6 A Thyme to Die by Joyce Lavene Page B

had met him for the first time the day after his restaurant had opened more than twenty-five years ago. He’d become fast friends with her and John. They’d shared many meals here.
    “What is it?” Peggy scooted back her chair to follow him. “What’s wrong?”
    Bob led her, Al, and Steve back into the bustling kitchen area. There were cooks and servers everywhere, no spare inch to waste. Everyone was moving at the same time but in different directions. They dipped and weaved to avoid running into stock pots, plates of vegetables, and huge trays of fried chicken and biscuits.
    They finally reached a large window which overlooked the alley behind the restaurant. It was dark now but Peggy knew it would be sunny during the day. There were a dozen herb plants sitting on the recently painted window sill.
    One of them appeared to have fallen. There was potting soil on the floor and the oregano plant was half out of its red ceramic pot.
    “I think it’s going to die,” Bob said dramatically, his dark eyes moistening and lips trembling. “You remember this plant? You gave it to me all those years ago when you and John first came here.”
    Peggy smiled. “I remember. It certainly has grown.”
    “Can you save it? Some stupid nephew of mine knocked it down. I owe everything to this plant. It brings me luck. If it dies, I think I’ll lose my business.”
    She handed Steve her bag. “Let me take a look. Are these others cuttings from this plant?”
    “A few of them. Of course, I have some thyme and some marjoram. I try to keep a little of everything. People like the fresh herbs.” Bob held up the other plants as he spoke.
    “I think this one needs to be repotted.” Peggy diagnosed the oregano. “The soil is depleted. Every so often you should give it fresh dirt, even if you fertilize.  And it’s too wet. Water it a little less often. It should be moist or even a little dry.”
    “And I cut off the flowers as soon as I see them, like you told me.” Bob grinned. “It’s been a long time, but I don’t forget.”
    “And remember to cut the whole stem before you strip away the leaves, even though you don’t want the stem.”
    “What not wanting the stem?” Bob showed her several large bundles of stems tied together. “I give them for gifts. I read on Goggle that it’s good for you to add to the bath.”
    “That should be it.” Peggy tucked the roots of the old oregano plant back into the soil. “I think it will be fine. You’ve done a good job taking care of it.”
    The plant reminded her of how young and carefree she and John had been when she’d given it to Bob. They were just starting their lives together with wonderful plans for the future.
    Not that their life together hadn’t been glorious, she reflected as she wiped her hands on a towel and took back her bag. John’s life had been cut short, too short. It wasn’t fair.
    She’d started The Potting Shed on her own after his death. He should’ve been there to enjoy it. It was his dream too.
    “Thank you so much, Plant Lady!” Bob kissed her hand. “I don’t see you here often enough.”
    Peggy patted her stomach. “I can’t eat those sweet potato fries all the time!”
    They all laughed, agreeing that none of them could eat the things they could when they were younger.
    “I saw you on TV yesterday with that bad business at the convention center,” Bob said. “That poor man who was killed. It’s a terrible thing for a man to be shot tending to his own business. He was here for lunch the day before. I didn’t know him then but I knew the man he was with.”
    Al perked up as much as any plant in the right environment. “You saw Mr. Abutto here at lunch time? Who was he with?”
    “He was with that man who runs the convention center.” Bob thumped his gray head. “I can’t remember his name. Where has my brain gone?”
    “Dabney Wilder,” Al supplied. “Mr. Wilder failed to tell us that in his interview. He said he’d never met