Poisoned Petals (11 page)

Peggy realized she’d accidentally put it into her pocket instead of putting it back into the bag with Luther’s possessions. She got up and took it out and looked at it.

There was no doubt it was Darmus’s. She remembered him showing it to her when he was planning to propose to Rosie. The fact that he still wore it and had never remarried told her he never really got over Rosie. He might have been dedicated to his causes, but he always held Rosie in his heart. What would he have said if he’d known they had a son together?

She wished he’d confided in her more. He was a very private person. She knew him better than anyone but always knew he held back. Darmus was very conscious of his role as a teacher and a facilitator. He wanted people to admire him to the point of shutting people away from the real person he was.

He never welcomed the spotlight Feed America brought him. He seldom appeared in public except for his classes. He let other volunteers take the limelight for his accomplishments.

He wanted to work behind the scenes, but sometimes Peggy felt he lost himself in trying to be an icon for the world. His view became too lofty and too untenable. They’d argued about some of his extreme ideas. Peggy always took the middle ground. Now she regretted those arguments. He wanted to be more than his humble beginnings in Blacks-burg, South Carolina. She understood that concept now.

She was almost asleep when she heard the
ping
of her computer telling her she had email. Thinking a diversion might be nice, she went to check it out.

Peggy sat back in her chair with a sigh. She hadn’t heard from Nightflyer in weeks. Her online chess partner and sometimes informant was always sketchy about his appearances and disappearances, but she thought she’d ask anyway.

Where have you been?
She typed back to him.

Peggy agreed, though she didn’t
really
know him. All she knew about him was what he wanted her to know. She knew he’d been with the CIA when John was alive. She knew he worked with John. But otherwise, she was in the dark about Nightflyer, except he was either paranoid or really needed to be careful. She couldn’t tell which.

He appeared when he wanted to, usually out of the blue, and played a very good game of chess. He knew things about people, things he shouldn’t know. He’d explained that away as curiosity. She’d accepted the explanation but privately thought he must sit around monitoring information constantly. Where he was when he was doing that was a mystery to her.

She’d had him investigated by the police when she first met him online. Then he proved himself to her with knowledge about John she didn’t believe he could get any other way but by knowing him. And she remembered John telling her he worked with a strange man from the CIA on a case. Nightflyer had been helpful to her, but she was always a little wary of him. She was always a little excited when she heard from him, too, she admitted, even though she was way too old to feel that way about some strange man!
Especially
with Steve in her life.

She ignored the dozens of blogs and Web logs she had received from friends around the world and went to log on to the chess site. Everyone had ideas about something they wanted to share, but really, a twelve-page blog was too long! Someone could only read about phytoprotein for so long! Most of her friends were botanists. Somehow their blogs were turning into dissertations!

Peggy entered her name and found herself on a screen with a virtual chess set in front of her. Instead of the usual regulation chess set, this one was a grand wizard and dragon set, no doubt patterned after one from the Middle Ages. She waited until Nightflyer logged on, too, and remarked on how much she liked the set.

He replied.
I found it accidentally. I thought you might like it. I hope you’re feeling lucky tonight. I think I might win
. The computer kept track of their moves. White moves to e4.

Not particularly lucky. It hasn’t been a good day
. Black moves to e5.

Yes. I know about your friend. I’m sorry
. White moves to f4.

It seems like his life was cut short just as he was beginning to live
. Black moves to d5.

I don’t think his death was accidental
. White moves to Nf3.

What do you mean?
Peggy was shocked at his assertion.
He fought cancer for two years. He told Holles his heart was bad
. Black moves to Bd6.

That may be. But there were mitigating factors
. White moves to Qe2.

Such as?
Black moves to Qe7.

Who takes over as head of Feed America now? Both men who captained the group are gone in a very short time. I think the situation is suspicious
. White moves to Qxe4.

I think the doctor said Luther died from natural causes.
Black moves to f6.

Be sure they do an autopsy.
White moves to d4.

Do you know something you aren’t telling me?
Black moves to fxe5.

Undoubtedly
. White moves to fxe5.

Peggy squirmed with frustration.
A hint would be nice!
Black moves to c6.

There is a lot of money at stake. The group got a huge
private donation just before Darmus left. When you follow the money . . .
White moves to Bc4.

Left?
Peggy picked up on the word as she moved. Black moves to Bc7.
He died.

Her husband’s old buddy responded,
Darmus isn’t dead.

“What do you mean?” She said out loud, wishing she had him on the phone. Sometimes nonverbal communication wasn’t the same. You couldn’t hear the nuances in the voice or see the body language. Even the phone might not do. She wanted to slap some sense into him. She repeated the question on the screen for him again, her heart fluttering in her chest. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.
What do you mean? Darmus is alive? But people identified him. I saw him in his house when it blew up.

Peggy rubbed her eyes. She must be too exhausted to take it all in. He couldn’t possibly be right. She wrote back,
Where is he, if he’s still alive? Why hasn’t he told anyone? That doesn’t make any sense
.

Peggy was so frustrated when his name left the screen, she wanted to scream. Nightflyer threw a bomb in her lap then left as it went off. She paced the bedroom with long strides, muttering to herself and stomping her foot occasionally.

There was nothing she could do. It was too early or late, depending on how she looked at it, to call anyone about his preposterous ideas. It was ridiculous, of course. Everyone would think she was insane for suggesting the idea that Darmus was still alive. Shouldn’t she know better than anyone that he was dead?

There was probably a logical explanation for that. The medical examiner would know exactly why that was. No doubt burn victims got cold.

