Poisoned Petals

“The look you get when you’re about to do something I wish you wouldn’t do.”

Peggy carefully took the Limoges serving bowl inlaid with tiny pink florets off the table. “This bowl was a gift from the first governor of South Carolina to my great-great-great-grandmother. No one was ever quite sure why, and no one asked too many questions when my great-great-grandfather came out looking more like the governor than my great-great-great-grandfather. It would be impolite to ask.”

“Meaning I shouldn’t ask what you’re planning?”

“I always wash this myself. It’s very valuable.” She showed him the governor’s signature inside the bowl. The light caught on the twenty-four-karat gold rim. “I rarely use it.”

“Peggy—”

“I think you’re getting paranoid.”

“I’d agree. Except you have this knack for getting into trouble.”

“And getting out of it.”

“So you admit something is going on!”

“Something is always going on.”

“Peggy!”

“Good thing my name isn’t Lucy,” she quipped. “You’d sound just like Desi.”

He stepped forward to block the door into the kitchen as she would have walked by him. “Let me help.”

“There’s nothing to help with. Really. I think I might have a lead on who killed Luther, but it will have to wait until I talk to Al tomorrow.”

“No skullduggery?”

“I’m not really sure what that is, but I don’t think so.”

He kissed her and sighed. “Thank you.”

She hugged him with her free arm. “You’re welcome. I think I’ll get on the Internet and see what I can find out about Holles. I’m not getting anything from Sam.”

“Need any help?”

Hoping there wouldn’t be any messages from Nightflyer, she smiled. “I can always use your help.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He kissed her, and they went upstairs toward her bedroom.

“Now hold on a minute.” Peggy’s father stopped them. “No hanky-panky up there. Margaret Anne, I know you’ve been married, but you still need to watch your reputation. You’re a woman alone. You shouldn’t be having men up to your bedroom.”

“We’re going to look up some things on the Internet.” She looked down over the banister.

“Whatever you want to call it, it’s still wrong.”

Paul laughed as he dried his hands on a dishtowel. “Mom, you know what I’ve told you about hanky-panky. I’m always telling her about that.”

“You stay out of this!” Peggy warned.

“No, he has a right,” her father continued. “He’s your only son. He should be involved in the decisions you make.”

Peggy couldn’t believe it. She stared at her son and her father. Did they have to pick on her right now? “Is there something you wanted?” she addressed Paul.

“Yeah, Cousin Melvin needs some bacon grease. Got any handy?”

“You know I don’t! Why don’t you run to the Fresh Market and ask for some.”

“Okay!” He ducked his head. “I’m sorry I said anything.”

Ranson put his arm around Paul’s shoulders. “Don’t you make this boy feel bad about trying to do the right thing! He’s a good man like his daddy.”

Steve muttered, “If I had any ideas about bedroom hanky-panky, between the bacon grease and your relatives, I’d definitely be out of the mood.”

“Never mind that.” Peggy took his hand and led him toward the bedroom. “I’m fifty-two years old. I can take a man to my bedroom to look at the Internet or anything else I want to show him.”

“That sounds promising.” Steve grinned. “Maybe I’m still in the mood after all.”

Paul laughed and left them alone. But Peggy’s father was more persistent. “I’ll just come up there and help you out with that Internet thing.”

“Ranson!” Peggy’s mother called out from the second story. “For heaven’s sake stop picking at her. Stop being so obnoxious!”

“Oh, Lilla, you never let me have any fun.”

“Yes, I do. Now go and help clean the kitchen. I’m trying to rest!”

Peggy’s father shook his head. “All right.”

Her mother sighed. “It’s your own fault,” she told Peggy. “The two of you never take anything