Killing Weeds (10 page)

“No. The plant is being eradicated everywhere they find it. It’s still creeping our way, but right now, you’d have to find some in another state and bring it here.”

“It might be a good idea if we knew how the killer made the hogweed poison,” Millie added.

“I know,” Peggy said. “You’d like me to add that to my to-do list.”

“I think that’s it for now until we can get more information to go on,” Steve said. “That should keep you off the street too.”

“Paul, is there anything else you can add to help identify Mary Hood?” Al asked. “We could also take that drawing to Providence Cafe where you met her. Maybe someone there would recognize her. Who knows—she might be a regular.”

“I can’t think of anything that stood out. Unlike Sam, who was just doing something he’d done a thousand times, this was my first case as a private detective. I was nervous and wanted to get it right.”

“I assume you didn’t take out a yellow page ad,” Peggy said. “How did she find you?”

“There is an online bulletin board that’s free for private detectives to post,” Paul explained. “I posted there when I first got my license about a month ago. She was the first one to call me.”

“Do you still have that number?” Millie asked excitedly.

“I do—but I gave it to the police. They said it’s a burner phone. No trace.”

“What about contacting the bulletin board?” Peggy wondered. “Do they keep track of these things?”

“No, Mom. It’s just a chat room kind of thing where you can contact a real private investigator and ask questions or set up to meet them about a job.”

“Dead end, in other words.” Al closed his notebook. “We’ll have copies made of the drawings and then hit the streets. Call if you need anything.”

Steve shook his hand. “We will. Be careful.”

“You too. Come on, Paul.”

“I’m coming.” Paul nodded to the circle around the kitchen table. “Thanks for all your help.”

Hunter had finally finished eating—she looked like a runway model—but ate like a Viking. She wiped her mouth on a napkin and handed out her card to everyone.  “And if you need any legal advice or get arrested, call me.”

“Thanks, Hunter.” Al looked at the blue card and stuck it in his pocket.

Paul and Al left. Hunter was right behind them. That left Peggy there with her father, Norris, Millie, and Steve.

“I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you know it’s not legal for us to investigate this.” Norris lodged his protest with Steve.

Peggy was wondering how long it was going to take him to be annoying. She hoped he didn’t plan on staying at the house after Steve and Millie were gone. She really didn’t want him around.

“I think this is an unusual circumstance,” Millie said. “It affects the local FBI director and his family. I’m not too sure we couldn’t make a case to bring in the whole weight of the agency on this.”

“Maybe,” Norris half agreed. “But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re sneaking around.” He looked at Steve. “This isn’t good for your reputation, sir.”

“I’ll worry about that later,” Steve said. “There’s plenty of paperwork at the office for you to catch up on. We shouldn’t be long.”

“That’s okay,” Norris said. “I’d prefer to be at your side, sir.”

Peggy sighed with relief. At lease he wasn’t going to be with
her
.

Steve’s phone rang. It was his superior at the FBI saying that he needed to see him right away.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he said when he was off the phone. “Millie and Norris—they want you too. Sorry, Peggy. When we’re done, we’ll head over to the fur shop. You’re working on the lists, right?”

“Yep. You know me.” She smiled. “I’ll be here. Working on the lists.”

Yellow Rose

The yellow rose has been prized for its cheerful hues and natural feeling of optimism. The color was difficult to find, finally located growing wild in the Middle East during the 18th century. It had one flaw – no scent for which roses were known. A beloved, sweet scent was bred into the flower, and all was well with the world!

Chapter Fifteen

Peggy only waited for Steve’s SUV to leave the yard before she went upstairs to change clothes. Shakespeare watched her from the bed.

“What?” she asked the dog. “I’m not going to sit here all day making lists that I could make in five minutes. I thought from the beginning that the best person to go to Stewart’s was me. If Steve and Millie go in there, looking all FBI, they aren’t going to say anything to them. But if I go in, that will be a different story.”

He whined and shook his head, his untrimmed ears flapping.

“Don’t you start. This will go very smoothly. You’ll see.”

