A Deadly Bouquet (6 page)

DeeDee mumbled something that sounded like julienne and sauté. I watched her disappear through the kitchen doorway. “She's a real treat, Avery. The best thing to happen in my life in a long, long time.” I turned to him. “So how have you been? When I left this morning there was no mention of a dinner party. What developed in the last few hours?”

Avery leaned heavily on his cane. “Might we have a seat? My old legs aren't as forgiving as they used to be.”

“I'm sorry. Let's go into the library.” I started to lead the way, then stopped when the doorbell chimed again. “This must be the second member of our dinner party.”

Avery glanced at his watch and frowned. “Shouldn't be. I was to have at least thirty minutes alone with you.”

“Why? What?”

The bell pealed again.

Sighing, I swiveled on my toe and headed for the door. Before I could reach for the knob, the oak panel swung open. My father stood on the veranda.

When he saw me, he threw out his arms and yelled, “Surprise!”

I looked past him and saw a cab parked at the end of the sidewalk. My heart sank. The driver was unloading what looked like a mountain of luggage.

Trying to keep my expression composed, I focused on my father. He was a handsome man in his seventies. His hair was thick and gray, his eyes blue. In his younger days he'd been lean and wiry. Age had added pounds, particularly around his middle. His joints were stiff, and sometimes he carried a walking stick, which wasn't evident at the moment.

“Gotcha, didn't I?” he said. “Bet you thought I'd mailed you another dust collector to set on a whatnot shelf.” He awkwardly patted my shoulder. “Bretta, we can't rebuild our relationship with all those miles separating us. I've burned my bridges in Texas. I've come back to Missouri for good.” He leaned close and whispered, “I've got plans. Big plans, and I'm fired up to put them into motion.”

He directed the cabbie to set the suitcases in the foyer, then ignoring Avery, who was standing not more than five feet from us, took my hand and towed me toward the library.

I mouthed “Sorry” as we passed the old lawyer, then made an attempt to curtail my father's barrage. “Dad, please,” I said, applying the brakes. “You're going too fast—both physically and mentally. Besides, I have another guest. When you were here at Christmas, you met Avery Wheeler. Avery, you remember my father, Albert McGinness?”

My father scarcely acknowledged the introduction. “I've kept my plans bottled up for the last two months.” He dropped my hand and did a clumsy two-step jig. “We'll make a great team, Bretta. You have a way of attracting trouble, and I have a problem-solving mind. Look at all the money I made with that cattle-branding tool I invented. It's one of a kind, just like us. We'll sweep this town of its crime.”

I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

“You still don't get it?”

“Get what?”

“A detective agency.” He frowned. “We have to get in sync if we're going to be a team. I'm having the sign painted.” He swirled his hand in the air. “Can't you see it? McGinness and Solomon Detective Agency.”

When he leaned closer, I sniffed to see if he'd had one too many on the flight from Texas. I wrinkled my nose. Garlic. Whew! I turned my head, but I didn't miss what he said.

“Fact is, I have our first case. You know that cottage at the edge of your property? Well, someone is there. When I talked to DeeDee earlier, she said it was empty. I thought I'd set up shop close by until I find an office downtown. Before I came to your house, I had the cabbie drive past the cottage, and there was a truck parked under the trees. It wasn't out in plain sight, but back where some bushes camouflaged it.”

He paused for a breath, but he was far from finished. “It looked damned suspicious, Bretta. It's up to us to find out who it is and report him to the local authorities. It could be drugs. What better place to make a drop? It's out of the way. No close neighbors. And you're at work all day.”

In his younger days my father had been a painter, a poet, and a freethinker. He was artistic and creative, and I'd attributed my design talents to him. As I watched him rub his hands together, already anticipating the notoriety that would surely come his way after nosing out this nefarious drug ring, I added another trait—wild imagination.

