Fruit of the Poisoned Tree

With the portable radio playing weather updates between some old jazz music, Peggy and Steve settled in for the night together on a large green velvet love seat in front of the window that looked out on the street. The drape Shakespeare ripped down was still gone, so they could look outside. There were no cars, just the white flakes covering the trees and houses. The snow illuminated everything, making it easy to see, even without streetlights. Shakespeare came and lay down with a thud on the floor beside them.

“This is a great way to enjoy the bad weather,” Steve whispered, his arms around her.

Peggy yawned and rested her head against him. “People up North don’t know what they’re missing by carrying on.”

“Of course, if they didn’t, everyone’s lives would fall apart since they have snow almost every day over the winter.”

She smiled as she closed her eyes, listening to the steady sound of his heart. “That’s true enough. I guess we’re just lucky.”

He rested his head against hers and sighed. “I guess we are.”

SHAKESPEARE WAS UP AND barking at four a.m. when the power came back on and the snowplow went down Queens Road. Like a switch turned the world back on, Steve’s cell phone went off with an emergency call from the owner of a sick chow. He grabbed some coffee as it perked, kissed Peggy, and was gone.

Paul was barely awake when they called him back to work. He ate the last of the cheesecake and strawberries before rushing out the door.

Peggy sat down at the table to watch television and see how the city fared during the night. “I guess it’s just you and me again.” She patted Shakespeare’s massive head as she fed him.

The snow had stopped a little after midnight. Now everyone was digging out of six inches of ice and snow that locked up all of Charlotte, including the airport. The police were advising that no one venture out on the streets unless it was an emergency. Just seeing the cars skidding to the side of the empty interstate was enough to convince most people. But there was always someone with a Jeep who thought he knew better.

There was a small mention of Isabelle’s death during the night. But two other people had died as well, their deaths attributed to the storm, so the station didn’t devote much time to it. Maybe it had been resolved. Maybe the old lady did die from some natural cause. Peggy closed her eyes and prayed it was something simple, but she knew she wouldn’t be happy until she found out.

By the time she checked on her plants, walked the dog, and got dressed in a warm turquoise wool pantsuit, the snow was melting under the bright February sun. The blue sky was blinding against what was left of the white landscape. The frozen night was miserable for police and county road crews who tried to keep people in their homes and out of ditches. They were still up and patrolling the city, blear-eyed with lack of sleep but dedicated to their work.

Most residents of the Queen City were happy to oblige the call to stay home, especially the children who missed school that day. School buses and drivers weren’t equipped to handle bad weather. They’d have to make the day up somewhere, probably out of a teacher workday.

Peggy slogged through what was left of the slush, stepping around a frozen camellia bush whose bright red flowers struggled through the cold. You’re a flame in my heart. She translated the flower’s meaning as other people translate French or Spanish. She brushed some of the snow and ice from it before she crossed the street. With the weight lifted off of it, the glossy green branches sprang back up from the sidewalk. “That’s better!”

She made her way to Isabelle’s house on foot. It wasn’t more than a mile. She missed her bike, forgetting how slow it was to walk, but she was worried the frozen ruts in the road would be too hard to maneuver. And there were the abandoned cars littering the streets, parked on the side and in the center. A good time to be a tow truck driver, she mused as she watched some of them at work.

She was hoping not to see police cars and the crime scene van when she finally reached the street where Park grew up, but she was disappointed. It meant nothing was resolved. Isabelle’s death was questionable. It was as easy to read that as it was to know what the flowers meant.

Park’s ex-wife, Cindy, was standing on the steps talking to police officers. Her golden hair was perfectly groomed around her pretty face as she dabbed delicately at her tears. Peggy’s eyes narrowed. What is she doing here?

“Good morning! Is it all right if I come through?” Peggy ignored the yellow crime scene tape to approach Al and Lieutenant Rimer when she saw them outside the two-story, redbrick home.

“No!” Jonas Rimer stalked toward her, his arms waving like a frantic scarecrow. “It is not okay if you come through. This is a crime scene, Peggy. That doesn’t mean someone can cross the line just because they know a few police officers.”

“Well it’s more than that, Jonas,” she assured him. “I knew Isabelle. She was at my shop yesterday. I was hoping you could tell me what happened to her.”

“Nothing happened to her,” he said. “Go home. Read the paper like everybody else. You shouldn’t be out on the street anyway. You might fall and break something.”

“If nothing happened, why are you here?” Peggy’s eyebrows raised above impertinent green eyes. She decided to ignore his agitated remarks about her fragility. The man was under pressure and obviously not himself. “Come on, Jonas. You might as well tell me. You know I can stand here and ask questions until I find out.”

“We think she was pushed down the stairs,” Al explained as he shrugged. “You might as well tell her, Lieutenant. She’s gonna find out anyway.”

“So is everyone else in the city.” Jonas turned on him furiously. “But we aren’t going to go around with a loudspeaker telling everyone what happened.”

Al put his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. But she did help us on the Warner case. And she did try to help us with Isabelle Lamonte’s accusation.”

“Yes she did.” Jonas smiled at Peggy. “And I know you’re in tight with most of the bigwigs in this city. But you can’t help with this one. You should go home and wait for the six o’clock news.”

“It’s terrible about Isabelle.” Peggy pushed past Jonas toward Al as if she hadn’t heard him. “But why the police investigation? She always kept the house as dark and cold as a tomb. She probably missed the top stair and fell.”

“The lieutenant thinks the other Mrs. Lamonte might be involved. We heard about the scene between them over at her house yesterday.” Al glanced back at Cindy Walker. “And you know we had that call from the elder Mrs. Lamonte about her daughter-in-law being involved in her husband’s death. It didn’t make any sense yesterday. Today, it might need some answers.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense today.” Peggy wished she could get inside and take a look around. What could possibly be in there that could make them suspect Beth?

“That was before this happened,” Jonas decided to tell her before Al said it all. “We found some suspicious circumstances in the house. Enough to investigate anyway. The crime scene people have been here all night.”

“What kind of circumstances?” Peggy looked at both of them.

“Never mind.” Jonas checked himself and glared at Al. “And if you know what’s good for you, Detective, you won’t say anything else about this either.”

Al scuffed his shoe on the wet sidewalk. “Sorry, Peggy. That’s about all I can tell you.”

She had to be satisfied with that verdict. A tumble down the stairs didn’t sound very suspicious to her, especially since Isabelle was crippled and losing her sight. What did they find that made them think it was anything but an accident? “Does that mean you’re going to question Beth about Park’s death again, too?”

“That’s none of your business.” Jonas took her arm and guided her out of Isabelle’s front yard. A large blob of snow fell out of a pear tree right on his head. He brushed it off as he said, “You’ll have to wait until our investigation is finished.”

“Jonas, you need a good cleansing! The toxins have backed up in your body at an alarming rate,” she alerted him. “If you don’t go home and drink some milk thistle and goldenseal, you’re going to catch a cold at the very least!”

He wrinkled his forehead, obviously trying to figure out what she was talking about and finally waved her away. “Go home, Peggy. Please! My toxins will just have to be happy with some coffee