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Authors: JOYCE AND JIM LAVENE

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BOOK: Pretty Poison
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“I’m all right.” Peggy didn’t want her friend to go to jail. He was a little prone to theatrics. This wasn’t the time for it.
“I saw the squad car and the ambulance.” Emil puffed out his chest. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I walked in and found a dead man in my shop.”
He frowned. “A dead man? It’s not that homeless bum you’re always feeding, is it?”
“No.” She wished he wouldn’t be quite so much help either.
“Homeless man?” the officer asked. “What homeless man?”
“He comes and begs for handouts.” Emil nodded at Peggy. “She always gives him something. I told her it was asking for trouble. Those kind are always trouble.”
The officer looked at Peggy again. “Is that true?”
“The odd biscuit or two. Some spare change. It’s not like I took him into my home.”
“But he’s always here?”
“He’s not here today,” Emil added. “He probably killed this man, then ran away.”
“He’s sixty-three and has arthritic knees,” Peggy told him. “He could hardly run anywhere.”
“Ha! You’re too easy on him.”
“You need to leave, sir,” the officer interrupted their debate. “I’ll be sure to note your remarks. Someone will talk to you later.”
Emil threw his hands up as he was leaving the shop, “Okay! I’ll be over there!”
The officer ignored him as he questioned Peggy. “Have you seen this homeless man lately?”
“I haven’t seen him since Sunday,” she answered. “But he didn’t have anything to do with this. The dead man is in my shop. The doors were still locked when I got here.”
“Maybe the homeless man surprised him.”
“How would either of them get in?”
Officer Kopacka glanced around. “I guess we won’t know until we investigate.”
“I’d say she knows more about that than you do, son,” a familiar voice joined the conversation.
Peggy turned back and smiled at an old friend. “Al! Thank goodness!”
Detective Al McDonald kissed her cheek. His heavyset black face sat squatly on a thick, muscular neck. Red-rimmed brown eyes were alert to the details of the shop around him. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since Easter, right? The egg hunt in the park? I trampled on that patch of whaddyacallit.”
“Violets. That’s right. I’m fine. How’s Mary?”
“Mary’s okay. She’s getting impatient for me to retire.” He laughed, lines creasing his thick black face. “How’s Paul?”
She rolled her green eyes when she thought of her son. “I don’t know. I never see him anymore.”
“You know, I never see him either. And we both work out of the same precinct. I think he’s avoiding me.”
“That makes two of us. I know he’s in Charlotte somewhere!”
“So, what have we got here?” he asked her.
Peggy told him what she knew. “I don’t think I know the man, but it’s hard to say. People are in and out all the time. And his face
is
down in the anemones.”
Al nodded. “The crime scene boys are right behind me. You know the drill. This could take a while.”
“Detective McDonald?” one of the younger officers called him.
“Excuse me a minute.” He smiled at Peggy again and nodded to Selena.
“What are they looking at?” Selena whispered. “Do they think
we
did it?”
“Of course they don’t think we did it! I’m sure they’re looking for evidence.” Now that Al was here, things would be in hand. He was John’s partner for twenty years. There wasn’t a man alive she trusted more.
Al came back to them after talking to the officer in a far corner of the shop. “I think you’re right, Peggy. It looks like this man was murdered with the shovel, then robbed.”
“So someone robbed him?” Selena deciphered. “It’s sounding more and more like Homer.”
“Homer?” Al asked.
“He’s our local homeless man,” Selena explained. “He lives out in the courtyard sometimes. You know, he asks for spare change and food.”
Peggy shook her head. “Mr. Cheever wouldn’t hurt anyone. He’s a Vietnam vet who fell on hard times. He could be John.”
Al looked skeptical. “John wouldn’t have begged for money and food outside shops. I know you want to help this Mr. Cheever, but we need to talk to him, whether you think he’s guilty or not. You know that better than these rookies.”
Peggy didn’t really know much about him. “He moves around the city quite a bit. He’s had some trouble with the police.”
“And you say his name is Homer Cheever?” Al took out his notebook.
“We call him Homer because he reminds us of Homer Simpson, the cartoon character?” Selena shrugged. “I guess we don’t really know his name.”
He looked up at her. “And you are?”
“Selena Rogers. I work here.”
“And did you see anything unusual, Ms. Rogers?”
She glanced at Peggy. “I came in when she found the man—uh—body.”
“What about this homeless man?” he continued. “How about a description?”
Peggy responded, “He’s tall, very thin and pale. He has bad knees and wears a long black coat with holes in it. He has thinning brown hair and blue eyes. He’s got a jagged scar on one side of his face. He told me that he’s sixty-three.”
“Okay. We’ll put out an APB on him.”
“He doesn’t have a key to the shop,” Peggy pointed out.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out. You’ll have to leave the shop closed until we’re finished.”
“I know. But I still think you’re making a mistake looking for Mr. Cheever.”
“Look,” Al argued. “Maybe the victim got locked in here last night by mistake when you closed up. Maybe he was trying to get out and your homeless friend saw him and attacked him. Maybe Mr. Cheever was trying to break into the store. The jewelry, the wallet, even the shoes. Those are all things a homeless man might take.”
“The dead man couldn’t get in or out of the locked shop without a key,” she reasoned. “There was no one here when I left last night. And unless he broke a window, Mr. Cheever couldn’t get in without a key to rob him!”
“Stubborn as always, huh? Just let us investigate. I’ll keep you posted. Okay?”
“I understand.”
But I don’t have to like it.
“Excuse me.” One of the crime scene investigators interrupted them. “Would you like to take a look and see if he’s someone you know?”
