Fruit of the Poisoned Tree

saw the desperate yet determined look on his face. She wasn’t sure what made her put herself between him and the police. Maybe it was because he reminded her of her own intense son. Maybe she just got caught up in the moment.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, hoping to give the young man a chance to get away. Even though she seemed to recall it being a badge of honor to be arrested, she didn’t think he looked the type. He hadn’t lain down in the street with the others. Instead, he reminded her of a terrified animal.

“Get out of the way, lady. This is police business,” the first officer warned.

“Is there a problem?” She tried to take their attention away from their quarry. “It seems like you’d have something better to do than chase these young people.”

“I won’t ask you again.” The officer charged, almost running into her on the slippery sidewalk. “This is a police action. You don’t want to be standing around out here.”

Peggy couldn’t tell if the young man got away yet. She bent down and picked up the banner he dropped. “You can’t even tell what this says anymore. Give the boy a break. He was only standing up for what he believes in.”

“That’s it! I warned you!” The officer snarled as he snatched the banner from her. The next thing she knew, the police were lifting her and carrying her to the waiting van. The reporters took her picture as the doors closed on her. Another fine mess . . .

2

Jerusalem Artichoke

Botanical: Helianthus tuberosus

Family: N.O. Compositae

Common name: Sunchoke

The name of this edible plant is a misnomer, since it doesn’t come from Jerusalem and is not an artichoke. The name is from the Italian girasola articiocco, the sunflower artichoke, girasola meaning “turning to the sun,” and articiocco, “artichoke.” In the 1920s, famed American psychic Edgar Cayce extolled the virtues of this plant in treating many medical maladies and brought it to the attention of the public.

“SO THE POLICE ARRESTED you?” Sam followed through to the logical end of her story as Peggy explained why she missed her original flight home.

“Not arrested exactly,” she hedged. “More like detained. They didn’t press charges against any of the protesters. They held us for a few hours, then let us go when we promised to leave Philadelphia. Except for the man with the concealed weapon. They kept him.”

Sam laughed as he easily navigated through early morning traffic from the airport to the Potting Shed. “At least you don’t have a record. When you called me last night, I thought maybe I should send Hunter up after you. I hope the experience taught you a lesson.”

Peggy raised her eyebrow. “I didn’t need your sister’s legal defense, but thanks for thinking of me. Exactly what lesson is it that I should’ve learned?”

“Don’t always jump into things until you know what’s going on.”

“I prefer to think of it as a good deed. Those people had a righteous grievance. That company has no business looking for oil in an estuary!” Peggy’s words were as fiery as her once-red hair. Her green eyes gleamed with purpose.

“Yeah? What happened to the protester you were trying to save from the police?” Sam stopped at a red light and grinned at her, the sunlight catching in the golden strands of his long hair. “Did he stop by to say thanks?”

“I didn’t see him again.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked out of the side window. She shouldn’t have told Sam the truth about what happened. Really! She was fifty-two years old. If she chose to join in at a protest, she had the right.

“Case closed. You helped him get away from the mess he created, and the police nabbed you instead. You did what you always do: jumped in with both feet, and it put you in a bad place. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

He was joking, of course. They had a long-standing, easy-going relationship that allowed them both tremendous freedom in what they could say to each other without making the other person angry. Peggy sighed and sat back in her seat. She could take the ribbing.

Sam pulled the pickup into the loading zone behind the Potting Shed. Peggy waited until he turned off the engine. “When did you become a philosopher? It must’ve been while I was gone, because I could’ve sworn you’re the same Sam Ollson who played that prank on his friend last week. Didn’t that put you on the dean’s blacklist for the month?”

Sam was a big man, more suited physically to being a construction worker than the surgeon he planned to be. His natural Scandinavian coloring and year-round tan made him look like a surfer. He had large hands that he used frequently to express himself when he wasn’t coddling plants or shoveling dirt. He shrugged his broad shoulders covered by a tight-fitting green Potting Shed jacket. “I’m only twenty. People expect me to do things like that.”

She burst out laughing at his excuse. “I’m over fifty. People expect me to do things like that. It’s only the middle-aged people who are supposed to be the sane pillars of society. I guess we’ll have to agree not to lecture each other.” She looked up at the back of the shop. It was early. Brevard Court wasn’t open yet to allow them in the front door. The big wrought-iron gate was still locked. But she couldn’t wait. “It’s good to be home anyway. Let’s go inside.”

He was ready for her barrage of questions about the shop and handed her a few printed pages of what transpired while she was gone. “I knew you’d want to see these. I thought this would be the best way.”

She took the pages after she opened the back door. The air outside was cool and damp, with the pungent aroma of garbage waiting to be picked up from the restaurant next door. In an hour or two, the smells from cooking would overpower it. Now she hurried inside and was immediately embraced by the smells of new plants and potting soil they kept in large quantities in the back storeroom.

She glanced at the sales figures on the sheets Sam gave her, but they didn’t really matter. Her heart was already home as she walked across the squeaky heart-of-pine floors and opened the door into the main body of the shop.

Peggy loved this time before the customers started coming in, before anything was moved or spilled. It was a quiet balm for her soul. Plants she’d started from seeds or cuttings stretched out new tendrils in the gauzy white sunlight coming in from the wide front windows. The oak rocking chair sat squarely on the multicolored rag rug, the display ready with plants and everything a gardener needed for spring. She sat down in the rocker and sighed.

“Orange spice tea?” Sam asked, smiling at her contentment.

“That would be perfect.” She rocked the chair a little. “Now. Tell me how things went while I was gone. Don’t leave anything out.”

EMIL BALDUCCI WAS CLEANING off some bird droppings from his shop window at the Kozy Kettle Tea and Coffee Emporium just across the courtyard from the Potting Shed when Peggy came back from lunch. “Hey, Peggy! Good to see you! That boy you left in charge while you were gone doesn’t have a brain in his head!”

She joined him in the cobblestone courtyard. Emil always had some complaint about how things were done when she went away. She took a deep breath and smiled at him. “Good morning. How are you? How is Sofia?”

“She’s fine. I’m fine. You have to fire that boy. Find someone more reliable. I have a nephew, Christo, Sofia’s brother’s son. He would do a good job for you. And his father is a widower. He’s still got his hair and teeth. He’s got plenty of money, too. You could sell this place and marry him.”

Not daring to laugh, she asked, “Are you talking about me living with Christo or his father?”

Emil took a moment to curl the ends of his heavy gray mustache that he oiled every day. “You make jokes,