Fruit of the Poisoned Tree

Peggy considered the question, wishing Isabelle would get to the point. She gave her the creeps. It was childish. But true. “I suppose I’d think someone hated him. Isn’t that what an orange lily symbolizes in the language of flowers? Disdain. Hatred. False pride.”

“Exactly.” The old woman’s head nodded stiffly. “Park might as well have died in a field of orange lilies, Margaret. He was killed just as cruelly.”

“I saw him die, Mrs. Lamonte. He told me he fell asleep at the wheel. No one killed him.” She picked up a small forget-me-not plant in a delft blue china pot. “Please let me give this to you. For the memories you have of him.”

Isabelle pushed the plant away. “She did it. As surely as if she stabbed him in the heart. And that’s what I intend to tell the police.”

“What?” Peggy stared at her. “Are you talking about Beth? The police know how he died. They aren’t going to believe she had anything to do with an accident witnessed by a hundred people. She was nowhere near that ramp.”

“Nevertheless.” Isabelle turned toward the door with all the magnificence of the Dragon Queen she was in Peggy’s mind.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Why?” The Dragon Queen turned to stare back at her. “Because Park was your friend before he was her husband. If you have any compassion in your soul, you will go to the police and tell them he wanted you to investigate his death. You should tell them it was his dying wish.”

6

Aster

Botanical: Aster

Family: Asteraceae

Common name: Wild aster

Also called starwort. Aster means “star” in Latin, referring to the shape of the tiny flowers in the wild. The flower was once placed on the grave of French soldiers, as a tribute to their bravery in battle. Burning aster flowers was believed to keep snakes away.

PEGGY KNEW NOTHING ON earth was going to make her go to the police and say anything else about the accident. She stared blankly into Isabelle’s harsh face. Losing her son must have snapped her mind. She felt sorry for her but wouldn’t indulge in her madness.

On the other hand, if Isabelle went to the police and told them she suspected foul play in Park’s death, Peggy knew they would have no choice but to investigate. It would be fruitless for the police to continue to look into his death, and it would be horrible for Beth and the boys.

She considered that Isabelle didn’t know about the suicide verdict. Without a stitch of remorse for the old lady’s sensibilities, believing that hurting Isabelle would spare others a mountain of agony, Peggy told her about the insurance company’s decision.

“At least she won’t get the money.”

Peggy stared at her. “You know about that?”

“I do.” Isabelle’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe Park killed himself, do you?”

“No, of course not.” Peggy put her hands into her pockets and tried to imagine how Isabelle was privy to the insurance information. “I can’t imagine him giving up on life. But that’s what they decided. Let it alone, Mrs. Lamonte. You can’t bring him back by hurting anyone else.”

“Let’s not worry about such nonsense. We have to cut to the bone, Margaret. We have to help the police find Park’s killer before she gets away with it.”

Sighing over the same entreaty from Beth that morning, she agreed. In order to protect her friend from any more grief, Peggy promised to talk with the police about the possibility of Beth killing Park. It was stupid, the rambling imagination of a woman consumed by anger and sorrow. But if it would keep Isabelle from going to the police, it would be worth it. She just wouldn’t say when she’d do it. “Let me handle it. I know what to say. Does that satisfy you?”

Isabelle considered her silently, leaning on the dragon-head cane with clawlike hands swaddled in black gloves. “It does. You’ve always been an honorable woman, Margaret. Thank you for helping my son. I’ll expect to hear from you in the next few days. If not, I’ll go to the police myself.”

Peggy nodded, wondering what she’d got herself into this time. If nothing else, she supposed, she bought Beth a few days to have Park’s body released and get the funeral arrangements settled. “All right.”

Without saying good-bye, Isabelle limped from the Potting Shed, letting Peggy close the door behind her. A gust of freezing air blew the robin off the snowman’s hat as it chilled Peggy’s soul. Not that it seemed to have any effect on what happened, but how had the Dragon Queen known about the ten million dollar insurance policy? Gossip was rife in the small community, but that information didn’t seem as interesting as who was sleeping with who. Beth certainly wouldn’t have told her.

She needed to talk to Al. Maybe he’d agree to put on a show for Isabelle. If she were placated, she might leave Beth alone. If not, a homicide investigation would add more darkness to an already black time.

Peggy took a moment to call him before she left the shop. He wasn’t in, of course, and she had to leave him a voice mail. It was probably farfetched to think Al would help her fool Isabelle about Park’s death, but it was worth a try. He could also think the charge was worth looking into. That was a chance she had to take.

When Keeley came back after her break, Peggy called a few companies for more stock. There was a run on dinner plate asters after an article in the gardening section of the newspaper about the beautiful flowers. People couldn’t get enough of them to plant for the summer. She went ahead and asked for another bag of dahlias and Jerusalem artichokes at the same time. Business was picking up!

Peggy wanted to call a taxi to take her home since the weather was freezing and the sky was threatening some kind of precipitation at any moment, but she decided to brave the elements at the bus stop. She waited alone at the corner in the gloomy half twilight that encompassed the afternoon streets. Ice gathered on the bench where she sat and hung like frozen tears from the streetlight above her.

She gritted her teeth when the bus finally got there half an hour late in a puff of black diesel smoke. How could anyone feel that was better for the environment? She climbed on board and rode silently through the almost deserted Charlotte streets.

At home, she shivered as she let herself in the door, dragging her mail with her. Ice coated her jacket and hat just as it glazed anything that kept still outside for too long. As she was shaking them off, Shakespeare’s loud harrumphs started in the kitchen and finally ended in the foyer with him running into her. She gripped the edge of the table near the door to keep from being knocked over. It reminded her that she needed to call Rue and make another appointment! This was too much dog to run wild!

There were two messages on her answering machine. One was from Paul, warning her there might be snow or ice that night. She sighed as she deleted it. He was a sweet boy, but she wasn’t quite as frail or out of it as he seemed to think. She’d managed to raise him and work for years. But thinking about Isabelle, she supposed it was a nice thing to have someone worry about her.

The other message was from Sam. A shipment of spider plants was lost in transit. The plants were scheduled to be put in place at eight of the Handy Finance buildings around Charlotte the next day. It was a big contract for the Potting Shed and a lot of money over the next three years. Sam was worried about making a bad impression on their first job.

Peggy called the distributor, got a firm date for the new delivery, then called her contact at the finance Company to apologize and reschedule. The woman didn’t seem fazed by the news at all. She thanked Peggy for calling and noted the new date for setup.

Sam was out when she called him back, so she left him a message. It was always something. A hundred different contracts meant a hundred different problems. Shipments were late or didn’t come at all. Wrong plants or