Pretty Poison (6 page)

“Homer?” Sam grinned. “They gotta be kidding, right?”

“Mark’s wallet and jewelry were gone. So were his shoes. They think Mr. Cheever hit him over the head and robbed him. I tried to tell the police it wasn’t possible. They won’t listen.”

“Come on! Even if Homer wanted to, he couldn’t get enough oomph to kill a man!”

Peggy answered quietly, “Mr. Cheever could be the suspect through default. Whoever did it left the shovel behind. Which probably means the person was wearing gloves and isn’t worried about fingerprints.”

“Or they got scared.” Keeley shrugged. “Imagine what it must be like to kill someone. I mean, unless you
planned
to do it.”

“Hitting somebody with a shovel doesn’t seem too calculated to me,” Sam observed. “It was probably a crime of passion. The police are right to look for Warner’s lover.”

“Were the two of you here night before last?” Peggy helped them unload the rest of the pansies and put them in the storage shed.

“We were here until what? Eight-thirty?” Sam looked at Keeley.

“Yeah. We picked up that order of tulip bulbs we planted yesterday at Dr. Marshall’s and dropped off the work order for the Langely estate where we planted the daffodils the day before.”

“And you didn’t see anything? Or anyone?”

“Nothing unusual.” Keeley dusted potting soil from her hands. “I think we would’ve noticed a man in the shop!”

“Did you notice if Mr. Cheever was around that night?” Peggy wiped her hands on a rag.

“I didn’t notice,” Sam answered. “I kind of take him for granted.”

“Me either,” Keeley said. “But he’s always around.”

“He was here Sunday.” Peggy didn’t want to implicate her homeless friend in the investigation, but she wanted to know if he saw anything. If the killer thought Mr. Cheever was there when the crime was committed, he could be the next victim. “The police will ask questions when you go in to give your prints.”

Sam smiled at her. “We can handle it. And we won’t mention Homer unless they beat it out of us.”

“Yeah,” Keeley joked. “We know you’re
hot
for him.”

Peggy laughed. “Thanks! I don’t want you to lie! But I’d like a chance to talk to him before they pick him up.”

“You got it.” Sam put on his sunglasses. “Anything else?”

“I’ll call the nursery today and have them bring us some fresh flats. No one likes a wilted pansy!”

Keeley frowned. “Sorry. I was trying to save a few bucks.”

“That’s okay.” Peggy assured her. “See you inside.”

It was difficult to unlock the back door and make herself walk into the shop. Al had called a crime scene cleaning service for her, and it appeared they did a good job. There was no blood on the floor, but the old wood didn’t give up the brown stain. She’d have to buy a rug to put over it and try not to think about it every time she walked in. The scarecrow was gone, probably taken for evidence. The pumpkins were strewn across the floor.

Something strange caught Peggy’s eye as she was trying to put her autumn scene back together. She reached down and picked up a flower head from its precarious perch on top of a pumpkin.
Columbine
. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Did you lose something?” Keeley looked at the smooth wood floorboards with her.

“No. I wanted to make sure everything was cleaned up from yesterday.” Peggy got up from the floor and pocketed the tiny red columbine flower. She could put it into a plastic bag later. It didn’t belong there. Columbines grew wild in the Carolinas but not in November. The flower wasn’t more than a few days old. She didn’t have any columbine plants in her shop.

She wasn’t sure what that meant, if anything. The crime scene team either didn’t see it or overlooked it as being part of the decor. After all, it
was
a garden shop. A random flower head that didn’t belong on her floor was hardly something that would spark police interest. And it wouldn’t clear Mr. Cheever. Still, she didn’t plan to throw it away. It might be a piece of the puzzle.

Sam moved the rocking chair back into position. “It doesn’t look the same without Gus, does it?”

She smiled. “Getting a new scarecrow is the least of our worries. In some ways, all this publicity will be good for business. It should certainly bring in some new people. And that’s good. Except for people who want to come and look at this stain on the floor.”

