Poisoned Petals

I think the doctor said Luther died from natural causes. Black moves to f6.

Be sure they do an autopsy. White moves to d4.

Do you know something you aren’t telling me? Black moves to fxe5.

Undoubtedly. White moves to fxe5.

Peggy squirmed with frustration. A hint would be nice! Black moves to c6.

There is a lot of money at stake. The group got a huge private donation just before Darmus left. When you follow the money . . . White moves to Bc4.

Left? Peggy picked up on the word as she moved. Black moves to Bc7. He died.

Her husband’s old buddy responded, Darmus isn’t dead.

“What do you mean?” She said out loud, wishing she had him on the phone. Sometimes nonverbal communication wasn’t the same. You couldn’t hear the nuances in the voice or see the body language. Even the phone might not do. She wanted to slap some sense into him. She repeated the question on the screen for him again, her heart fluttering in her chest. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. What do you mean? Darmus is alive? But people identified him. I saw him in his house when it blew up.

Did you? Or did you see someone who looked like him? Trust me, Nightrose, there is more here than meets the eye. Darmus may have staged his own death.

Peggy rubbed her eyes. She must be too exhausted to take it all in. He couldn’t possibly be right. She wrote back, Where is he, if he’s still alive? Why hasn’t he told anyone? That doesn’t make any sense.

I don’t have all the answers yet, Nightrose. But Darmus is still alive. Must go now. Talk later.

Peggy was so frustrated when his name left the screen, she wanted to scream. Nightflyer threw a bomb in her lap then left as it went off. She paced the bedroom with long strides, muttering to herself and stomping her foot occasionally.

There was nothing she could do. It was too early or late, depending on how she looked at it, to call anyone about his preposterous ideas. It was ridiculous, of course. Everyone would think she was insane for suggesting the idea that Darmus was still alive. Shouldn’t she know better than anyone that he was dead?

But what about him being cold when you touched him?

There was probably a logical explanation for that. The medical examiner would know exactly why that was. No doubt burn victims got cold.

But what if Nightflyer was right?

She stopped pacing and went back to her computer to try to look up anything she could find on burn victims. She didn’t want to look like a complete idiot when she called the police later that morning. Nightflyer was right too often in the past to ignore him, no matter how stupid or ridiculous his assertion seemed.

But she couldn’t find anything about burn victims being cold. She picked up the phone to call a doctor friend of hers but realized it was four a.m. Her questions would have to wait until later. She hoped her curiosity wouldn’t drive her crazy by then.

After a long, restless night thinking about Darmus, it was finally dawn. Peggy took a quick shower, put on an old purple sweat suit, and went down quietly to check on her plants. She planted her milkweed seeds, watered them, and then put them under a grow light. She might still have to end up buying some. The plant would probably take too long to seed. According to what she read, her larvae would be out soon. But it would be nice to grow something different anyway.

“You couldn’t sleep, either?”

Her father’s voice startled her. “You’re up early, even for you.”

He sat down in the rocking chair near the pond and stroked Shakespeare’s head. “I don’t sleep much anymore. You know how it is. Too much like dying.”

“I never thought of it that way.” She finished picking a handful of strawberries for breakfast. “When did you start thinking about dying?”

“About seventy years ago.” He chuckled. “I don’t know. It’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

She looked at him carefully, but he seemed fine. Or did she just want him to seem fine? “Is something wrong, Dad?”

“No!” He stood up and threw his broad shoulders back. He was still as tall and lean as she remembered him from childhood. He was never obviously strong, but she’d seen him lift logs and calves without breaking a sweat. “You just start thinking about these things when you get to be my age, sweet pea. How about you?”

“I’m fine. Just confused.” She told him about Nightflyer and his suppositions about Darmus and Luther.

“Could there be any truth to that?”

“I don’t see how. It doesn’t make any sense. Darmus wouldn’t have any reason to fake his own death. And if Luther was killed, whoever did it made it look totally natural.”

“Well we both know that’s possible. As for your friend, Darmus, you said he was under a lot of stress. Maybe he cracked under the pressure. He wouldn’t be the first man.”

“Or maybe Nightflyer is wrong.” She dusted dirt from her gloves.

“Well that’s possible, too.” He followed her upstairs, with Shakespeare trailing him. “I guess I assumed since you were giving it so much thought that you think he’s right.”

“Dad, you and I think too much alike!” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Is Mom sleeping in today?”