Poisoned Petals

“No need to lecture, Margaret!” her mother said. “We know how to behave in public.”

“Looks like that’s settled,” Steve responded. “I don’t think we can get everyone in my Vue for the trip over there, but I can use the van I borrowed to transport some sheep to the zoo.”

Peggy glanced at him, her expressive brows arched.

“Don’t ask. Let’s just say you have to do what you have to do to stay in business.”

“Great!” Peggy huffed beneath her breath.

“Say something, sweet pea?”

“No, Daddy. Let me get my jacket.”

8

Mock Orange

Botanical: Philadelphus virginalis

Family: Hydrangeaceae

A large, deciduous bush with white flowers growing in clumps. The enticing, citrus scent of the flowers was thought to repel insects. The flowers were also used in witches’ incantations.

THE NIGHT WAS CHILLY and misty after the light rain they’d had that day. They needed the moisture desperately. What they got didn’t even touch the bottom soil where it was really dry, but it was better than nothing. After the dry winter, it was going to be a difficult summer for people and plants. By fall, they’d all be crying for rain.

All of them piled into Steve’s van, although Sam opted to take his own car since he lived closer to the nightclub than to Peggy’s house. What was supposed to be a secret operation, finding Darmus and convincing him to turn himself in to the police, was now a major effort. Peggy knew her family would never sit at a table and wait for her. She had to find some way to integrate them into the search before they ruined everything.

The streets of Charlotte were crowded. Ironically, rain always seemed to bring people out. She had a friend who owned a small restaurant in Dilworth, another section of the city, who always swore the restaurant was more crowded when it rained.

Saturday nights were busy on the streets anyway. Peggy wasn’t sure, but she thought it might be race week at Lowe’s Motor Speedway. That always meant more people everywhere you went. Adding another 200,000 people visiting the speedway and events to keep them entertained was always hazardous.

When they arrived at the nightclub, Crush, a fashionable South Beach club on Stonewall, her worst fears were realized. It was packed. People were streaming in and out of the club and packed inside like turnips in a farm truck.

“Peggy, no one comes here on Saturday night,” Sam assured her when they met inside. “We’re wasting our time.”

“We have it to waste. Sit still. Look attractive. Maybe someone will take an interest in you.” She didn’t tell him this was her last opportunity to find Darmus without turning to the police. Darmus had wanted a different life, she considered, watching the dancers on the crowded floor. He was about to pay for it.

“I’m seeing someone,” Sam blurted out with a charming, boyish grin.

“That’s wonderful!” Ranson exclaimed.

“How nice, Sam!” her mother chirped in. “You’re such a good person. You deserve to meet someone.”

Peggy shook her head, more surprised by the break in her thoughts as she searched for Darmus, than Sam admitting he was seeing someone. It always amazed her that he wasn’t mobbed by admiring fans everywhere he went. He was gorgeous, smart, easygoing. If he were twenty years older and not gay . . . she dreaded explaining that part to her family. “Then what were you doing here last night?”

“We came here together. He works at UNCC. He’s a little older but—”

She made a face. “Please tell me you’re not dating a professor! Didn’t we just go through this with Selena?”

“It happens all the time.” Sam looked up as Steve came back with drinks for everyone. “Tell her, Steve. College students are adults. They date professors.”

“It’s not ethical.” Steve set the drinks on the table. “But I know it happens.”

“At least I’m not seeing him because I want better grades, like Selena! He doesn’t even teach any of my classes. You know him. Holles Harwood. He’s Darmus’s assistant. He helped him with Feed America, too. Well, he was his assistant anyway. Or is. Which is it?”

“I don’t know yet.” She took her ginger ale from Steve. She was hoping the conversation had gone over her parents’ heads, but she should have known better.

“So you’re gay.” Ranson nodded. “I would’ve never guessed it.”

“You don’t seem gay,” Lilla said.

“He’s always in a good mood,” Cousin Melvin disagreed. “I’m happy for him.”

“Not that kind of gay, Melvin,” Ranson told his cousin. “The kind where you date men.”