Lilies That Fester (10 page)

Read Lilies That Fester Online

Authors: Janis Harrison

“Cars, trains, bikes, trikes, and wagons,” said Lavelle, crossing the yard. “Sometimes, I think it might be worth getting pregnant again, just so I'd have the chance to sew a bit of lace to a pink dress or stumble over a doll in the dark instead of a Hot Wheels race car.” She sighed. “But with my batting average, having a girl is pretty slim odds.”
She watched her brood gloomily. “There's no school today. Teachers needed a day off.” She rolled her eyes and held out the picture. “Here's an example of Steffie's work. I keep it in our bedroom so nothing will happen to it. I tell those boys no basketballs in the house, but sometimes, it's like speaking into a vacuum.”
I took the eight-by-ten frame and turned it so the sunlight didn't glare off the glass. What I saw made me catch my breath. I'd expected a piece of amateur artwork, with dried flowers scattered in a still-life motif—a technique Stephanie might have learned at an artsy-craftsy seminar. This went
beyond a novice's work. Stephanie had re-created the painter Claude Monet's style of colors, texture, and shapes in the landscape. I was looking at an exciting replica of one of his “Water Lilies” paintings. Instead of oils, Stephanie had used flower petals that exploded with vibrant color on her canvas. There were no vigorous brush strokes, but an overlaying of delicately preserved natural components—twigs, seeds, leaves, hulls, husks, and petals. The results were incredible.
“Oh, my,” I said. “I've never seen anything like this.”
“Stephanie loved flowers and color. Those blue larkspur petals came from my own garden. So did the poppy seeds that form the dark background at the back of the pool. The delicate pinks are from my mother's roses. The mossy green is blades of grass from our own yard. Steffie didn't simply create works of art. She put emotion and personality into each picture.”
Lavelle held out her hand, and I passed the picture back to her. Using her shirttail, she wiped the glass. “I treasure this, but not only for its beauty, but because Steffie was my friend.”
“Friend,” I repeated, thinking of the music cassette that had been in the envelope. “Did she have a particular singer she admired? Perhaps she saw a show while she was in Branson?”
“She didn't go to any of the theaters. From what I gathered, all she was interested in was a lily show that was being held at some conservatory. I teased her that she was visiting what is advertised as the ‘Country Music Capital of the World,' but she said she wanted to spend time smelling the flowers.”
Lavelle stopped and stared off into space. Softly, she said, “I saw her the day after she got back from Branson. My, but that young woman was flying higher than a kite because she'd met a young man on the conservatory tour. They'd shared a common interest in flowers, and she'd showed him a couple of her
pictures. He'd promised to call her, and she was over the moon with hopes and dreams.”
Lavelle shook her head sadly. “Stephanie described this ‘fabulous' being, and if her glowing account was accurate, I can't see how he was truly interested in her.” Her voice deepened with emotion. “I loved Stephanie. She would sit, and I mean
sit,
with the boys so I could have an hour or two away. She could hardly walk because of her bulk. No. That young man wasn't interested in her romantically, but I'm sure he saw bucks when he looked at her artwork. That was the attraction, at least on his part.”
“What was his name?”
“Couldn't tell you. She might have said, in fact, I'm sure she did, but I don't remember.”
“What about this ‘glowing account'? Do you remember that?”
Lavelle grinned sheepishly. “Not really. I'm afraid I didn't take her seriously. She talked about growing more flowers, and changing for a man she'd just met.”
“And did she change?”
“She got sick. She couldn't sleep, and she fought for every breath she took. I figured her heart was giving out on her, but she wouldn't go to a doctor. She said he'd only relate every symptom to her weight.”
Tears filled Lavelle's eyes. “I feel bad because those last months of Steffie's life, I didn't find the time to visit her. I knew she wasn't well, but the boys had a round of chicken pox. Billy broke his foot playing basketball. The little one was teething. I had my hands full here at home. Her casket was closed, so I never got to see her again.”
Lavelle dashed a hand across her eyes. “I'm sorry, but
Steffie was only twenty-seven.” She thought a minute. “I remember her telling me that this man she met in Branson was in his thirties.” Triumphantly, she added, “And he had long hair tied in a ponytail.”
I could see Lavelle wanted me to be pleased at her recollection, but my heart had sunk to my toes. Robbee wore his long hair in a ponytail. Robbee had been to a hybrid-lily show. Last night before the introductory dinner, he'd said, “I met this woman who presses flowers—” Delia had cut him off before he'd finished speaking, but maybe, he'd said all that was necessary.
“You look sick, dear,” said Effie as I climbed in next to her. “The boys wanted to see a topless car, so I lowered the roof. It might be a good idea if I kept it that way. Fresh air is a wonderful restorative.”
I answered absently. “That's fine.”
She opened the glove compartment and pulled out a lavender scarf, which she tied over her hair. “I love the freedom this convertible gives me, but if I don't cover my head, I'll look like Medusa by the time we get back to Branson.”
