Poisoned Petals (5 page)

Shakespeare, her Great Dane, made a noise in his throat that she’d come to think of as his questioning sound. He looked at her with his brown eyes half open, wanting to know what was wrong. Even if it was fantasy that people could communicate with animals, she didn’t care. She might be a scientist, but at that moment she was a human being, cold and alone. She locked her arms around his golden neck and sobbed into his fur.

Paul or Steve, maybe both, were probably downstairs. She wasn’t sure. But for that moment when Darmus’s death really hit her, she couldn’t move; she could scarcely breathe. She clung to Shakespeare, and he lay still beside her as she poured her grief out onto him.

“Now I’ve got you all wet, too.” She laughed and patted his velvety head that was bigger than hers. “Thank you for letting me cry on you. You’re a good friend.”

He licked her hand, then laid his head back down on the pillow beside hers and went back to sleep. In the short time he’d lived with her, he’d come to appreciate his comforts.

But Peggy was awake for the night. She didn’t want to go downstairs. Paul or Steve, maybe both, would offer comfort, and she didn’t need that right now. Right now, she needed to do something constructive about Darmus’s death. And the best thing she could think of was finding Rosie.

Maybe Rosie wouldn’t want to know about Darmus. Their breakup was a long time ago. But Peggy doubted if that pain ever went away. It had been Darmus’s decision to leave their marriage. He had a chance to go and study African culture in Zimbabwe as part of his thesis. Rosie didn’t want to go so far away from home.

Peggy remembered long nights spent sitting up with Rosie after Darmus was gone. They had talked for hours and burned a thousand candles trying to figure out why life turned out the way it did. There were no answers.

Eventually they stopped seeing each other so much. Peggy suddenly met John, and her life revolved around him. Darmus had left in February, and sometime after March, Peggy called Rosie and found she was gone. Peggy felt incredibly guilty for not talking to her friend for weeks. She wrote countless letters and called Rosie’s parents, but they told her Rosie didn’t want to talk to her. She started several times to go to Asheville and see Rosie but chickened out. She was afraid she had become part of Rosie’s bad memories of Darmus.

Now, more than twenty years later, she opened Explorer and went to Google to type in Rosie’s name.

Steve knocked softly on her door and saw her at the computer. “I thought I heard tapping up here. Everything okay?”

She wiped her face on her pajama sleeve and sniffed. She must look terrible. Redheads got so blotchy-faced when they cried. It would have been nice if that changed when she got older and her hair started turning white, but it didn’t. “Fine. I’m looking for a friend.”

He got a chair and sat beside her. “Anyone I know?”

She explained about Rosie while she searched the Internet. “I tried to get Darmus to stay with her. She was the best thing that ever happened to him; she was the only person I ever knew who could keep him from being so serious. But he said he was
destined
to go to Africa. Another stupid mistake on his part!”

“You think she kept Darmus’s name?” He watched her fingers fly across the keyboard.

“I don’t know. I’m checking her maiden name first.”

“She could be remarried, too.”

“I thought about that.”

Peggy scanned the names that came up on the first search. There were two hundred Rosie Sheratons. “Her family lived in Asheville, I believe. Maybe I could use that area to refine the search.”

“You’re down to six,” Steve remarked when the new list came up on the monitor.

“Let’s cross-reference that with business.” Peggy typed that in and came up with a single name. “Rosie Sheraton. Reflexologist. That sounds interesting. Rosie wanted to be a nurse.”

“You think anyone’s told her about Darmus yet?”

“Maybe. Although I don’t think anyone else knows Darmus was married except for Luther and me. Not anymore anyway. And I doubt Luther would tell her. They never got along.”

“That sounds like a good place to start then. Are you going to call her first?”

“It’s been so long.” Peggy sighed. “Too long. I’m ashamed I haven’t contacted her before this. I think I’ll just go up there and see her. If I call, I might have to tell her about Darmus on the phone, and I don’t want to do that. I’ll take my chances it’s not her.”

“All right.” He shrugged. “When do you want to go?”

“Maybe after lunch?”

“Sounds good to me. What is that? Two hours up?”

“Yes. Do you have anything early tomorrow? I mean today.”

“Not at all.” He kissed her. “You?”

“Opening the Potting Shed.” She put her arms around his neck. “But that will be early.”

“What about your parents?”

“I’m almost ready for them. And I have a little more time. Besides, I feel this is something I need to do. For Darmus, I suppose.”

“Let’s do it then,” he agreed. “For Darmus.”

AFTER A LONG, RESTLESS NIGHT thinking about Darmus and Rosie and their days at the university together, Peggy was up at dawn, checking on her plants.

Everything was growing fine in her basement botanical lab, including a monarch chrysalis that had managed to winter there. It was almost ready to split open. She had to look up what monarch larvae ate. She knew they could be picky about it, preferring to starve to death rather than eat food that was unpalatable to them.

She was in the library, started by John’s great grandfather, when Paul found her. “Mom? Is this your idea of taking it easy? Steve said you hardly slept last night.”

“I feel fine.” She didn’t look up from her weighty tome on entymology. “I’m trying to find out what monarch caterpillars eat. Where is Steve?”

“He went home to get some sleep.” Paul, who’d just gotten off duty, yawned.
“What?”

“Monarch.” She explained about the one in the basement “I believe they eat milkweed. Yes! Here it is. They eat milkweed. I’ll have to get some seeds.”

“Have
you
eaten yet?”

