Pretty Poison

any trace for the police to find?”

She frowned. The conversation was beginning to take a downward turn. “With today’s crime scene investigation, there’s no such thing. If you want to get revenge for your goldfish, I suggest you take up boxing or kung fu.”

The young man took notes and thanked her for her time. He seemed unimpressed with her suggestion not to use poison and denied he was looking for revenge. She shook her head as he left. She couldn’t be responsible for the facts. She hated to think any of her knowledge would be used the wrong way. But it was like the Internet. Just because you found out how to build a bomb on-line didn’t mean you had to build one. People had been using poison for thousands of years. Still, she scribbled down his name and E-mailed the dean in case anything came of it.

She called Mint Condition cleaning service and asked about the normal cleaning day for the shop as well as who had the key. The owner assured her they had her key in safekeeping and that her regular cleaning day was Friday, as it was for the rest of the shops in Brevard Court and Latta Arcade. Peggy thanked him, then looked up the number for the bug guy.

It was the same story with him. He only came in once a month to spray for pests. His last visit was at the beginning of November, two weeks before Mark’s death. He offered to show her the key to the shop, but Peggy assured him she believed he had it.

She crossed both names off of her list and considered the rest of the choices. It might seem like an extensive list of key holders to Mai. But to her, the rest of the people on the list were people she cared about. She didn’t want to think any of them were involved with the murder. Yet what other possible explanation could there be?

After stuffing her books and papers into her backpack, Peggy got on her bicycle and rode back to the Potting Shed. Traffic was still heavy, but the weather was nice again. Between traffic lights, she thought about Steve Newsome and his invitation to dinner. It had been a long time since she dated. She wasn’t sure she remembered how.

A car slammed on its brakes in front of her, forcing her to do the same. What was she thinking? This dinner wasn’t a date. She was taking the man out for dinner because he helped her with the dog. He’d asked her because . . . well . . . because he was probably curious about the murder. He did mention it, after all.

By the time she reached the shop, she’d convinced herself there was nothing romantic about dinner with Steve. He was a man. A younger man. She was a widow who still loved her husband. The rest was pure fantasy on her part brought on by stress and sleeplessness.

As a compelling part of this hypothesis, she reminded herself that she was assuming responsibility for a dog. A big dog. She didn’t need any other evidence to convince the jury in her mind. Obviously the stress and lack of sleep was leading to lapses in judgment.

“How did it go?” she asked Selena after a customer left the counter.

“Okay, I guess.” Selena looked furtively around the shop and whispered, “I didn’t see her.”

“We’ll just have to keep looking. She’ll probably come in again.”

Selena picked up her book bag from behind the counter. “I’m going. I have that English lit exam tonight, and I have to study for the French exam tomorrow, so I might be late in the morning. But I’ll keep my eyes open while I’m waiting for the bus. Maybe she’ll walk by.”

“What will you say if you see her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll pretend I know who she is. You know like, ‘Lucy! Is that you?’ ”

Peggy laughed. “Just be careful. She could be the one responsible for Mark’s death. She might be nervous.”

“I’ll watch out for her legs. The rest of her didn’t look all that dangerous. See you tomorrow.”

Selena had only been gone a few minutes when the woman they were looking for walked into the shop. Peggy knew Selena was going to be disappointed she wasn’t there to question her. But she couldn’t put it off in case she didn’t come back again.

She didn’t want to take Selena’s hypothetical approach and pretend to know the woman. Besides, she had the advantage of being in the shop. Thinking quickly, she took some scraps of paper and approached all of the customers who were there. “We’re having a giveaway. A beautiful Christmas wreath. Just the thing to brighten up the holidays. All I need is your name and phone number.”

A few people reminded her that they were already on her mailing list. Peggy apologized for not knowing them and took their names. She saw the brunette coming toward her. With a firm hand on her pen and a smile on her face, she greeted her.

The woman smiled. “I can’t think about that right now. I’ve had a personal loss. Maybe some other time.”

“I’m so sorry.” Peggy put away her pen and paper. “Are you here for flowers for the funeral?”

“Not exactly. We liked the courtyard and the stores here. We used to come over at lunchtime.” She spoke like she felt awkward talking about it and shifted her glance around the shop.

“That’s so romantic.” Peggy sighed. “My husband passed away two years ago. We were going to open this shop together but didn’t have the chance. He loved to garden. Did your husband enjoy plants?”

The expression on the woman’s face was almost comical. Her tone lowered a notch. “He wasn’t my husband. And that’s where the problem comes in with sending flowers to the funeral. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh! I understand. It happens. I could arrange to send something anonymously. That way, he’ll know you cared, but his wife won’t be suspicious.”

“I didn’t say he was married.” Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed. “But he was.”

Peggy touched her arm. “Of course he was. Or he would’ve been your husband, wouldn’t he, dear? I’m sure he was proud to be with you.”