When Hunter was backing her SUV out of the drive, Steve’s eyes focused on Peggy. “You’re going to get a good night’s sleep tonight and not try to exploit your relationship with the crazy man online, right?”
She stared back. “I’m going to do the best I can to help Beth, Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She could tell he wasn’t happy with her answer. But honesty compelled her not to swear she wouldn’t contact Nightflyer. If he knew anything that might help Beth, Peggy wanted to know, too.
Steve looked away first. “Just be careful. I kind of like our relationship, even if you can’t exploit me for information unless it has something to do with cats or pregnant hamsters. This guy could be dangerous.”
She hugged and kissed him as Hunter’s headlights flashed on them. It reminded her of a night in Charleston when she stayed out too late with John, and her father had come out to look for her. She was kissing John when he found them behind the smokehouse. Her father blew the horn several times, then used the high beams on them.
Recalling that moment, and the embarrassment that followed, made her smile. It was amazing how the events of a lifetime could be encapsulated and brought back in a single flash of memory, even thirty years later. But she wasn’t twenty anymore. She didn’t care who saw her kissing someone.
Well, at least she didn’t think she cared. Without her father trapping her in his headlight beams, it was hard to say.
“I’ll be fine,” she finally assured Steve, the man presently in her arms. “Don’t worry so much. It will give you frown lines. Go and take care of your patient. I’ll let you know as soon as something changes.”
“I wish I could go with you in the morning. But I have a surgery scheduled for nine. Call me and let me know what happens.”
“I will,” she promised. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”
PEGGY E-MAILED NIGHTFLYER AN invitation from the new chess site. He didn’t respond. She waited half an hour in front of her computer before finally changing clothes and going downstairs to check on her plants. Tonight was the night she was scheduled to release the hero bugs that would save her hapless strawberry plants.
Sometimes it disturbed her sense of empathy with the plants to experiment on them. There they were, going along thinking they lived in a perfect world. Then suddenly, a plague of biblical proportions was released on them. It didn’t seem fair, but such was the nature of experimentation.
The thrips and spider mites she’d released had gnawed hungrily on the strawberries. But their damage was contained, in this case, by limiting the number of bugs. In a normal strawberry patch, the damage could be catastrophic. She looked at a half-eaten strawberry that had fallen off the plant and shook her head.
Making note of everything, she released the lacewings and ladybugs she’d bought from the insect warehouse. Many places had begun growing their own helpful insects to sell to gardeners. The only problem was keeping them around. Once the food supply was gone, the insects typically flew off to find more. That’s where the right environment came in, encouraging them to stay.
Thankfully, her enclosure around the strawberries seemed to be containing what was sure to be an epic battle. Thrips and mites would play havoc with her other plants as well if they escaped. This way their only food source was the strawberry plants.
After recording the progress of the rest of her experiments and watching the frog in the pond, Peggy went back upstairs to check for Nightflyer. There was still no response to her challenge. Maybe his old war injury was bothering him again. She left the chess site and went on to look for poisonings in the daily papers online.
She followed up the story about the man in Dubuque. The poison was still unknown, but the man was alive and listed in fair condition. She took note of his physician’s name and sent an e-mail to the hospital for further information on the case.
Two more unknown poisonings caught her attention. One was in Syracuse, New York, and the other was in Staunton, Ohio. Both were men. One was in serious condition in the ICU. The other was in serious but stable condition. She e-mailed both hospitals for updated information on the cases.
She needed a list of people who stayed at the hotel in Philadelphia and received the gift baskets that contained the honey. The police probably already had that information but weren’t likely to share. With Mai’s anxiety about her job, she couldn’t ask her to check. But if there were other cases of poisoned honey, Hunter could use that in Beth’s defense.
They needed a way to prove the poison was already at work before Park returned home. That would, at least, clear Beth of any wrongdoing where Park was concerned. It wouldn’t help with the charge against her for what happened to Isabelle, but like any other sequential event, one step at a time.
She sat back in her chair; still no word from Nightflyer. She supposed she could only depend on a mysterious stranger for so much. If he really wanted to help, he’d come out of hiding and work with them. He’d explain how he did his research and where he got his sources. A good scientist always shared with colleagues. Steve was right. Nightflyer skulked in the shadows. She would have to find her own answers to help Beth.
She didn’t realize she fell asleep at her computer until her alarm clock went off and Shakespeare started barking in the laundry room. She hated that forlorn sound and wished he was still sleeping in her bed. Maybe it sounded crazy, but she missed him. She yawned and stretched her aching back. She was still willing to give the obedience classes time and hoped they would help him. God help them if the first class was a model for the rest of their time with Rue!
Peggy took Shakespeare out into the cold, foggy morning. Icy mist hung low in the crape myrtle trees, dripping to the ground and on the heads of unwary walkers. Shakespeare seemed better this morning. He walked sedately at her side, looking up from time to time with a strange expression on his face. She brought him back inside and fed him, but he lay down beside the food bowl and for once, refused to gulp down his food.
“What’s wrong?” She scratched behind his ear, feeling guilty. It couldn’t be plainer if he sat up and told her. He wasn’t happy living in the laundry room. He wanted to be with her.
“If you’d stop breaking things and acting like an idiot, you could come back upstairs and to the Potting Shed with me.” She answered him as though his words of complaint were spoken aloud. In response, he laid his head on the worn wood floor and groaned.
She tried everything to get him to eat. He wouldn’t look at the food. Finally, she let him go back upstairs with her. He bounded happily up the sweeping marble staircase, leapt into the bedroom like a gawky gazelle, and broke the lamp on her bedside table. The lamp that had been a wedding gift from John’s mother. She rushed in after him, but it was too late. “I knew it! I shouldn’t have trusted you!”
The phone rang as she began picking up the pieces of the lamp. Shakespeare snuffled her head as she worked. She sat on the floor, shooed him away, and answered the persistent summons.
“Dr. Lee?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Alan Richards. I’m the head of forensics at the University of Iowa Hospital at Dubuque. I received a message that you were interested in one of my cases. I’m sorry it’s taken a while for me to get back with you. We’ve had a bad flu season this year.”
“Sorry to hear that. Yes, that’s right.” She struggled to get to her feet, pushing Shakespeare out of the way as he lay down on her. “If you could give me a moment to get to my desk, Dr. Richards.”