take care of her. She’s a treasure.”

“Yes, sir.”

Darmus smiled as Peggy stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I see someone I have to visit over there. The list grows longer every year. Friends and family. Take care, Peggy. I know God goes with you.”

“Take care, Darmus,” she echoed, watching him walk past them toward Albert Jackson’s grave.

Steve put his arm around her. “You’re freezing. How about some tea?”

“That sounds good.” She smiled up at him, seeing the sunshine in his hair, loving the way he looked at her. “I’m off the rest of the morning.”

He kissed her and smiled wickedly. “I know just the place.”

 
PEGGY SAID GOOD-BYE to her parents, Cousin Melvin, and Aunt Mayfield at eight a.m. Thursday morning. There wasn’t a dry eye in the group, of course. She promised to come down when the shop got slow for the summer. Her parents didn’t mention the sale of their farm outside Charleston again, but Peggy felt sure the next time she saw them they would be ready to make their move.

Paul was going to be fine. He was staying with her for a few days while his arm healed, then he’d be back at work on administrative duty until he was cleared on the shooting. Peggy was sorry he’d already had to take someone’s life, but she was happy he’d survived. She wanted to be long dead before anything like that happened again.

“Mom?” She heard Paul call for her as she walked toward the TV room with a tray full of goodies they were going to eat while they watched the entire Star Wars epic on DVD.

“I don’t think I can carry anything else,” she said.

“It’s not that. I just thought about something.” He smiled at her. “Cousin Mayfield left his fishing pole here. How would you like to take a drive out to Badin Lake and do some fishing while I have the time off?”

She put the tray of goodies down on the coffee table and put the first DVD into the player. “Mayor Harrison owes me a favor anyway. You can fish off the back of his boat, and I’ll admire the scenery. How’s that?”

“Sounds great,” he said around a chip in his mouth. “We used to go out there all the time when I was little. Remember that time we were looking at his cows and I thought cows laid eggs? That was funny.”

“It was,” she agreed. “Your father explained for a long time where calves came from. You just wouldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah. I miss Dad.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you? I mean, with Steve and everything?”

She smiled. “I will always love your father, Paul. No one can ever change that.”

“Steve’s great, though,” he replied. “I really like him.”