This wasn't a bad thing. My imagination had helped me solve some pretty tough cases, so there was a time and a place when it could be useful. Other times it hindered clear thinking. I was firmly grounded by my mother's no-nonsense upbringing. I eliminated the chaff from my father's mental fantasies, looking for the whole kernel of truth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Avery glance at his watch. Two things struck me. Avery wanted thirty minutes alone with me before the next guest arrived. My father said someone was at the cottage. Professionally, Avery had complete control over that cottage, but so far neither he nor the owner would take my offer.

I met Avery's gaze, and his eyes shifted uneasily away from mine. Disappointment brought a lump to my throat. I'd never pressed him. Not once had I demanded a decision. There were hard feelings toward me from the owner, and I'd hoped that if I bided my time, those old wounds would heal. But that hadn't happened. My intention to be a goodhearted, understanding person was about to be flung in my face.

The doorbell rang. Anger replaced my frustration. I crossed the foyer, but I didn't open the door. Instead, I turned my back to it so I could tell Avery just what I thought. From the look on his face, my words were unnecessary.

“I assume this is my new neighbor,” I said. “You knew I wanted that land because it's part of the original tract. And now you expect me to make this tenant feel welcome? To sit at my table and eat my food?” I gulped. “Gosh, Avery, I didn't think my day could get much worse.”

I swept open the door and gasped.

Bailey Monroe stood on my doorstep. Since I'd returned from Branson, he'd haunted my thoughts. I almost reached out a hand to touch him, to see if he was real, but I quickly checked that impulse. “Bailey?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

The glance he traded with Avery said it all. I'd coveted the land. I'd coveted the man. Now both were tied together in one neat package.

Chapter Five

Since I'd last seen Bailey it would've been heartening to learn I'd magnified his fine points, exaggerated his good looks. No such luck. Six feet, two inches of muscle. Eyes the color of unpolished copper. Dark hair feathered with gray at his temples. When his lips slid into a lazy smile, my body reacted in a disturbing manner.

Carl had been as comfy as my house slippers—cushy to my soul. Bailey was that pair of stiletto heels you admire in a store window. Common sense says not to buy them—don't even bother trying them on—but the allure was there.

Feeling the need to say something, I repeated, “What are you doing here?”

“Who won the floral contest in Branson?” he said.

My eyes narrowed. He and I'd had a couple of these rounds where I'd ask a question and he'd answer with another. This was a different time and place, so perhaps it was only a coincidence. I tested him. “Won't you come in?”

The well-mannered response could have been “Thank you, Bretta.” Or “Lovely home, Bretta.” Or “Nice to see you, Bretta.”

Bailey said, “Will I be a bother?”

I couldn't resist. “Are you usually?”

Bailey brushed past me. “Have you heard something I haven't?”

I gritted my teeth but fought foolishly. “Is this conversation going somewhere?”

Bailey didn't pause. “Life is trying, isn't it?”

I gave up. “But not as trying as you.”

Avery and my father gaped as if they'd viewed a complicated vaudeville skit and hadn't gotten the punch line. No way was I going to explain.

“Let's eat,” I said, waving the men into the dining room. I headed for the kitchen, where I could catch my breath. DeeDee looked up from the pot she was scraping.

“Is everyone here?” She turned her question into an explanatory sentence. “Everyone is here.”

“Ha, ha,” I said, grabbing the platter of grilled pork chops. “We'll discuss your part in this calamity later.”

“Th-there's nothing to d-discuss. Avery is your f-friend, and it isn't m-my p-place to d-deny your father a meal.”

“And Bailey? Where does he fit in?”

DeeDee met my gaze. “Wherever you let him.”

*   *   *

Dinner passed rather well with my father monopolizing the conversation, telling about his flight from Texas. Under Bailey's artful questioning, I, along with everyone else, learned that my father had sublet his condo, had sold his interest in the cattle-branding tool manufacturing company, and was here to stay. Where he was going to live brought us to the hot topic of the evening—Bailey's takeover of the gardener's cottage.

We had moved into the library and were sipping coffee. DeeDee clattered dishes in the kitchen. My father lounged in one of the wingback chairs; Avery occupied the other. Bailey sat on the sofa with his arm flung across the upper cushion. If I were to sit, he'd either have to move his arm or I'd find it draped across my shoulders. I stayed where I was, which was across the room near the fireplace.

