Poisoned Petals

foyer. “I’m sorry for dragging you through this. Maybe we should all get a good night’s sleep and start again tomorrow.”

Paul kissed her cheek. “I’m going, too. I’ll see all of you for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Oh, stay the night, Paul,” his grandmother coaxed. “That way, we’ll see you some in the morning, too.”

“Wish I could, Grama, but I have to work tonight. I think I better go home.” He kissed her cheek, and she hugged him.

“All right. But try to come early tomorrow evening. We haven’t heard about your girlfriend yet.”

Paul glanced at Peggy, who shrugged. “There isn’t a girlfriend right now,” he said. “I’m kind of between.”

“That’s ridiculous!” his grandfather declared. “A fine-looking boy like you and a professional, too! What are the young women up here thinking? If you lived in Charleston—”

“Go now, Paul,” Peggy warned, “before he launches into his speech about the graces of Charleston.”

“Margaret!” Her father looked shocked. “Charleston is your home, too! I think your son would prosper there.”

“Not tonight, Dad. Good night, Paul. See you tomorrow.”

Ranson and Lilla kissed their grandson and said their good nights to him as Cousin Melvin and Aunt Mayfield found their bedrooms.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, too, banning any emergency,” Steve told Peggy. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied without thinking. “I’m always fine.”

He hugged her as Paul waved before walking out the front door. “Take it easy on yourself, huh? This has been a shock. And just for the record, you didn’t look fine when you came home. No one is fine all the time, Margaret Anne.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not you, too!”

“Okay. Just wanted to make sure I had your attention. You were looking a little glazed over there for a minute.” Steve smiled and waved to her parents. “Good night. It was nice meeting both of you.”

Ranson shook his hand. “You, too, Steve. I hope to see you again before we have to leave for home.”

“I’ll find some excuse to be here tomorrow.”

“Great!”

When the heavy oak door closed behind him and the dead bolt slid into place, she and her parents started up the wide circular marble staircase that led to the second floor.

“Steve’s very nice,” her mother said with a sigh. “He lives close by?”

“Yes.” Peggy switched off the downstairs lights, leaving only a soft glow that illuminated the stairway. “We’ve become very close in the last few months.”

“I could see that”

Peggy’s eyebrows lifted.

“He knew where to find everything in your kitchen!”

“Sometimes I think he uses it more than I do,” Peggy replied with a smile.

“That’s very close.”

“Not tonight, Lil,” Ranson said, wrapping one arm around Peggy’s shoulders. “Good night, sweet pea. Get a good night’s sleep so your mother can interrogate you in the morning.”

Lilla nudged him in the chest with her elbow, then hugged her daughter. “We’ll talk, won’t we, Margaret?”

There was no real answer to that. Of course they’d talk. Some of it would be great. Some of it, like always, would make her want to run away. Her mother had that effect on her. She loved her, but it was hard to be her daughter and be so different sometimes.

Peggy smiled and waited until they were in their bedroom before she urged Shakespeare into her room and closed the door. Steve was right. It had been a bad day. Tomorrow would be better. She needed some sleep and a better frame of mind.

The melancholy that sank into her after learning about Darmus’s death was bad enough. She wasn’t close to Luther, but he pulled himself together when he had to. He truly rose to the occasion. But being brutally honest with herself, she knew she was more depressed because his death brought everything back about Darmus’s death. She didn’t want that sadness hanging over her shoulder again, whispering in her ear before she went to sleep.

She put on some soft blue cotton shorts and a tank top. Shakespeare lay on the bed watching her, tail thumping when he thought she might come near enough to scratch his head.

The presence of other people in the big old house again was a strange feeling. It had been so long since there was more than just her there. Paul occasionally spent the night, but they usually ended up downstairs talking until morning. It wasn’t the same as having people sleeping around her. She missed that sometimes.

Mostly, her life and memories of time with John filled the house, even when she was alone. She rarely thought of it as being empty. There was always so much to do and so much to plan to do. More than one friend pointed out how busy her life had become since John’s death. She supposed it was her answer to grief. But for her, it was better than lying in bed crying every night or running back home to her mother and father.

Peggy lay down on the bed next to Shakespeare but couldn’t sleep. She stroked his fur and thought about Darmus. He had a lot of plans, too, and a lot of dreams. He always had. His dark eyes glowed with them when he spoke. There was a fire in him that wouldn’t be quenched.