A Deadly Bouquet (26 page)

“I doubt she took much comfort in that. Her mother and sister were dead. What happened to her?”

Dana lifted a shoulder. “I heard she went to live with relatives. After a year, Claire tracked down her address and sent a gift. A few months later, Claire sent another.”

“Did she write the girl a letter explaining the reason for the presents?”

Dana stared at me. “Gosh, no. She'd never do that.” A look of uncertainty crossed her plump face. “Or would she?”

“Claire might,” I said. “The girl must have wondered why someone was sending her presents. Did Claire hear back? Get a thank-you card?”

“No. Claire couldn't be sure the girl had even gotten the packages, but they weren't returned. A couple of gifts could hardly make up for the loss of her family, but Claire felt she had to make contact in some way.”

Dana rubbed her arms and spoke quietly. “After Sonya, Kasey, Claire, and I graduated, we went our separate ways. We'd see each other around town, but our friendship wasn't the same. We never talked about what happened that night, but in our own way we each tried to compensate for what we'd done. Kasey has her environmental work. Sonya spends all her free time volunteering in the pediatric wing at the hospital. My being a clown and making children laugh at birthday parties isn't much, but even if we'd come forward with our story, the woman and her daughter would still be dead.”

“But Claire might not,” I said quietly. “For years she was able to go on with her life. Then all of a sudden she needed catharsis. Why? What happened? What was the gossip Claire needed confirmed by Lydia Dearborne?”

“I don't know, but I think she's the lady Claire got the little girl's address from.”

“But you said that was a year after the fire.”

Dana nodded. “I've told you all I know. The others are going to be furious with me. Please don't say anything to Sonya or Kasey until after the wedding. We're already stressed enough as it is.”

I left the food-preparation tent without making any promises. I wanted to find a quiet corner to mull over what I'd discovered, but the hustle and bustle around me was too distracting. I couldn't concentrate.

The next hours passed in a final flurry of frustration. While unloading one of the massive gazebo bouquets, Lew broke the tallest flower head from its stem. I did some finagling—tape and wire are a florist's best friends. We checked lists, checked bouquets, and checked twinkle lights. We smoothed tulle, smoothed satin cloth, and smoothed ruffled feathers. Finally, at six o'clock, I called a halt. We'd done what we'd been paid to do.

Evelyn hadn't arrived, so I hunted up Sonya to tell her the exact location of the bridal party flowers. I found her fighting to keep her composure. Her power suit was rumpled and smudged. Her eyes held a “help me, Lord” expression.

Was the wedding getting to her? Or had she learned that her past had finally caught up to her?

I asked, “Have you talked to Dana?”

“Why?” Sonya squawked, craning her neck. “What's happened now? She forgot the oil for the deep-fat fryer and her husband had to bring the jugs from home.”

“Nothing like that,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you that the corsages and boutonnieres need to be kept in the ice chests until time to pin them on. We've labeled each, so there shouldn't be any confusion as to who receives which one.”

Sonya nodded. “Evelyn called. You're to leave the helium tank.”

“Why?”

“She has a special heart-shaped balloon she wants inflated to tie to the limo.”

“This has gone way beyond ridiculous. Have you met any of the wedding party yet?”

“No.”

I flipped my hands, absolving myself from the event. “I've had it. No rehearsal. Everything on a schedule. I'm out of here.”

Sonya looked longingly at the path that would take her away from Tranquility Garden. Deliberately, she looked away from freedom and squared her shoulders. She asked, “You aren't coming to the wedding?”

“No. I've seen enough. I'm taking a hot bath and going to bed.”

“Evelyn assumes you'll attend.”

“I'm not under that obligation. I've done my work. You're the coordinator.”

“I'm surprised you don't want to see and be seen. It's good advertising for your shop. This wedding will be the talk of River City for weeks and months. Anyone who is anybody is coming.”

I looked around at the serenity and beauty. Soon this place would be filled with River City families. The previous Saturday, when we'd met in the park, Sonya had said the mayor was attending, as well as doctors, lawyers, and councilmen—the elite of our society.

