Pretty Poison

SHAKESPEARE’S FORMER OWNER returned with the papers, but Paul didn’t let him in the house. He took the papers from him and handed him Peggy’s check. The door closed quickly behind him.

Steve arrived shortly after and examined the dog. He told Paul he was disappointed everything went so smoothly. “I was hoping you might have to shoot him. This dog has been through hell.”

Paul gave his mother the receipt for the dog. “Yeah, well at least he’s safe now. My captain frowns on off- duty altercations between officers and civilians.”

Peggy put the paperwork into the side table drawer in the foyer. She smiled as she looked at the two men who had moved on and were talking about football. All’s well that ends well. “I’m going to make some strawberry pancakes for breakfast. Can you both stay?”

“I don’t think you should try to use your hands or stand up for too long on your hurt knee,” Paul told her. “I’ll make the strawberry pancakes.”

Steve looked at the brace on her wrist. “What happened?”

She shook her head, glad she’d taken a moment to brush her hair before he got there. It was painful and silly, but she wanted to look her best for him. “It’s a long story.”

“I think I have time to hear it over breakfast.”

Peggy told him what happened as she sat down in the kitchen. She directed him to the plates, forks, and cups. Paul made coffee and pancakes. Shakespeare wrapped himself around her feet on the floor.

“So you think whoever killed Mark Warner wanted to kill you?” Steve asked when she was finished.

“I don’t know.” She wanted to tell Steve or Paul about Nightflyer but couldn’t think how to start. “I don’t know whose feathers I ruffled to receive that kind of response.”

“But you admit any of those women you talked to could’ve killed Warner,” Paul reminded her, using the spatula to punctuate his remark. “They all had motive and opportunity. Maybe you got too close to the truth without realizing it.”

A knock at the door brought Sam in with a blast of cold morning air. His handsome young face was stricken with remorse. “God, Peggy, I can’t believe this happened to you. I heard about it on the news this morning. Are you okay? Who do you think did it? Are there any extra pancakes?”

Paul poured more batter into the skillet, and Steve took out another place setting.

Peggy went over the story again as they sat down to eat. She’d barely finished explaining what happened when there was another knock on the door.

“I can smell those pancakes outside.” Al didn’t wait for anyone to let him in. He looked around the crowded kitchen. “I thought you’d need some company, Peggy. I didn’t know you were cooking up breakfast for everyone. Where’s the syrup?”

He grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee, then snagged three pancakes from the serving plate before he hefted himself into the chair beside her. “I wanted to tell you that we didn’t find anything on the loading dock. Nothing unusual anyway. All the fingerprints we came up with belong to the people who work for you. Sorry.”

“What are the chances whoever pushed me wasn’t wearing gloves?” She passed him cream for his coffee. “It was cold. Even if you didn’t think about leaving prints behind, you’d want to protect your hands.”

“Good point!” Sam said around a mouthful of pancake. “But whoever did this has to be tied to the Warner murder. Maybe the killer left something behind. Or maybe you were his real target. Maybe Warner just got in the way.”

Peggy laughed. “There are better places to try to kill me than waiting at the shop.”

“What about Keeley, your assistant?” Paul asked. “It seems to me she’s a better suspect than Cheever. She seems like a nice girl, but she had every reason to kill Warner and she admitted to being there.”

“But why admit she was there if she was the killer?” Steve wondered as he passed the nearly empty syrup bottle to Sam. “Wouldn’t she want to keep it to herself? The police already have someone in custody. She could sit on the information instead of putting it in the spotlight.”

“Unless she wants us to think that was her reasoning,” Al argued. “She seems like a pretty sharp cookie to me.”

Sam was quick to come to Keeley’s defense. “She’s smart but not devious. She can’t keep a secret worth a damn. I know. I work with her. Look how she confessed about those old pansies, Peggy.”

“Did she tell you she was pregnant?” Al demanded. “Did she even tell you she was dating Warner?” He used his tongue to catch a bit of syrup at the corner of his mouth, ruining his tough-cop attitude. “I rest my case.”

“Does that mean you like Keeley for the killing instead of Cheever?” Paul asked him as he wiped his mouth carefully.

“No. Rimer and I reviewed the case with the DA last night. He still wants to prosecute Cheever. He feels like Ms. Prinz had nothing to gain by killing Warner. We agree. She could’ve ruined him by suing for paternity in open court.”

Steve leaned back in his chair. “I’m not a police detective, but couldn’t the killing be construed as a crime of passion? She used the first weapon that came to her hand when he refused to acknowledge the baby. Maybe she didn’t have time to think about it.”

Al nodded, his mouth too full of pancake to respond right away. When he was done chewing he said, “We talked about that. The DA doesn’t think that story will fly with a jury. He thinks they’re more likely to buy a drunken homeless man killing for shoes and money.”

Steve smiled. “My tax dollars at work.”

“Take it up with the DA.” Al shrugged. “I’m not saying either story is more likely. The point is that Warner was an important man in the community. People want to see justice.”

“Justice or retribution?” Sam suggested. “I don’t think Keeley did it either. But just because the man is