Avery twisted around to stare at me. “Bretta, come sit down. Let's get this situation ironed out.”

I moved to the sofa and perched on the arm. “What's to iron out? Seems to me every wrinkle is permanently set.”

Bailey chuckled softly.

I turned my cool gaze on him. “What's so funny?”

“You're bent out of shape, and you don't know the details.”

“Are you living in the cottage?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buying it?”

“The contract is signed.”

“So it's a done deal. I don't need to hear the details because they won't make any difference.”

Bailey sighed and stood up. “If that's the way you want it. Thanks for dinner. I'll see myself out.” He strode from the room. His footsteps clunked across the foyer. The front door opened, then closed with a sharp snap.

“Well,” I said, “I don't know why he's upset. I'm the one who's gotten the short end of this situation.”

Avery drummed his fingers impatiently. “This hasn't worked at all the way I had planned.” He shook his head at me. “Which would you rather have in that cottage? Bailey Monroe or Fedora's Feline Care and Grooming Center?”

“You had
my
offer.”

“But the owner wasn't going to take it regardless of the amount. I've warned you not to get your hopes up over buying that piece of property, but you ignored me. She doesn't want you to have it, and she doesn't want any ties here. I was given orders to find a buyer. I had two offers at the stipulated amount.”

Avery raised his hands with the palms turned up. He lifted his right hand. “Here is Bailey, a retired federal agent. He wants a quiet place to write a book on his twenty-odd years of work.” He lowered his left hand. “Here we have Fedora. A nice lady, but a fanatic when it comes to cats. I visited her home and was appalled at how she let her pets have free rein.”

His hands seesawed. “Quiet man. Cat woman. You weren't in the equation, Bretta. I made my decision, and it's the right one.” He smoothed his collar, then settled back in his chair. “If you think about it, you'll see I've done you a tremendous favor. You're planning a garden. Do you want cats running amuck over your seedlings?”

I pursed my lips, then finally said, “I guess not. Did Bailey tell you we'd met before?”

Avery nodded. “That's why he was out this way. He was hunting your address and saw the cottage. His inquiries brought him to my office. That piece of property was going to someone, other than you, and as I see it, Bailey was the best choice.”

My father hadn't asked for an explanation but had apparently caught the main theme of what was going on. “I'll offer five thousand over Monroe's deal. With my name on the deed, who'll know—”

“I will,” said Avery. “It's over.”

“But if I—”

“No. I don't operate in that manner.” Avery heaved himself out of the chair. He nodded to my father. “It was a pleasure meeting you again,” he said, though his huffy tone sent a different message.

Avery's expression softened when he turned to me. “I worry about you in this rambling old house with only DeeDee for company. Put that cottage out of your mind and concentrate on finishing the rooms upstairs. Your plan for a boardinghouse is sound. Stick to it. Diversification is the right step for some people. You have plenty on your plate with the flower shop and this house. Don't be led into more than you can handle.”

He gave my father a sharp glance before moving toward the door. Of course, Avery was referring to the idea of my becoming a partner in a detective agency. At the moment that plan was the last thing on my mind. I was exhausted. The day had been an emotional roller coaster with monumental valleys and peaks.

“Did you know Oliver Terrell?” I asked Avery as I opened the front door.

“Yes. I heard he'd passed away.” Avery's walrus mustache twitched. “I also heard you were there, and a short time later you discovered a body in a beauty shop.”

“How come you didn't say something?”

“I had my own agenda for this evening. The last thing I needed was you reliving your disastrous day when I was about to pile more on top.”

“Did you know Claire Alexander?”

“I go to a barber, not a beautician.”

“What about a Mrs. Dearborne?”

Avery stroked his mustache. “Would that be Doreen, Sharon, or Lydia Dearborne?”

“I don't know. What about the name Spade?”

“I can't know everyone in River City. Why? Are these people connected to that alleged murder?”