A twinge of unrest caught me by surprise. I tried to analyze the feeling, but I couldn't get a handle on it. I finally told myself it was because my part in this gala was finished. After the candles were lit there would be no turning back for Nikki and her groom.

I chewed my lower lip. Evelyn had said something along those lines. I searched my brain for her exact words: “Once the candles are lit, it's the beginning of the end.”

Sonya asked, “What's wrong? Have you changed your mind about attending the wedding?”

I ran a hand wearily through my hair. “You've made valid points for me to stay, but I'm tired. When I get tired, I get cranky. The best place for me is home.”

It might have been the best place. But thirty minutes later, I found myself in the hospital parking lot.

Chapter Twenty-two

I didn't analyze why I'd come to Bailey. I only knew that I had to talk to someone. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the edge of a precipice and any wrong move could be disastrous. Since I'd left the park, my chest ached with anxiety. I was antsy—filled with apprehension. I needed professional feedback. But I couldn't face Bailey until I was able to relate the facts in a rational manner.

I paced the parking lot, pondering what I knew, filling in the blanks with what I suspected.

Events of our past shape the people we are today.

In 1966, four girls had the righteous idea of saving a plant from extinction. Their good deed had resulted in the deaths of two innocent people. Lois had said, “One grave, one casket; they were buried together. A neighbor supplied the cemetery plot and grave marker.”

I was sure Oliver had been that neighbor. Before he'd suffered his fatal heart attack, he'd seemed confused. Perhaps in his befuddled state, he'd thought the park was the cemetery, hence his question: “Where are the markers?” As for the “Bretta—Spade,” I could only guess at what had been in the dying man's mind. Eddie had said that whenever anyone close to Oliver had passed away, he used his spade to sprinkle soil on the grave. If Oliver had donated the cemetery plot, I had to assume he'd cared about that mother and her child.

The puzzler was—what had prompted him to have that particular thought at that particular time?

I blinked. One grave. One casket. One little girl's family wiped out. I ran my fingers through my hair. One daughter had been spared. That child had been ten years old.

Everyone who'd been in the park the morning Oliver died had been involved in some way or other with that fire. Everyone except Evelyn. I grew still, staring, visualizing, and remembering.

I'd been so caught up in the details of this wedding that I hadn't considered it anything more than an extravaganza brought about by an indulgent mother doing a bit of River City social climbing. Now I wasn't so sure. My theories were conflicting, but my gut feeling said something wasn't right.

Who was Evelyn Montgomery? What did we know about her? Why had she chosen River City for her daughter's wedding?

I'd thought it strange that an environmentalist was taking the wedding photos. I'd thought it odd that Dana had been given the entire responsibility of such a lavish banquet, when her expertise was birthday parties and anniversaries.

Was the choice of the women—Kasey, Dana, Claire, and Sonya—a coincidence? Or was it an elaborate scheme to get all four women together in one place at one time? River City had other caterers, other photographers, but none of them were linked to a terrible secret—a fire that had killed a mother and her daughter.

Oliver hadn't met Evelyn until she came into the park. Had he seen a glimmer of the child she'd been but couldn't quite make the connection? He had made the association with a grave marker. But wouldn't that traumatic episode supercede any gentler memories of this orphaned child?

I pictured Tranquility Garden, and my agitation grew stronger. The hurricane lamps set at strategic spots around the gazebo, five hundred candles strewn throughout the area, specially blended oil for lighting. Paint and lacquer on the shrubs, delicate wisps of tulle, a helium tank, and a deep-fat fryer to be used at a specific time.

Was I way off track? I took a deep breath. It was time to air my theory.

I charged into the hospital and punched the button for the third floor. On the ride up, I added everything together, and I came up with a four-letter word:
fire.
What better way to seek revenge for your mother's and sister's deaths than to bring all the guilty parties together for one big …
burn.

