Free Pretty Poison by Joyce and Jim Lavene

shovel,” Selena reminded her.
    A group of customers came into the shop. The lunchtime crowd was gone, but late stragglers were still shopping for weekend projects.
    “I have to go,” Peggy said again. “Let me know what you find out.”
     
     
    THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON went quickly. Her second class was less impressed by the murder in her shop, so they went through the process of photosynthesis.
    One student stopped after class to ask about her lecture on botanical poisons. He suspected one of the people who shared his house of killing his goldfish by pouring Drano into the tank.
    “Drano doesn’t qualify as being botanical,” she explained. “A botanical poison is made from plants or plant substances. I think Drano is chemical. You’ll have to do some research on the Internet.”
    “Have you ever seen a Drano poisoning, Dr. Lee?” he continued. “Do you know what the symptoms would be?”
    “I really can’t say. And I imagine it would be different for humans than for goldfish.”
    “What about other poisons? What would be something you could use that would be fast acting and not leave any trace for the police to find?”
    She frowned. The conversation was beginning to take a downward turn. “With today’s crime scene investigation, there’s no such thing. If you want to get revenge for your goldfish, I suggest you take up boxing or kung fu.”
    The young man took notes and thanked her for her time. He seemed unimpressed with her suggestion not to use poison and denied he was looking for revenge. She shook her head as he left. She couldn’t be responsible for the facts. She hated to think any of her knowledge would be used the wrong way. But it was like the Internet. Just because you found out how to build a bomb on-line didn’t mean you had to build one. People had been using poison for thousands of years. Still, she scribbled down his name and E-mailed the dean in case anything came of it.
    She called Mint Condition cleaning service and asked about the normal cleaning day for the shop as well as who had the key. The owner assured her they had her key in safekeeping and that her regular cleaning day was Friday, as it was for the rest of the shops in Brevard Court and Latta Arcade. Peggy thanked him, then looked up the number for the bug guy.
    It was the same story with him. He only came in once a month to spray for pests. His last visit was at the beginning of November, two weeks before Mark’s death. He offered to show her the key to the shop, but Peggy assured him she believed he had it.
    She crossed both names off of her list and considered the rest of the choices. It might seem like an extensive list of key holders to Mai. But to her, the rest of the people on the list were people she cared about. She didn’t want to think any of them were involved with the murder. Yet what other possible explanation could there be?
    After stuffing her books and papers into her backpack, Peggy got on her bicycle and rode back to the Potting Shed. Traffic was still heavy, but the weather was nice again. Between traffic lights, she thought about Steve Newsome and his invitation to dinner. It had been a long time since she dated. She wasn’t sure she remembered how.
    A car slammed on its brakes in front of her, forcing her to do the same. What was she thinking? This dinner wasn’t a date. She was taking the man out for dinner because he helped her with the dog. He’d asked her because . . . well . . . because he was probably curious about the murder. He did mention it, after all.
    By the time she reached the shop, she’d convinced herself there was nothing romantic about dinner with Steve. He was a man. A younger man. She was a widow who still loved her husband. The rest was pure fantasy on her part brought on by stress and sleeplessness.
    As a compelling part of this hypothesis, she reminded herself that she was assuming responsibility for a dog. A big dog. She didn’t need any other evidence to convince the