Pretty Poison

“I suppose that’s true of almost everywhere. A gun is so much easier,” Peggy commiserated. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, Hal. I wish we could’ve saved her. Would it be too much to ask her name and address? I’d really like to send a plant for her funeral. I feel as if I should know her name.”

“I don’t think it would be a breach of ethics for me to tell you. After all, you worked on the case. Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?”

Peggy took down the woman’s information, then promised Hal they could meet for lunch one day and said good night. Molly Stone. She stood looking at the woman’s name for a long time. She was very young. Who would want to kill her?

The police were putting the case on the back burner. How often was John unhappy with that decision? But like the decision to charge Mr. Cheever with Warner’s death, many police decisions were made for expediency rather than taking the time and money to find the truth. It was a sad fact for the officers as well as the public they protected but part of the reality of life.

She rubbed the dog’s head. “Let’s go and eat something. It looks like I’m going to be buying more dog food after all.”

After a light supper and a quick check on her plants, Peggy went upstairs with the dog at her heels. Her mind was buzzing with questions that had no answers. She put on the green satin pajamas Paul gave her for her birthday last September. The dog was already asleep in her bed. She turned on her computer and logged on to her favorite gaming site.

Nightflyer was already there. She typed in her screen name, and he answered immediately.

“Busy day?”

She laughed. “LOL! You could say that.”

“Too bad about your friend.”

“Which one?”

“The one who got indicted for murder. What now?”

Peggy shifted uneasily in her chair. “Now we play chess.”

“I know you’ve been snooping around. Two murders at the same time. That’s a lot to handle. No wonder you’re so busy. I don’t see what you can do about the one in Columbia.”

Getting angry with his apparent omniscient knowledge, she fired back, “You don’t know as much as you think, my friend. The Columbia police aren’t through investigating that death.”

“But we both know it will be pushed aside for now.”

“If you know that, maybe you know who did it.”

“Maybe I do, Nightrose. Shall we play?”

Peggy beat him in the first game. It was a surprise to her. She suspected that he let her win. Especially when he challenged her to a second game and thoroughly squashed her.

“One more to decide the victor?” She typed into the chat box.

“Not tonight, dear. What are you going to name that dog?”

The same feeling she had leaving the store that night came over her. She almost looked around for a surveillance camera. “Stalking is illegal.”

“Perhaps. But PROVING it is difficult.”

“Who ARE you?”

There was no reply. His name vanished from the gaming site roster. She wasn’t sure what to do. She supposed she could mention Nightflyer’s insinuations to Paul, but he hadn’t threatened her in any way. She didn’t want the police ripping her computer apart if they took her seriously. She turned off the light on the desk, deciding to wait and see what happened.

SHE WOKE UP AT EIGHT the next morning with the dog barking and jumping in her bed. Someone was pounding on the front door. Guessing it was the obnoxious man who tried to claim the dog, she put on her robe and ran down the stairs, ready to do battle.

Instead, it was Al. “Peggy, I know this man is a friend of yours, but you can’t go around pretending to be with the police, questioning people about the murder. It was bad enough that you snuck in to see him in jail. It’s illegal to impersonate an officer.”

“Good morning to you, too.” She closed the door behind him, watching as he paced the foyer.

“Well? What do you have to say?”

“John always said not to admit anything. I wasn’t there, and I didn’t do anything.”

“Peggy, this is serious. Rimer likes you, but he’s not gonna let you screw this up. We have our suspect. We made our arrest. The man had everything but Warner’s blood on him.”

“Let’s talk about that, Al. How do you suppose he managed to get the watch, the wallet, and the shoes without getting any blood on him?”

“Maybe he did get messed up. He’s homeless. He could’ve dropped his jacket or whatever in a trash can, and we’d never find it.”

“He’s worn the same coat for two years. He doesn’t get rid of things.”

“Maybe he does when he gets blood on them.” Al stopped and glared at her.

“What about his story?”

“You mean the phantom woman who ran out of the shop?” He laughed. “Did you expect him to confess? You