Peggy wore one of her few good outfits—a pristine white suit from Liz Claiborne. She’d had it for years, but it was timeless. She didn’t like to wear it often because it picked up dirt like black picked up lint. But it was made for this occasion.

She looked at herself in the mirror, remembering where she’d worn the suit last—she’d married Steve in it. She’d felt like it was okay to wear white even though she’d been married before, just not a big, gauzy white dress with sparkles and a train.

She’d been happy with it, and her wedding flowers, specifically chosen for their meanings. She’d skipped baby’s breath with its message of innocence and went for hydrangea for understanding, lily of the valley for happiness, and stephanotis for marital bliss.

Peggy enjoyed using the old Victorian language of flowers. It was exciting knowing what the blooms meant when so many other people had no idea. She could look through a floral shop and immediately choose what flowers would be right for an occasion. It was like a secret society for plant lovers.

Carefully, she put on lipstick and added blush to her cheeks. She clipped back her shoulder-length hair. She’d never dyed her hair with its white-tinged red, despite being married to a man ten years younger. She’d lived through every bit of that white and those wrinkles on her face. She was proud of each one.

When she was done, she slipped her feet into Jimmy Choo sandals that she’d also worn for her wedding and was ready to go.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that her mother had a migraine and had kicked her father out of their bedroom. He’d been about to knock on Peggy’s door as she opened it.

His eyes got wide as he looked at her. “You are something beautiful this morning, baby girl. I was wondering what I was going to do with myself until your mother feels better. Now I know.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t even start trying to tell me that you aren’t going to Stewart’s Furs.” He held up his hand as if to ward off her excuse. “That’s exactly where you’re headed since Steve couldn’t go. I’ll go with you.”

“It won’t be good for you to go,” Peggy protested as she walked quickly past him to the stairs. “I have to do this alone. It’s better for the subterfuge.”

“Nonsense. I could be your sugar daddy, looking to buy you a new fur coat. It would work. I think your mother threw a sport coat into that pile of clothes she brought. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Dad—”

“It will be much better with two of us there. You know it will.” He grinned at her, his eyes alight with cunning humor. “Two heads are always better than one. Besides, if you don’t let me go, I’ll call Steve. I have him on speed dial, you know. Paul set that up for me. It’s very fast. I only push one button, and there he is.”

Peggy sighed. She wasn’t going to win this argument. “All right. But hurry. Maybe this will work out—you can make out my list of suspects as I drive.”

“You can’t drive. Your car doesn’t look like it belongs to a cute babe and her sugar daddy. We’ll take my car.
You
can make out the list.”

But this was an argument Peggy had the upper hand in. “You’re right. My hybrid doesn’t scream money. But neither does your Volvo. However, Paul just had the Rolls cleaned and tuned. We’ll take it.”

No way Ranson could argue with that.

The 1940 Silver Shadow was a classic. It had been part of the estate. John had never driven it, not liking the status it conveyed. For a few years Peggy had toyed with the engine, trying to convert it to hydrogen, but she’d given up before the task was finished.

Paul had surprised her and had the original engine restored and the rest of the car cleaned so it could be driven. He’d borrowed it once or twice to impress Mai and her family. Otherwise the Rolls-Royce slept covered in a tarp in the garage.

Peggy removed the soft tarp and folded it neatly before putting it in the trunk.

Ranson ran his hand appreciatively across the car’s shiny finish. “You’re right. Nothing tops this. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.”

“Let’s get in. Steve’s meeting might not last very long. I want to be in and out of Stewart’s before he knows we’re there.”

“Okay, Honey Bunny.”

“Don’t call me that, and don’t pretend to be my sugar daddy. Can’t you just be my wealthy father buying me a mink for my birthday?”

“I can do that, but it won’t be as much fun,” he grumbled.

Stewart’s Furs was a hole in the wall shop in Myer’s Park. It was hard to tell that so many expensive furs were sold here every year. It was a very popular place for local bankers—and their wives and mistresses.

Peggy was opposed to wearing fur and had never owned a fur coat in her life. But she parked the Rolls outside the shop and pretended like she belonged there. Ranson came around and opened the door for her. She thanked him regally, and they proceeded into the place together.