She started the car and merrily tooted the horn at the group watching us depart. “What a family,” she said as we left the house behind. “I don't envy that woman, yet her children were precious and well mannered, once I told them I'd cut their fingers off if they abused my car.” She snickered. “Their eyes grew as big around as teacups, especially the little tikes. Of course, I was only joking, but it never hurts to get your bluff in right from the start.”
“Hmm.”
“Which way?” asked Effie.
We were back out at the road. “Since we're this close, I want to see the McDuffys' house. We can pull down the lane, take a look, and then head on back to Branson.” I checked my
watch and sighed. “It'll be after one before we get to the hotel.”
Effie put the car through its paces so effortlessly that I hardly felt her change gears. After a quarter mile, she murmured, “Here we are, dear.” She turned the steering wheel to the right.
“Stop. Stop!” I shouted.
Effie slammed on the brakes. “What's wrong?”
I pointed to the side of the house where a navy and gold Spencer County patrol car was parked. It was none other than Sheriff Sidney Hancock's mode of transportation.
“Back up, Effie, and when you get on the road pull over.”
Once she had the car situated, I peered uneasily through the trees. About three hundred feet from the road, the house wasn't shabby, but it wasn't pretentious by any means. It was a comfortable old farmhouse with a nice porch, and well-maintained outbuildings. The flower garden that had been in the picture of Stephanie was a neglected tangle of weeds. No khaki uniforms had rushed out the door ready to give hot pursuit, so I hoped we hadn't been seen.
“A sheriff's car wouldn't be here unless events were serious,” said Effie quietly.
We couldn't be overheard, yet I answered in a hushed tone. “I'd say you're right. And what could be more serious than murder, unless it's a double homicide? Vincent has been described as huge. Mabel has cancer, and I've been told she's as thin as a wafer. Helen said the police have towed away their car. Someone took them to the place where they died, and the police are making sure that the McDuffys' own car wasn't used for that purpose.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Everything I've said is speculation. I wish I could talk to
Sid in a rational manner, but that's out of the question. If he suspected I was anywhere near here, he'd bluster and blaze and threaten to have me arrested.”
My gaze lighted on the FRESH EGGS FOR SALE sign nailed to a fence post. I chewed my lower lip for a minute, then asked, “Effie, how do you feel about doing a bit of amateur detecting?”
“It would be purely amateur, dear. What do you have in mind?”
“Drive up to the house and buy a dozen eggs.”
“I don't eat eggs. My cholesterol has a tendency to be—” A light dawned in her china-blue eyes. “Aha. Subterfuge, again. I understand. And where will you be, while I'm playing Miss Marple?”
I told her I'd wait down the road in a patch of shade. Even as I spoke, I was having second thoughts, but Effie was chomping at the bit, ready to take on anyone and everything.
“I never dreamed when I came to Branson that I'd have such an adventure. I thought I'd be attending those boring workshops of Allison's, and here I am on a quest for the truth.”
“Just remember, Effie, you can't let anyone know about this … uh … quest. Subtlety will get you more information than a flat-out question. I can tell you right now, Sid won't volunteer a thing. You'll have to be smooth, and maybe even devious if we're to learn anything.”
As I got out of the car, she mouthed the words “smooth and devious” as if she were chanting a mantra. I stifled a sigh. This wasn't going to work. I must have had a brain cramp, but there was nothing for it than to let Effie try. She was high on adrenaline, and I knew what that was like. I just hoped at her age, she didn't stroke out.
My eyes widened at this horrible thought. I turned back to the car. “I've changed my mind, Effie.”
“Too late, dear. Wish me luck.” She wiggled knobby fingers and took off, leaving me in a cloud of dust.
The next fifteen minutes passed with all the anxiety of a trip to the dentist. I paced the gravel road, wondering for the fortieth time, “What was I thinking?” Sweet little Effie didn't stand a chance matching wits with Spencer County's obnoxious, opinionated, crotchety sheriff.
I heard a shout from the direction of the McDuffys' house and spun on my heel. Sid was on the front porch, waving something at Effie. Was he threatening her?
I hunkered in the weeds and watched as Sid came down the steps. I glanced at Effie. She hadn't moved. Had fear immobilized her? I looked back at Sid. What was in his hand?
I squinted and nearly wilted with relief. He was holding an egg carton.
“That was fun, and I got an added bonus of a dozen eggs,” said Effie after she'd picked me up.
I'd put off cross-examining her until we were out of the immediate vicinity. If I'd known Sid was so close by when we'd stopped at the Thorpes', I'd probably have turned around and headed back the way we'd come. I thought about that for half a second, then shook my head. No, I wouldn't. This was the kind of thing that made me feel alive, that I was worth something to someone.
Once we were headed in the direction of Springfield and points beyond, I turned eagerly to Effie. “So what did the sheriff say? What did you say? What did you use as your cover?”
“Cover?” murmured Effie, confused by my Nancy Drew vernacular. She peered over the windshield at the sky. “Are you talking about my car's top?”