He agreed. “There’s that rug place in the Arcade. Would you like me to run down there and get something to cover it?”

“That would be great, Sam. Thanks. Take the checkbook.”

The Potting Shed was always busy on Friday with gardeners stocking up for the weekend. The weather was supposed to be nice. Peggy urged everyone who came in during the week to take advantage of it. It wouldn’t be long before winter set in, and they’d all be dreaming of spring.

True to her expectations, a steady stream of customers flowed into the shop as soon as they opened. Some were familiar faces there to pick up plant orders or buy potting soil. Some were strangers who walked slowly through, looking at the floor. All of them wanted to know about the murder they’d seen on Channel 9 news.

Everyone had an opinion. Most of the women felt Warner deserved to die for his much-rumored infidelity and was probably killed by some former lover. Most of the men were certain the homeless man was responsible and wanted to know when the city was going to clean up its act.

They all wanted to know Peggy’s opinion. When she claimed not to have one, they looked embarrassed or disappointed and continued walking around the shop. Most handled a few garden implements or picked up a pack of bulbs. Few bought anything.

Around ten, the press came in and asked to talk to Peggy while they took pictures of the shop. She declined, even though the free publicity appealed to her. The Potting Shed was notorious enough.

Sam came back with a rainbow-colored rag rug. They moved the rocking chair and the wicker baskets out of the way and laid the rug over the bloodstain.

There was sudden silence in the shop, despite the twenty-five or so customers. It was followed by an audible sigh of disappointment. Several people put away their cameras and left. Peggy shrugged and rearranged the display on the rug. She didn’t need gawkers there anyway.

She finally had to leave Keeley and Sam. She wanted to tell them about the columbine she found, but it seemed too vague. She certainly couldn’t call it a clue. But on her way to her freshman botany class, she suddenly decided to make a quick stop at the downtown precinct. Maybe Mai would have more information. And maybe Peggy would tell her about the columbine.

There were several squad cars and the white crime scene van outside the redbrick building. It was strange being there after two years. How many times did she bring John’s supper up there and wait for him in the parking lot? She only did it to spend an extra few minutes with him. Their lives were too hectic sometimes with his job, her teaching, and their varied outside interests. She wished now they’d taken the last vacation they had postponed.

She walked inside, and the memories continued to haunt her. In some ways, it was like nothing had changed. The badly painted walls and scuffed floors, the smell of strong disinfectant and day-old coffee. John’s office had been in the back of the precinct. She hadn’t been there since the day she cleaned out his desk. Who was sitting there now?

Several ragged men waited on an inside bench near the door. Peggy wondered if they were being questioned about Mark’s death. All of them fit her general description of Mr. Cheever, but he wasn’t in the group. She was glad they hadn’t found him yet, even though he might be safer here. There was also the worry that he’d become a convenient fall guy.

She was distracted by a ficus as she waited to speak to the desk sergeant. Poor thing was shedding leaves faster than a poplar in autumn! She stuck her finger into the soil where the roots were showing. It was as dry as last week’s casserole.

“What can I do for you?” the sergeant finally asked her.

He was new. She didn’t recognize him. It was surprising how much the building stayed the same while the people came and went. Like they didn’t have any effect on their surroundings. “I’d like to see—” she took out the business card and showed him, “Mai Sato. She’s with forensics.”

“I’ll give her a call. Your name?”

“Peggy Lee.”

He grinned at her. “Are you Paul’s mother by any chance?”

“Yes, I am. Is he here?”

“Not right now. They’ve got everybody out on the street bringing in homeless men. He might be back soon.” He picked up the phone and called Mai.

When he put down the receiver, she said, “You’re killing that lovely ficus by keeping it too close to the door. Every blast of cold air is like a deathblow to it. It needs watering, too, and more dirt to cover the roots.”

“I don’t take care of the plants, Mrs. Lee.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who does?”

“I don’t know. Whoever’s handy, I guess.”

“Thanks.” She made a mental note to talk to Al about it after this was over. It might be another job for the Potting Shed.