Peggy hesitated. It
seemed
like a good idea when she said she’d help identify him. She got up from the bench and walked slowly toward the body. The man’s face was mottled and pale, his lips white and slack. His eyes were half open, revealing his vacant stare. Blood smeared his right cheek. But she knew him despite his ghastly appearance. “Mark Warner!”
2
Water lily
Botanical:
Nymphaea odorata
Family:
Nymphaeaceae
Known as the queen of the water, it is found in shallow ponds, streams, and lakes. According to legend, a Brazilian Indian girl was killed when she tried to embrace the warrior in the moon. He transformed her into the giant water lily, the
vitória-régia
, whose flower opens wide only at night. It is said that the
vitória-régia
opens itself to its utmost only during a full moon when the sky over the Amazon jungle is cloudless and particularly clear.
“
THE
MARK WARNER?”Al peered at the man’s face. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so,” Peggy muttered. “I’ve seen him around the shop lately.”
“What’s he doing here dead?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Well, take your time. Do your best,” Al cautioned the crime scene team. “Not like I’d expect anything else from you. But this one will be on the news every night for a week.”
Peggy knew that meant her shop would be on the news, too. There was no way to know how that would affect her business. She felt a little guilty thinking about it that way.
“I have to go.” Al took her hand. “I’ll be in touch. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”
Al kissed her cheek before he left. “That’s fine. Someone can take you home if you need a ride. Don’t be shy about asking.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“I can’t believe it. My first case has to be someone famous!” A young Vietnamese woman in a blue crime scene uniform stood beside Peggy when Al was gone. Her huge, almond-shaped brown eyes and pretty face were half hidden by heavy black glasses.
“I suppose that makes it harder,” Peggy sympathized. “Once the press hears about it, reporters will be everywhere.”
“Yeah.” She adjusted her glasses. “Sorry. That’s my problem, not yours. I’m Mai Sato. I’m with the medical examiner’s office.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Peggy Lee.”
The younger woman did a double take. “Aren’t you someone famous?”
“Only if you can get famous being a professor at Queens for too long.”
Mai smiled. “Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”
Peggy watched the crime scene teamwork on the body, inspecting it for anything that might help them discover what happened. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“We’ll need your fingerprints, Professor Lee. Also those of anyone who works here.”
“That’s fine. I’ll tell my people. But I’m afraid you’ll find a lot more than their prints here.”
“It will give us a base to use as a comparison, since your prints will come up most often. I could do your prints right now so you won’t have to come to the precinct,” Mai offered. “Do you own this shop?”
“Thanks. Yes, I’m here almost every day.” Peggy shrugged. “I teach botany, but that’s only part time. I contract out the fieldwork for the shop to some students. It’s mostly commercial plant care.”
The assistant ME looked at the dead man again. “And you’re sure this is Mark Warner?”
“Positive. As I said, I’ve seen him around the courtyard lately. He’s been in the shop a few times. He never spoke or bought anything that I saw.” Peggy put her hands into her pockets. “But I’m sure you’ll want to have someone who knew him better actually make the final identification.
They sat down together. Mai carefully put Peggy’s fingers on the ink pad, then rolled them on the paper. She put a tag on the prints before she slipped the paper into a plastic bag and sealed it.
Peggy thanked her for the damp towelette to clean her hands. “Now what?”
“If you could have all the people who work for you come in, we could do their prints and begin matching up who belonged here with who didn’t.” She gave Peggy a business card. “If they have any questions, they can call me.”
“Thanks, Mai. I’ll let them know. That’s Selena over there. She works here, too. She might as well get it over with while you’re here.”
“All right. How many people have keys to the shop?”
“At least five that work here,” Peggy answered. “Oh, and Mr. Balducci. I gave him a key in case he needed to come in for some reason.”
“That’s the sandwich shop owner?”
“Yes.”
Mai sighed. “It looks like time of death will probably be around midnight. What was Mark Warner doing here in the middle of the night?”
 
 
WHAT WOULD
ANYONE
BE DOING at the shop in the middle of the night?
Peggy asked herself that question several more times as the day progressed. There wasn’t a ready answer. While some deliveries were made after store hours, she knew none were made that late. The gates and doors to Latta Arcade and Brevard Court were locked down after around seven or eight. Only shop owners could get in through the back loading doors.
The media picked up on the story and added to it, but they couldn’t ferret out the answer either. Not that they didn’t try. She refused to talk to any of the local reporters about the incident. She knew what Julie Warner was going through. It had been terrible for Peggy to hear the information about John’s death repeated a dozen times on TV and banner headlines trumpeting it in the newspapers.
She was scheduled for an evening lecture at the university. It was tempting to postpone it after the day’s events. But it wouldn’t do any good to hide in the house. She knew that too well.
Peggy forced herself into a black business suit that she teamed with an emerald-green blouse. She never wore heels, using her mode of transportation as an excuse. Really, she refused to put her feet through that agony. There was no one left for her to impress. She wasn’t a young woman looking for a man.
There were the usual joggers on the street as she pedaled toward Queens University. She recognized some of them as students. They huffed and waved as they passed her. She rode beneath a city crew beginning to put up Christmas decorations on the streetlights. Evening traffic swarmed around her as she merged with the cars streaming into the university parking lot.
Peggy quickly repaired the minor damage done to her hair by the brisk wind. She glanced at her watch, realizing she was about to be late for her lecture. Fortunately, she’d never been a stickler for time. A few minutes here or there weren’t going to hurt anyone. That attitude always drove John crazy.
BOOK: Pretty Poison
11.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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