“Not yet. Have you?”

“No. But I think you should eat before you try to feed caterpillars. I’ll make us some pancakes.”

Knowing pancakes and toast were about the only things in his cooking vocabulary, Peggy agreed. They went to the kitchen with her reassuring him that she felt fine. She sat at the scrubbed wood table and listened to him talk about his night on patrol, remembering back when John was still in uniform and they’d do the same thing.

It was odd having Paul make her breakfast. She was so used to it being the other way around. But she supposed it was good for him to be able to return the favor. It was good for children to know they could take care of the people who took care of them.

“With all of this going on, I almost forgot that your grandparents will be here tomorrow. I still have a few things to do to get ready for them.”

“Steve said the doctor said you’re supposed to take it easy. Nothing strenuous.” Paul put a plate of pancakes in front of her and plunked down a bottle of syrup. “You tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it.”

She smiled at the idea. He had no idea what she was talking about. “I love you, Paul. And I love that you want to take care of me, you and Steve both. But I’m fine. I didn’t get hit in the head by the door when it blew off Darmus’s house yesterday. I was scratched and upset, but I’m fine. I’m going to the Potting Shed this morning, and I have a few errands to run. You can go back to your place to sleep, or you can sleep here if you like. I just dusted your old room. Cousin Melvin will probably sleep there.”

“Mom!” He made a face that reminded her so much of when he was five. “Cousin Melvin’s feet stink. It won’t ever come out.”

At least he was resigned to her being up and around. She poured syrup on her pancakes. “I’ll let him sleep in another room then. You might want to stay over while they’re here. It’s been a long time since you saw Grama and Grampa.”

“Since Dad died.” He took a mouthful of pancake. “It’s hard to believe he’s only been gone two years. It seems like it’s been forever.”

She knew what he meant. Sometimes it was like another lifetime.

They ate in companionable silence for a while as the sun peeked in the big kitchen window that overlooked the old oaks in the backyard. The twenty-five-room, turn-of-the-century house built by John Lee’s great-grandfather had a huge yard for the area on Queens Road in Charlotte, North Carolina. It was one of the first houses to be built on the block and had retained its original land despite the city being built up around it.

The house was in trust for the oldest son in the Lee family. It had passed to John but wouldn’t pass to Paul, since John’s brother, Dalton, had a son older than Paul who was waiting for it. The trust was a good idea, though Peggy wished Paul were going to be the one to inherit. It was probably the only thing that had kept the property from being sold or broken up into smaller tracts.

For Peggy, the house was a dream. She had used the yard to grow experimental plants in the long, warm summers and had even brought some of her botany students from Queens University to visit it. John had enjoyed gardening, too. He’d planted pecan trees and an apple tree in the backyard. Between them, Dalton’s son would have a wonderful garden to give his children. Maybe someday one of Paul’s children would live there and enjoy it. Her grandchild.

A little misty-eyed, Peggy got up and started to clear the table. “The pancakes were very good, Paul. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. At least you
sound
better today. More like you and less like a cement mixer.” He grinned and scooped up the last mouthful of his breakfast. “But I feel like I’m not doing my job. Steve stayed up all night watching out for you. Now I’m going to let you go to the Potting Shed.”

She kissed his head and saw the bright red hair he kept buzzed down was the exact color of hers when she was his age. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You mean after he’s been around you longer and realizes he can’t possibly win?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She grabbed his plate and fork. “He
already
knows that!”

Paul laughed. “Fine. I think I’m going to sleep here, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine. I have my cell phone if you want to check in to see if I’m still alive.”

“Do you think it’s okay for you to drive? If not, I could run you over there.” He yawned again.

“I think it’s okay. Go and lie down. I’ll talk to you later. Are you working graveyard shift again tonight?”

“Yep. But I should have a few days off when Grama and Grampa get here. I just wish Cousin Melvin and Aunt Mayfield weren’t coming, too.”

“They’d never get out without someone else taking them, since neither of them drive.

“And the world would be a better place.”

She laughed as she grabbed her pocketbook. “I can’t disagree with that, but they
are
family. See you later.”

PEGGY DROVE HER TRUCK to her garden shop, which was in the heart of Center City Charlotte. The fortresslike facade of the Hearst building stuck out against the gray sky. In a few years the Bank of America Corporate Center planned to open a new Ritz-Carlton hotel almost right across from her shop. It probably wouldn’t mean much for her business, but it would help the city grow.

The Potting Shed was located in Brevard Court, an enclosed addition to Latta Arcade. The two-story arcade was built in the early 1900s for merchants to grade and buy cotton. A skylight roof allowed buyers to see the quality of the cotton they were purchasing.

But the days when cotton was king were long gone. Now the two-story building was remodeled into small shops. But its history gave it charm, and the old-fashioned mailboxes and stairwells lent the building a quaint ambiance.

It was a taste of what Charlotte had been like a hundred years before. In fact, it was almost the
only
taste that remained since the Queen City’s growth had roared along like a steamroller, obliterating everything old in its path. Some residents protested, but Charlotte had become a banking city with a thirst for the new and good things of life.

Peggy was pleased that Latta Arcade had escaped that fate. Brevard Court was made up of tiny shops circling a brick courtyard with a wrought-iron gate at one end. At the end of the courtyard that faced College Street was the Potting Shed, an urban gardener’s paradise. Next to the shop was Anthony’s Caribbean Café, and across from it was the Kozy Kettle Tea and Coffee Emporium.