Pretty Poison

She was distracted by a ficus as she waited to speak to the desk sergeant. Poor thing was shedding leaves faster than a poplar in autumn! She stuck her finger into the soil where the roots were showing. It was as dry as last week’s casserole.

“What can I do for you?” the sergeant finally asked her.

He was new. She didn’t recognize him. It was surprising how much the building stayed the same while the people came and went. Like they didn’t have any effect on their surroundings. “I’d like to see—” she took out the business card and showed him, “Mai Sato. She’s with forensics.”

“I’ll give her a call. Your name?”

“Peggy Lee.”

He grinned at her. “Are you Paul’s mother by any chance?”

“Yes, I am. Is he here?”

“Not right now. They’ve got everybody out on the street bringing in homeless men. He might be back soon.” He picked up the phone and called Mai.

When he put down the receiver, she said, “You’re killing that lovely ficus by keeping it too close to the door. Every blast of cold air is like a deathblow to it. It needs watering, too, and more dirt to cover the roots.”

“I don’t take care of the plants, Mrs. Lee.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who does?”

“I don’t know. Whoever’s handy, I guess.”

“Thanks.” She made a mental note to talk to Al about it after this was over. It might be another job for the Potting Shed.

While she was waiting for Mai, she looked at the little ficus again. When the sergeant was talking with another man, she moved it closer to his desk, away from the door. It would be protected from the worst of the weather anyway.

The battered hall door opened. “Dr. Lee! What brings you down here?”

“Hello, Mai! I wanted to check and see what was going on. Have my people come in to be fingerprinted?”

“Come on back. It’s freezing out here. You know, it occurred to me after we talked yesterday that you could be Paul Lee’s mother.”

“Guilty as charged. You know Paul?”

Mai grimaced but didn’t answer.

Peggy followed her down the hall that smelled like antiseptic cleaner, wondering what her son did to alienate the young woman. They turned into a dismal, windowless office. A desk was shoved into one corner, and a worktable took up the rest of the closetlike space. Stark fluorescent lighting made everything look surreal.

Mai shuffled the stacks of papers on her desk. Colored tabs and folders neatly organized each stack. “No one’s come in yet. I hope you impressed on them how important this is. I’m sure none of them want to be mistaken for a suspect.”

“I’m sure they don’t. But all of them are students. You know what that’s like. I’ll call them again. Can you tell me anything more about Mark Warner’s death?”

“Have a seat. I heard about your husband. I’m sorry for your loss. Since your son and your husband were on the job, I suppose I could give you a few details. It did happen in your shop.”

“Exactly. Thank you.” Peggy sat down carefully on a rickety ladder-back chair.

“Most of the tests aren’t done yet. There are a lot of samples to go through. But we know there were no defensive wounds. The ME thinks he was standing with his back to the killer, not suspecting anything until he was attacked. The shovel damaged the brain stem enough that death occurred.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Yeah. The killer probably knocked him down, then stood over him to use the shovel with maximum effect.” Mai demonstrated with a pen. “They found his car yesterday. It was parked in the deck behind the Bank of America building. It was in his space. There was nothing irregular about it. We think he left work and walked over to your shop.”

“Which would support my theory that he was going to meet someone there secretly,” Peggy added.

“Someone like who? Was he friends with someone who works there?”

Peggy told her about the brunette she’d seen with him.

Mai nodded. “That could explain a lot. But why pick your shop? There are a dozen hotels closer.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was somewhere familiar. Somewhere they felt safe.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mai agreed, “in a weird way.”

“But it doesn’t explain how they got into my shop.”

“True. Could he have had a key?”

“I don’t see how.”

“Maybe you should write down the names of all the people who have keys.” Mai passed her a piece of paper. “A detective is bound to ask you at some point anyway.”