Poisoned Petals Read online

  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 scoope
d 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.”

  3

  Mandevilla

  Botanical: Mandevilla sanderi

  Family: Apocynaceae

  Long, twining vine with showy flowers that grows well in pots. The mandevilla was originally taken from the hills above Rio de Janeiro. It has been so popular that it is no longer found in its native habitat. It was used by Brazilian tribesmen to treat snakebite.

  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.

  Peggy loved her store, with its heart-of-pine floors that creaked when she walked on them and wide windows that fronted the courtyard. A new painting, done by a local art student, pictured summer’s promise of red roses and purple clematis twining across the windows.

  A new purple awning poked out from the doors to the Potting Shed that faced the courtyard. That and the wrought-iron table and chair set outside her windows were part of her new two-year lease agreement. Signing that agreement was much easier this time, even though the rent had gone up since the first lease. At least now she was confident the shop would make money.

  Every shop in the courtyard was going to have an awning. It was a gift from the landlord. Cookie’s Travel Agency had a festive red one. The French restaurant had a bright green one. A sunflower-yellow awning was going up over the door to Emil and Sofia Balducci’s Kozy Kettle. As usual, Emil was outside supervising the project.

  “Peggy!” He hailed her when she tried to slip by to get her mail without being noticed. “What do you think? The yellow glares, right?”

  Emil’s stubborn Sicilian accent delighted the uptown ladies who visited his shop for breads, cakes, and coffee on their lunch hour. His thick, black mustache curled at the ends, and his swarthy features had settled into the downside of middle age. He was a terrible flirt, as long as his wife, Sofia, wasn’t around. When she was, he was careful.

  “I think it looks wonderful,” Peggy enthused. “The courtyard looks like a bazaar.”

  “Bizarre!” He ruminated over the word. “Exactly! I am going in to call him and tell him that we don’t want bizarre! We want prosperous. We want happy. Not bizarre!”

  “Not . . .” She started to explain, then realized it didn’t matter. He just wanted her to agree with him. It was part of Emil’s nature to want everyone to agree with him when he complained. She pitied the rental agent he was going to call. It was difficult to get a word in during a conversation with Emil.

  Peggy ducked back into the Potting Shed before he noticed she was leaving. She’d lied to Paul this morning when she told him she was all right. Her head hurt, and she felt like a truck had rolled over her. But she knew it was the aftermath of everything that happened at Darmus’s home. There was nothing really wrong with her, and it simply wasn’t her way to lie down and cry. The sun was still shining in through the wavy glass windows, chasing shadows and making prisms from the glass frog wind chimes that were hanging from the ceiling. Besides, there was too much to do. New plants had arrived last night and were ready to tag. The bright pink Alice du Pont mandevillas were looking a little dry.

  She set up the computer and the cash register for the beginning of another day. If the sun was shining a little less brightly because Darmus was gone forever, she refused to notice it. When John died, she thought her soul was gone with him. But when she finally came back to life, she promised she would never let it go again until it was actually her time. She had the rest of her life to mourn her old friend. Right now she had to attend to her store.

  Later in the day she was going to see Rosie again, after so many years apart. Well, at least she hoped she was going to see Rosie. She could only go and find out if it was the right person. She wished she had gone to Asheville years ago to find her friend. It was strange that Darmus’s death might finally bring them back together. Sad, too. She was sure Darmus would have liked the idea that she and Rosie might meet again.

  He’d been amazed when he got back from Zimbabwe and found they weren’t friends anymore. Peggy had threatened to strangle him if he even suggested their friendship had ended because of him.

  “I’m surprised you’re still talking to me,” he’d said one day in Charlotte when he’d come to see her soon after she was married. “I thought you might not like me so much anymore.”

  “Because you and Rosie separated? You’re still my friend, Darmus.”

  He’d shrugged, his dark eyes distant. “One never knows how a friend will react to another friend’s agony.”

  Peggy always wondered what he’d meant by that, but John had come home from work in his dark blue uniform and wanted to talk to Darmus, too. She’d never remembered to ask him about his strange comment.

  Selena Rogers, her full-time assistant, came in around ten, just before the lunch crowd. She was a pretty girl. Her shoulder-length blond hair was clipped up on her head, and her slender, dancer’s body was clad in denim shorts and a white T-shirt that barely reached her bellybutton. She stashed her backpack behind the counter and tied on her green Potting Shed apron. “Why are men are so stupid?”

  “All men aren’t stupid.” Peggy finished watering the mandevillas and adjusted a hanging pot of shamrocks. “What’s happened this time?”

  But instead of pouring her heart out to P
eggy like she usually did, Selena stared at her boss. “What’s up with that voice? Is this an older woman thing? Does Steve like it?”

  Sam Ollson, Peggy’s landscape manager, arrived pushing a cart of grass seed into the shop from the back storage area. He was a big, muscled man who looked more like a life-guard than a student who wanted to be a surgeon. His blond hair was almost as long as Selena’s, and his smooth, tanned skin was mostly exposed in a green Potting Shed tank top. “If you ever watched anything on TV besides Survivor, or read the newspaper, you’d know Peggy tried to save Darmus Appleby’s life yesterday. He died when his house caught fire. I’m sorry, Peggy. Should you be here?”

  “I’m fine, Sam. Thanks.”

  “A fire?” Selena’s blue eyes were wide. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Why don’t you come and sit down in the rocking chair?”

  “I’m fine,” Peggy said again, almost wishing Sam hadn’t come in at that moment.

  “Wow,” Selena whispered. “I know Dr. Appleby was your friend. I wonder who’ll take care of the Community Garden now.”

  “That’s part of Feed America,” Sam answered. “Which if you watched the news or—”

  “Shut up!” Selena put her hands on her ears. “Do you see what I mean, Peggy? All men are stupid!”

  Steve waved to her through the big front window. It was time to go. And just in time. “I’m going to be gone until this evening.”

  “Take your time,” Selena told her. “I’ll handle the shop. And this big dork!”

  “Don’t worry,” Sam responded, as he always did, “I’ll handle the shop and this pitiful excuse for an assistant.”

  “Pitiful?” Selena rounded on him as Peggy opened the door to leave, calling out that she would see both of them later.

  She closed the door firmly behind her and smiled at Steve as the breeze blew through his thick, brown hair. “I’m ready to go.”

  “How do you ever get anything done with the two of them fighting all the time?”

  “They don’t fight all the time. They really love each other. It’s just kid stuff. They’re like brother and sister.”