Pretty Poison

Her heart fluttered a little, but she maintained her look of skeptical indifference. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with my face being on television and in the newspaper, would it?”

He laughed. “Not at all. Although the case has made for some interesting reading. I’m sure it was terrible for you to find that dead man in your shop.”

“I’ve had better days.” She glanced at her watch. “Can I leave him with you for a while? I have to teach a class, and I’m already late.”

“Sure. No problem.” He studied her face. “Are you always late?”

Her face turned red. Stop that! You’re blushing like a schoolgirl. Get a grip! “Oh, you mean the lecture. Actually, I’m usually very punctual. The last few days have been hectic. Now this!”

He ran his hand across the dog’s back. “Would it be a bad time to ask you out to dinner?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know about dinner with me or if it’s a bad time?”

Peggy wasn’t sure about either one. But he was going to take care of the dog for her. She supposed she could buy him dinner. Where would the harm be in that? “Dinner would be fine.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Okay. I really have to go. Thanks for your help.”

4

Pansy

Botanical: Viola tricolor

Family: N.O. Violaceae

Common Names: Johnny jumpup, wild pansy

The word pansy is traced back to the French word pensee, meaning thought or remembrance. Cultivated some time after the fourth century B.C. in Europe. Legend says the pansy was originally white but turned bright purple when it was pierced by Cupid’s arrow. It’s said that you can see a loved one in the face of a pansy.

QUEENS UNIVERSITY WAS over a hundred years old. Its campus was located in the Myers Park residential area of Charlotte. Graceful, spreading oak trees and lush lawns dominated the landscape in summer. But in November, even the gold and red leaves were gone from the skeletal boughs. Classes were in full swing with hundreds of students milling from building to building.

Peggy rushed into the science hall. She wasn’t surprised to find her freshman class sitting on their desks, talking about movies. “Sorry I’m late. Let’s get right down to business to make up the time.”

One of the students raised her hand. “Could we talk about the murder you’re involved with, Dr. Lee? What did the dead guy look like? Was it like being on CSI or one of those reality shows?”

Peggy couldn’t fight the groundswell of questions about the murder. She perched on her big desk and answered as honestly as she could. The questions weren’t so much personal as curious about the event.

Before she knew it, the hour was up. They managed to avoid discussing anything from her notes that day. “I’m assigning the next three chapters as reading material for the weekend. On Monday, there will be a test that includes a line drawing; all the parts of pistil and stamen from Rhododendron vaseyi. You should know this! If you have any questions, I’m available on E-mail. You have my address in your notes.”

Her cell phone rang as the students started groaning and packing their book bags. She checked the number on her caller ID. “Hello, Sam. Is there a problem?”

“I found something. It was out in the dirt alongside the loading dock. I think it might have something to do with the murder. Can you come back to the shop?”

Peggy paused as a student wished her a good weekend. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I WAS OUT HERE cleaning up the mess you caused when you made Keeley drop that flat of pansies. Then I saw it.” Sam walked quickly through the storage area to the loading dock, glancing suspiciously around the bags of peat moss, potting soil, and manure.

Peggy ran to keep up with him. “It what? Do you always have to be so dramatic? If you don’t tell me what it is right now, I’m going to fire you!”

“As if!” He grinned. “Hey! It’s my big moment. I have to show you.”

They walked down the stairs alongside the dock. There was still potting soil and pansy flowers littering the ground.

“I don’t see where you cleaned anything,” she said.

“I didn’t clean anything yet. But I found this.” He pulled a key from the pocket of his blue T-shirt that said Potting Shed. “Don’t worry. I put on my gloves before I picked it up. If there are any fingerprints on it, they should still be here.”

Peggy sat down on the wood stair behind her. “Have you decided to become a detective instead of a doctor? Why is this fascinating? Do you realize how much traffic there was coming up Fourth Street?”

“Take out your shop key,” he said, still grinning.

Peggy did as he suggested, wondering if he’d been out in the sun or smelling the manure for too long. The two keys were the same. She sat up straight. “Whose key is it?”

“Maybe it belongs to whoever let Mark Warner in the shop.”