While she was waiting for Mai, she looked at the little ficus again. When the sergeant was talking with another man, she moved it closer to his desk, away from the door. It would be protected from the worst of the weather anyway.

The battered hall door opened. “Dr. Lee! What brings you down here?”

“Hello, Mai! I wanted to check and see what was going on. Have my people come in to be fingerprinted?”

“Come on back. It’s freezing out here. You know, it occurred to me after we talked yesterday that you could be Paul Lee’s mother.”

“Guilty as charged. You know Paul?”

Mai grimaced but didn’t answer.

Peggy followed her down the hall that smelled like antiseptic cleaner, wondering what her son did to alienate the young woman. They turned into a dismal, windowless office. A desk was shoved into one corner, and a worktable took up the rest of the closetlike space. Stark fluorescent lighting made everything look surreal.

Mai shuffled the stacks of papers on her desk. Colored tabs and folders neatly organized each stack. “No one’s come in yet. I hope you impressed on them how important this is. I’m sure none of them want to be mistaken for a suspect.”

“I’m sure they don’t. But all of them are students. You know what that’s like. I’ll call them again. Can you tell me anything more about Mark Warner’s death?”

“Have a seat. I heard about your husband. I’m sorry for your loss. Since your son
and
your husband were on the job, I suppose I could give you a few details. It
did
happen in your shop.”

“Exactly. Thank you.” Peggy sat down carefully on a rickety ladder-back chair.

“Most of the tests aren’t done yet. There are a lot of samples to go through. But we know there were no defensive wounds. The ME thinks he was standing with his back to the killer, not suspecting anything until he was attacked. The shovel damaged the brain stem enough that death occurred.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Yeah. The killer probably knocked him down, then stood over him to use the shovel with maximum effect.” Mai demonstrated with a pen. “They found his car yesterday. It was parked in the deck behind the Bank of America building. It was in his space. There was nothing irregular about it. We think he left work and walked over to your shop.”

“Which would support my theory that he was going to meet someone there secretly,” Peggy added.

“Someone like who? Was he friends with someone who works there?”

Peggy told her about the brunette she’d seen with him.

Mai nodded. “That could explain a lot. But why pick
your
shop? There are a dozen hotels closer.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was somewhere familiar. Somewhere they felt safe.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mai agreed, “in a weird way.”

“But it doesn’t explain how they got into my shop.”

“True. Could he have had a key?”

“I don’t see how.”

“Maybe you should write down the names of all the people who have keys.” Mai passed her a piece of paper. “A detective is bound to ask you at some point anyway.”

Peggy considered carefully. “All my assistants have keys. Full time, that’s Selena, Keeley, and Sam. There are two others who come in part time, Brenda and Dawn. They’re all students. That’s five. Emil has one. I have one. The pest control man has one. The cleaning service has one. That’s all I can think of.”

“You don’t leave one anywhere, do you? Under a mat or taped somewhere on a window ledge?”

“No, nothing like that! My husband would turn over in his grave if I were that careless!”

Mai shrugged. “It’s not unusual. Have you asked your assistants about that night?”

“The last two were there around eight-thirty. Selena works days. She left with me. The pest control man comes in once a month. It wasn’t time for him. I don’t know if Emil has ever used his key. Mint Condition, the cleaning service, comes in once a week. But that wasn’t their night to clean.”

“Well, that didn’t help.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Mai glanced through the paperwork from the case. “Someone else is checking out Mr. Warner’s clothes. We never found his shoes. So far the only unusual thing we found was a piece of some kind of flower petal in his pocket.”

“Columbine?”

“Is that a flower?”

“I found this on the floor in the shop this morning.” Peggy pulled out the flower head. “It might match what you found. We don’t carry columbines this time of year.”

Mai used tweezers to take the flower. She sealed it into a plastic bag. “How did we miss this?” She carefully labeled the sample.

“It’s a flower in a garden shop. It doesn’t really look like evidence.”

“And it might not be,” Mai told her. “But thanks for bringing it in. I’ll let you know if it’s anything.”