I quickly hid a smile. “No, Effie, I just wondered what kind of excuse you gave Sid for stopping and asking questions?”
She lifted a stooped shoulder. “I simply said I was worried about Vincent and Mabel. I hadn't heard from them and was out of fresh farm eggs and thought I'd stop by to see how they were.”
This time my lips spread into a wide grin. “Well, that's original. The important thing is did it work? Did you get any information?”
“I'm not sure. Sheriff Hancock told me I'd have to find another source for my eggs. He also said that in a few days, the McDuffys would be kissing Bernard's porcelain table. I don't think I misunderstood the sheriff, but what in the world did he mean?”
I made a face. “That's an example of Sid's tasteless wit. In some of the older funeral homes the embalming tables are made of porcelain. Bernard Delaney is one of River City's funeral directors.”
Frustrated, I slapped my thighs, making them sting. “Damnit! Damnit! It's not fair, Effie. I feel as if I've let them down. I never got the chance to tell them that I'd help. That I'd try to do something.”
“I'm sure they knew you'd carry on.”
“Carry on? How? I don't know what to do next. Bailey has answers, but I don't think he'll give anything over to me.”
“I've been thinking, dear. The name ‘Bailey' has an Old French origin that means bailiff—man in charge. Perhaps your Mr. Bailey is a police officer.”
I looked at Effie as if she'd sprouted horns and a forked tail. “Wow, Effie, you're good. That would make perfect sense.” Ruefully, I muttered, “But why the hell didn't I think of it?”
“You're too close, dear. Besides, I think when Mr. Bailey is around, your guard comes up because you like him and you don't want to.”
Well, that was a crock, but I didn't tell Effie that. Instead, I dwelled on the more pertinent information. “If the call he took last night was about the discovery of the McDuffys' bodies, does that mean he was here at the hotel for another reason?”
“I don't know.”
“I have to find out
why
the McDuffys were killed.”
“Not
who
killed them?”
“From past experience I've learned that when you delve for the motive, the guilty party will slither out of hiding. Stephanie died last month, yet the McDuffys waited until I was in Branson before they made the trip or even contacted me.” Thinking of Robbee, I added, “Or was it the floral convention and its attendees that were important?”
“I'm not understanding, dear. If I'm to help, you'll have to be more specific.”
Uneasily I studied Effie. The rush of air from the convertible had whipped color into her cheeks. Her eyes were bright with interest. For someone who's seventy-one years old, she's as naive as a child and just about as defenseless. Poking and prodding didn't always reveal the killer, or at least maybe not right away, but it does make him nervous, and very, very dangerous.
Effie's skin was as fragile as a piece of crepe paper. A razor
blade would do serious damage to her aged flesh. I shuddered at the thought of Effie pitted against the sadistic mind that had resorted to using a razor blade as a weapon. Effie was as kind and trusting as they come. Once we were in Branson, I'd gently but firmly ease her out of the picture.
At the hotel, I encouraged Effie to go to her room and relax. I went to the basement, where I found Robbee surrounded by a sea of cut flowers. Immediately, he let me know that my prolonged absence had irritated him.
“I got your message,” he said, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. “Such as it was. Couldn't your sightseeing trip have been postponed until this work was done? Or doesn't this contest matter to you?”
“It matters,” I said, placing my purse on a nearby table. I reached for the zipper. Now would be a good time to lighten the load.
Robbee waved some eucalyptus, filling the air with its medicinal odor. “You couldn't prove it by your actions. I'd like the chance to run all over Branson, too, but one of us was needed here.”
“I'm here now, so stop being a grouch.” Given Robbee's mood, I left my purse alone and pushed up my sweater sleeves. “What can I do to help?”
“I've processed the flowers, and I'm almost finished dividing them into groups for the contestants. If I haven't done it right, you'll have to take over.”
I stared at him. Something was bugging him besides my being gone. “Spit it out, Robbee,” I said. “What's really hacked you off?”
His laugh was bitter. “Being alone this morning gave me
plenty of time to think about what an ass I was not to have applied myself at the semifinals.” He plopped the eucalyptus into a bucket and picked up some purple statice. “I could be in line for a trip to Hawaii, where I'd drown my problems in the tropical atmosphere.”
“Why do you want to run away?”
He looked surprised. “I'm not trying to run away. I'm just tired of the same old, same old.” He stuffed the statice into the container with the eucalyptus. “I want exotic. I want to see fields of flowers waiting to be cut and shipped to the States. I want to see bougainvillea growing naturally, not planted in baskets or sheltered by a greenhouse. I want to see acres and acres of tulips in Holland, and the tropical rain forests where new species of plants are being discovered and destroyed every day.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. It would be nice to see all the things you've mentioned, but we always have to come back to our problems.”
“I could travel the rest of my life and never look over my shoulder. I doubt that anyone in town would notice if my shop were closed. I say I own the business, but the bank has a larger investment. If I don't do something soon, I'll lose what little equity I have.”

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