floor. There was no blood yet. If she poisoned him, why wouldn’t she wait to be sure he was dead? Or hit him with the shovel when he was down? If you’re right, Al, and using the shovel was done in rage, she would’ve done it before she left.”
He stopped writing halfway through what she said and shook his head. “I think we have to assume Mr. Cheever was too drunk to notice whether or not Warner was bleeding.”
“Did the alcohol keep the blood from getting on his clothes and hands? You know yourself there was no blood on him. But he had to handle Mark to get his watch and wallet. There was no way for him to do it without picking up a few bloodstains.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” he admitted. “What I need you to tell me is what we’re looking for as far as creating the poison. Could she pop this stuff into the microwave? How complicated would it be?”
Peggy took his notebook and scribbled down a few ideas. “No, she couldn’t just pop it in the microwave. The temperature would have to be exact. She’d have to know what to do with it to obtain the pure anemonin from the protoanemonin. Anything less would’ve created drastic, immediate results. Not the kind found in Mark or Molly.”
“Does Ms. Prinz have that kind of knowledge, Peggy?” He fixed her with an intent stare like he was looking for anything that would give away her feelings.
“In my opinion, no. Not only that, she doesn’t have the right temperament. Look at all the famous poisonings. All of the perpetrators had something in common. They were sneaky, devious people. They wouldn’t have asked Mark to come to the Potting Shed for a showdown. But as you said, I’m not a shrink. That’s only my opinion.”
Al lumbered slowly to his feet. “Thanks, Peggy. I’ll let you know what we find out.”
“Was Mark’s body released to his wife again?”
“Yeah. He was cremated this morning. I read somewhere his memorial service is later today. Why?”
“I thought I might pay my respects.” She smiled at him. “There may be a few more of his conquests there. I’ll let you know if I see anyone suspicious.”
MARK WARNER’S MEMORIAL SERVICE was held in Myers Park Presbyterian Church. The crowd was so large, police officers had to direct traffic to allow visitors to park on the street. Van loads of flowers were deposited in the chapel until it was overflowing. The remainder were left in the adjacent cemetery and on the church steps.
Peggy was glad she rode her bike. It was easy to leave it at the bike rack near the entrance to the church. Her black suit was no less formal for wearing slacks that allowed her the freedom to pedal.
She pushed her black hat firmly down on her head and stuck a large pearl-headed hatpin in as she walked into the church. It was the same hat she wore to John’s funeral. She’d wanted to throw it away after it was over, but her mother’s thrifty upbringing wouldn’t let her.
The service began, and the talking ceased. At the front of the church was a large portrait of the dead man. His teak coffin was resplendent with large brass handles and covered with a maze of flowers. Friends whispered that Julie put Mark’s ashes in the more traditional coffin. She couldn’t stand the idea of an urn.
The Warner children and the grieving widow walked to the coffin to lay a final white rose on it. Peggy couldn’t believe how small and pale Julie looked in her elegant black suit. She had a firm grip on both children’s hands. It was impossible to decipher the expression on her face. The tiny pillbox hat she wore was very chic. Even in mourning, she set the example for the other widows in Charlotte who would follow.
The service was brief. The crowd followed the pallbearers into the cemetery to bury their friend. Peggy looked at the faces of the women around her, especially the tall ones with long, dark hair. It was hard to believe how partial Mark was to that type with his own wife so tiny and blond.
She saw Ronda and Bob McGee talking to Julie. It would’ve been interesting to hear what was said between the two women. If Ronda was right and Julie knew she was seeing Mark, the looks alone would be more virulent than the poison that killed him. Peggy wondered if Ronda was back with Bob for the funeral or if they’d managed to reconcile. There was a lot to lose for both of them. A divorce would hurt Ronda as much as it would Bob.
Peggy remembered what Ronda told her about being certain Julie was the one who threatened her on the phone. Adding poison to the equation of Mark’s death made it possible that Julie could have killed her husband. Anyone could hit a man who was already unconscious on the floor. Of course, she had the perfect alibi. The entire household knew she was home that night with a sick child.
She watched Julie give the two children to Emma. From the look on the housekeeper’s face, she could tell how devoted she was to the mother and children. She studied the group from the Warner household with new eyes. Was it possible they weren’t as innocent of the situation as they seemed? The police checked out Molly Stone’s husband. But what about Mark Warner’s wife?
Peggy saw Julie break down into sobs at the graveside. A dozen hands reached out to take her arm, give her a handkerchief, ease her grief. If she didn’t love her husband and was capable of killing him, she was a good actress. Remembering how she’d been at the shop, wanting to see the place he was killed, Peggy considered she was probably reaching. Keeley was so close to being arrested for the murder. Her mind was grasping at straws.
She turned away from the rest of the service, commending the body to the earth. It was still painful for her to hear those words. She didn’t think any amount of time could make it less. Instead, she studied the flowers and arrangements sent to the memorial. Most were from well-known florists in the city. A few were actually flown in from out of state.
The flowers chosen were always more for color, consistency, and longevity than for meaning. There were daisies and forget-me-nots together in an arrangement. With Mark’s reputation, that was a joke. Faithful and loyal love wasn’t a priority in his life.
There were plenty of gladioli. Again, sincerity wasn’t a virtue either. Someone sent a huge spray of white carnations and red chrysanthemums.
A nice big pot of pansies was appropriate.
She looked up and noticed the service was over. People were paying their respects to the widow and
