Poisoned Petals by Joyce Lavene, Jim Read Free Book Online

The fortresslike facade of the Hearst building stuck out against the gray sky. In a few years the Bank of America Corporate Center planned to open a new Ritz-Carlton hotel almost right across from her shop. It probably wouldn’t mean much for her business, but it would help the city grow.
    The Potting Shed was located in Brevard Court, an enclosed addition to Latta Arcade. The two-story arcade was built in the early 1900s for merchants to grade and buy cotton. A skylight roof allowed buyers to see the quality of the cotton they were purchasing.
    But the days when cotton was king were long gone. Now the two-story building was remodeled into small shops. But its history gave it charm, and the old-fashioned mailboxes and stairwells lent the building a quaint ambiance.
    It was a taste of what Charlotte had been like a hundred years before. In fact, it was almost the only taste that remained since the Queen City’s growth had roared along like a steamroller, obliterating everything old in its path. Some residents protested, but Charlotte had become a banking city with a thirst for the new and good things of life.
    Peggy was pleased that Latta Arcade had escaped that fate. Brevard Court was made up of tiny shops circling a brick courtyard with a wrought-iron gate at one end. At the end of the courtyard that faced College Street was the Potting Shed, an urban gardener’s paradise. Next to the shop was Anthony’s Caribbean Café, and across from it was the Kozy Kettle Tea and Coffee Emporium.
    Peggy loved her store, with its heart-of-pine floors that creaked when she walked on them and wide windows that fronted the courtyard. A new painting, done by a local art student, pictured summer’s promise of red roses and purple clematis twining across the windows.
    A new purple awning poked out from the doors to the Potting Shed that faced the courtyard. That and the wrought-iron table and chair set outside her windows were part of her new two-year lease agreement. Signing that agreement was much easier this time, even though the rent had gone up since the first lease. At least now she was confident the shop would make money.
    Every shop in the courtyard was going to have an awning. It was a gift from the landlord. Cookie’s Travel Agency had a festive red one. The French restaurant had a bright green one. A sunflower-yellow awning was going up over the door to Emil and Sofia Balducci’s Kozy Kettle. As usual, Emil was outside supervising the project.
    “Peggy!” He hailed her when she tried to slip by to get her mail without being noticed. “What do you think? The yellow glares, right?”
    Emil’s stubborn Sicilian accent delighted the uptown ladies who visited his shop for breads, cakes, and coffee on their lunch hour. His thick, black mustache curled at the ends, and his swarthy features had settled into the downside of middle age. He was a terrible flirt, as long as his wife, Sofia, wasn’t around. When she was, he was careful.
    “I think it looks wonderful,” Peggy enthused. “The courtyard looks like a bazaar.”
    “Bizarre!” He ruminated over the word. “Exactly! I am going in to call him and tell him that we don’t want bizarre! We want prosperous. We want happy. Not bizarre!”
    “Not . . .” She started to explain, then realized it didn’t matter. He just wanted her to agree with him. It was part of Emil’s nature to want everyone to agree with him when he complained. She pitied the rental agent he was going to call. It was difficult to get a word in during a conversation with Emil.
    Peggy ducked back into the Potting Shed before he noticed she was leaving. She’d lied to Paul this morning when she told him she was all right. Her head hurt, and she felt like a truck had rolled over her. But she knew it was the aftermath of everything that happened at Darmus’s home. There was nothing really wrong with her, and it simply wasn’t her way to lie down and cry. The sun was still shining in through the wavy