Pretty Poison

counter. She wasn’t a high-strung person by nature, but surely anyone would feel a little frazzled in her place.

Footsteps on the hardwood floor caught her attention. Panicking, she realized she’d left the door unlocked while she was with the Balduccis. She glanced behind her, looking for something to defend herself with. Her gaze fell on a rake a customer forgot to take with him. With nothing else in easy reach, she held the implement in front of her and waited for the footsteps to reach the front of the shop.

“Peggy?”

It was Julie Warner. Peggy’s heart rate decreased, she put the rake down, and the words tumbled out of her mouth, “What are you doing here?” Realizing how rude the question sounded, she rephrased it as she turned the light back on. “Julie. I’m surprised to see you here.”

Always well-dressed, the widow looked chic and tiny in her elegant black suit. She wore a Jackie Kennedy pillbox-style hat with a black veil that covered her face. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I thought you saw me come in while you were outside.”

“No, I didn’t. But that’s okay. I thought the shop was empty. What can I do for you?”

Julie’s face was very pale behind the black webbing, but her tone was resolute. “I want to see where it happened.”

Peggy debated with herself. Was it an odd request? What should she say? “Mark was right here when I came in.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as awkward as she felt.

“Where exactly?”

This probably wasn’t healthy. But didn’t she walk by the spot where John was killed? “I’ll show you.”

Julie followed her soundlessly to the colorful rag rug that hid the bloodstain on the floor. Peggy didn’t plan to show her that part. “He was right here. Facedown in a basket of bulbs. The police took everything around him for evidence. This is all that was left.”

The widow didn’t move or speak. She stared at the spot like she could see through the rug to where her husband’s lifeblood had pooled. Then she took a deep breath and reached a black-gloved hand into her pocketbook.

Peggy jumped back and put her hands up in a defensive stance.

Julie looked at her strangely as she withdrew her checkbook. “Is something wrong, Peggy? I’d like to reimburse you for the damages. It wasn’t your fault this happened. You shouldn’t be hurt by it.”

“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” She lowered her hands and felt like an idiot. But after Emil’s gun . . .

“I understand. And I apologize for getting here so late. There were so many arrangements to be made, people to call. I came as soon as I could.”

“That’s all right. Don’t worry about the expenses, Julie, please. My insurance will take care of it. I’m glad you came. I felt the same way when my husband was killed. I couldn’t be there with him when it happened. I just wanted to see the place.”

Julie put her checkbook away and smiled. “I appreciate your kindness. You know what I’ve gone through with this since it happened to you, too. The press is terrible. My children don’t understand. It’s like the world has turned upside down, and it’s all I can do to keep from falling off.”

Peggy couldn’t help herself. She hugged Julie, expensive suit, veil, and all. She might be wealthy, but that didn’t protect her from tragedy. It was like holding a child; she was so small, so fragile.

Both women were wiping tears away as they separated. Julie straightened her hat and cleared her throat. Peggy blew her nose on a tissue, then put her hands in her pockets.

“I should go.” Julie moved toward the door.

“If there’s anything I can do . . .”

“Thank you. I hope you’ll come to the funeral.”

Peggy unlocked the front door. “I’ll try. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

When Julie was gone, Peggy locked the front door again. She walked through the shop, holding the rake like a weapon. But this time, she was alone. Quickly, she turned off the light and locked the back door behind her.

She was tempted to call a taxi. Her hands were shaking, and her knees felt weak. She probably needed to go across the courtyard and have a big glass of wine to steady herself. But she refused to give in to her trauma. Like everything else, fear was meant to be handled head-on. She wasn’t good at cowering.

She forced herself to get on her bike despite the eerie shadows and creaking sounds from the loading dock. Then she realized it was after seven. Steve was going to have further proof that she was always late. The thought gave her impetus to pedal faster down the busy streets.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she rode into her driveway.

Steve got out of his car when he saw her. “That’s okay. I wasn’t about to eat the car interior or anything. You don’t drive?”

“I do. I mean, I have a license and a car. But I prefer using the bike to get around the city. I’m close to the school and my shop. I don’t need to contribute to the problem of global warming.”

“That’s right. You teach botany, specialize in botanical poisons, and run a garden shop. No wonder you’re always late.”

She stowed her bike in the garage. “I’m not always late. But despite you impugning my integrity, I’m willing to apologize for being late tonight by making dinner for you.”

He smiled at her. “I won’t turn down a home-cooked meal. Although I think I should point out in my own defense that I did offer to buy you dinner.”

“You did?” She tried not to notice how her pulse fluctuated at his words. “I thought I was buying you dinner for taking care of the dog.”