“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
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.
“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
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.