The elevator came to a stop. I stepped off the car and turned toward Bailey's room. But why would Evelyn choose her daughter's wedding for such a dastardly act? This was the conflict. This was why I needed to talk to Bailey.

I pushed open the door to his room and found my father seated at Bailey's bedside. They were visiting compatibly. My father had one leg crossed over the other. Bailey's smile was a welcome sight. Emotional tears filled my eyes. I couldn't control the sob that worked its way up my throat and past my lips.

“Bretta?” said both men at the same time. My father got to his feet, grabbed his walking stick, and limped toward me. “You're as pale as a turnip, daughter.”

“Sweetheart,” said Bailey. “What's wrong?”

My fears were unleashed by their concern. In a torrent of words, I said, “Evelyn was in the park. She heard Dana's comment about the hot piece of gossip from Mrs. Dearborne. Oliver's overworked heart couldn't take the strain. He was stressed trying to remember. Add in Evelyn's and Eddie's argument and Oliver keeled over. Three people are dead. I think more victims are to come.”

I grabbed my father's arm. “I don't know what to do. Maybe I'm wrong, but what if I'm right? Five hundred guests are supposed to attend that wedding.”

Bailey patted the side of his bed. “You're not making sense, Bretta. Sit here and tell us what's going on. Start at the beginning.”

“I can't sit.” My gaze went to the clock above his bed. “Soon those candles will be lit. Evelyn said it was the ‘beginning of the end.'”

My father put his arm around my waist. “We'll do whatever you say, but you have to calm down so we can get the gist of your worries.”

Talking to myself, I muttered, “Evelyn said she had the lamp oil specially blended with the fragrance of clematis blossoms. Dad, when you looked up the meaning of those flowers in the tussie-mussie, did you come across clematis?”

“Yeah. Recognized the name right off. When we lived on the farm your mother had a vine growing up the clothesline pole.”

“What does clematis mean?”

“Artifice—deception and trickery. Lousy definition for such a beautiful—”

I broke out of my father's grasp. “I've got to go back to the park. I don't know what I'll do, but I've got to do something.”

Bailey called, “No, Bretta, don't—”

But I was already on my way. The stairs were closer than the elevator. I figured I'd have to wait for a car, so I took the steps, thinking this route might be quicker. I clopped down three flights, and then wound my way through a maze of corridors until I finally made it out of the building and across the parking lot.

Irritated at the delay, I revved the SUV's engine and headed for the exit. My father stepped from behind a parked car, and I nearly clipped him with my bumper. Tires squealed as I slammed on the brakes. I unlocked the door and watched him climb in.

“I don't know about this, Dad. Maybe you should go home.”

“Don't talk. Drive.”

There wasn't time to argue. I stepped on the gas and asked, “How did you get down here so quickly?”

“The elevator was still on the third floor. I got on, pushed the button, and here I am. No mystery there, but I am mystified by what you think might be happening at the park. Can you explain while you drive?”

“I can try.” Grimly, I began, “Evening weddings normally have candles, but this ceremony is teeming with flammables. Back in nineteen sixty-six—”

While I talked, I took advantage of the SUV's power. I ignored yellow lights, and when the intersections were clear, I crossed against red. I prayed for an officer to appear, but none did. The trip seemed to take forever, but according to the clock, we were making good time. I drove by instinct—braking and accelerating as the need arose.

The exit ramp I wanted loomed ahead. I switched lanes and decreased my speed, but only until I was on the road leading to the park. I took the sharp curves at an excessive rate. When we got to the park entrance, I slowed to a crawl.

“Good Lord above,” said Dad. “Look at the cars. You say Evelyn only came to River City eight months ago. How'd she get such a following of people so quickly?”

“Money, is my guess. A donation here, a donation there. She's lovely to look at. She can be charming. I myself tried to please her because she was the mother of the bride—and paying big bucks for my service.”

I edged my way past the cars, knowing there wouldn't be a legal place to park. As we drew closer to Tranquility Garden, I put the SUV's windows down. I didn't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in the treetops. It was getting dark early. The gathering clouds had blocked the setting sun's rays.