She stopped pacing and went back to her computer to try to look up anything she could find on burn victims. She didn’t want to look like a complete idiot when she called the police later that morning. Nightflyer was right too often in the past to ignore him, no matter how stupid or ridiculous his assertion seemed.

But she couldn’t find anything about burn victims being cold. She picked up the phone to call a doctor friend of hers but realized it was four a.m. Her questions would have to wait until later. She hoped her curiosity wouldn’t drive her crazy by then.

After a long, restless night thinking about Darmus, it was finally dawn. Peggy took a quick shower, put on an old purple sweat suit, and went down quietly to check on her plants. She planted her milkweed seeds, watered them, and then put them under a grow light. She might still have to end up buying some. The plant would probably take too long to seed. According to what she read, her larvae would be out soon. But it would be nice to grow something different anyway.

“You couldn’t sleep, either?”

Her father’s voice startled her. “You’re up early, even for you.”

He sat down in the rocking chair near the pond and stroked Shakespeare’s head. “I don’t sleep much anymore. You know how it is. Too much like dying.”

“I never thought of it that way.” She finished picking a handful of strawberries for breakfast. “When did you start thinking about dying?”

“About seventy years ago.” He chuckled. “I don’t know. It’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

She looked at him carefully, but he seemed fine. Or did she just want him to seem
fine
? “Is something wrong, Dad?”

“No!” He stood up and threw his broad shoulders back. He was still as tall and lean as she remembered him from childhood. He was never obviously strong, but she’d seen him lift logs and calves without breaking a sweat. “You just start thinking about these things when you get to be my age, sweet pea. How about you?”

“I’m fine. Just confused.” She told him about Nightflyer and his suppositions about Darmus and Luther.

“Could there be any truth to that?”

“I don’t see how. It doesn’t make any sense. Darmus wouldn’t have any reason to fake his own death. And if Luther
was
killed, whoever did it made it look totally natural.”

“Well we both know that’s possible. As for your friend, Darmus, you said he was under a lot of stress. Maybe he cracked under the pressure. He wouldn’t be the first man.”

“Or maybe Nightflyer is wrong.” She dusted dirt from her gloves.

“Well that’s possible, too.” He followed her upstairs, with Shakespeare trailing him. “I guess I assumed since you were giving it so much thought that you think he’s right.”

“Dad, you and I think too much alike!” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Is Mom sleeping in today?”

“Steve is coming to get her, Mayfield, and Melvin and take them to the mall. I was thinking about going to take a look at the Bass Pro Shop. He said it’s really something special. I hope it’s worth a trip to the mall.”

“I hope so, too. Would you like to have some stale donuts and blackberry tea with me before I go out?”

“Sounds great!” He switched on the kitchen light. “When are you going to take us to see your shop?”

“When Mom runs out of other things to do.”

“Are you nervous about her seeing it, Margaret? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done well.”

“I know.” She put the three-day-old Krispy Kreme donuts down on the table. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

He shook his full head of silver white hair. “Don’t be silly. Let’s go today or tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “We’ll do it!”

Peggy went back upstairs after breakfast, knowing what she had to do. She couldn’t do anything without proof. The bad thing about not being a police detective when you had a theory about something was that they didn’t want you to investigate. She wanted to tell them that it encouraged snooping.

She reached into the closet for her ugly black hat and jammed it down on her head. She was never sure why she kept the thing until an emergency like this one came up. Then she was glad she had it. But she was definitely buying a new one for Darmus’s funeral. If there
was
a funeral!

Another memoriam was in the paper that morning, this time from his fellow professors at UNCC. The service was being held at Mangum’s on the east side in two days. She didn’t plan to wait until there was a room full of mourners to find out the truth. Her plan was to go to the mortuary, take a long, last look at her friend, and make sure it was really Darmus lying there. Then she could put her mind at ease.

Darmus was scheduled to be cremated in two days after the memorial service. She might not have another chance to make this right. Or feel like a damn fool trying!

She went downstairs in a two-piece Anne Klein suit that had seen better days. The lightweight weave was a little nubby in places, but it suited her purpose. She didn’t want to wear her best. Lord knew what she was going to have to do once she got to the mortuary. But she was determined to do whatever was necessary to find out what happened to Darmus.

“Good morning again, Margaret.” Her father kissed her forehead. “You’re lookin’ a trifle dark now. I thought your friend’s funeral wasn’t until the day after tomorrow?”

Paul was there, eating the last of the stale donuts. His green eyes, so much like hers and her father’s, narrowed. “Where are you going, Mom? Don’t you have to open the Potting Shed?”

“I have to go to Mangum’s Mortuary to meet the funeral director and go over Darmus’s service.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue. She picked up a cup and poured herself some coffee. She needed something stronger than another cup of herb tea.

Paul nodded. “Oh yeah. Wish I could go with you, but I’m on duty again in twenty minutes.”

She smiled at him, proud, despite herself, of how he looked in his dark blue patrolman’s uniform. It brought memories of her husband back to her. John walked a beat for ten years before making detective. His patrolman’s uniform was still in her closet. She couldn’t bear to part with it after he died. “That’s too bad. It would be nice not to have to go alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” her father volunteered.

Peggy tried to back herself out of the lie. “No, that’s all right. Where’s Mom? I thought you were going to the mall?”

“She’s a little under the weather. Said she isn’t getting up until noon. You’d never guess she’s been a farmer’s wife for fifty-two years.” He shrugged. “I can go with you. No one should have to do these things alone.”