The shop was shabby, which probably added to its popularity. Stewart Purl saw their entrance and the car. He immediately pushed aside his only sales clerk to wait on them himself.

He was a small man, barely five feet, with tiny hands and feet. He was dressed in a perfect gray suit and white shirt. His white hair and mustache were well-groomed.

Smiling, he presented himself to Peggy and Ranson. “Good morning. May I help you?”

Ranson nodded. “Yes, my good man. I would like to buy a beautiful new coat for my beautiful daughter.”

Peggy sighed with relief. She hadn’t thought he could pull off the sugar daddy routine convincingly, and he was her father—
eww
.

Stewart kissed her hand. “You are a lovely young woman. I’m sure we can find something equally as beautiful for you to wear.”

“Equally?” Ranson thundered. “Are you saying you have a coat as beautiful as my daughter?”

Stewart backed down from his statement. “No. Of course not. I meant a coat that will show off your beautiful daughter. Of course there is nothing more beautiful than she.”

Peggy narrowed her eyes at her father, giving him an unspoken request to get on with it. “I’m looking for the same coat that a friend of mine purchased here. It was full-length brown mink.”

“Oh yes? We have many of those. If you will step this way, madam.”

Peggy started to follow him and then hung back. “I want
exactly
the same coat, you understand.”

He paused. “Surely. We have many such requests. What is your friend’s name?”

“Her name is Mary Hood. Do you know the coat I mean?”

“I don’t recall the name, but I can check my files.” He snapped his fingers.

His sales clerk, a plain little woman with her brown hair rolled up in a bun on the back of her head, was standing close by. She wore large, black-rimmed glasses that did nothing to make her face attractive, and a shapeless dress. Even her nametag was blank, as though Mr. Purl didn’t want her to be noticed at all.

“I can take the name of your friend and look her up,” she told Peggy.

“Mary Hood. She and I have been friends forever,” Peggy gushed, wondering if she had overplayed herself when the woman looked at her like she had a loose screw.

“I’ll check on that, ma’am.”

Stewart, Ranson, and Peggy waited for her to return, making small talk.

The inside of the shop was in no better condition that the outside. The upholstery on the green chairs near the dressing room was threadbare. The carpet needed to be replaced. Even the dark green drapes had seen better days. She wondered why Stewart didn’t reinvest in the shop. Maybe he was near retirement and just wanted to get by.

The dowdy sales clerk returned promptly and whispered in Stewart’s ear.

He smiled at Peggy. “I’m afraid no one by that name has purchased a coat with us, at least not recently. Could she have used another name? Sometimes ladies who visit us are reluctant to use their real names.”

Peggy exchanged glances with Ranson.

“What about another friend—Nita Honohan?” Peggy asked.

The sales clerk scurried away to check the records. She returned with the same expression on her overworked face. Nita Honohan wasn’t listed in the records either.

“I don’t understand,” Peggy said. “Maybe I have the wrong shop. I thought for sure she said Stewart’s.”

“And I’m certain she did.” The proprietor smiled uneasily, no doubt feeling the lucrative sale slipping through his fingers. “Perhaps she used a different name.”

“I can’t think what other name she might have used.” Peggy tapped her finger on her bag. “She’s such a trickster though, anything is possible. Could I have a peek at the sales book in case I might recognize her name?”

It was clear Mr. Purl wasn’t happy with that idea. “I don’t think that would be a good business practice, do you? I’m sure you wouldn’t want someone to see your name in here if you were trying to keep something secret.”

“You’re right.” Peggy sighed and stared at the floor.

“Perhaps if we knew what the lady in question looked like,” the assistant added. “Can you describe her?”

Peggy hadn’t actually seen her and was at a loss to describe the woman who had appeared so different in the sketches from Sam and Paul.

Ranson took her hand. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m sure we can find something you like at another shop. I could get that new coat for your mama and your sister at the same time.”

It was a brilliant move. Knowing he would lose all three sales, Stewart immediately led them to a small back room where fur coats were being altered and cleaned. When they were seated at a card table, he had his sales clerk bring out the book.