Lilies That Fester (12 page)

Read Lilies That Fester Online

Authors: Janis Harrison

“What about the box from California? Did you find a packing slip?”
“Nope. Nothing. It's just another donation.”
She nodded approvingly. “Good. Good.”
Keeping my voice casual, I asked, “By the way, do you know if any of the contestants or members of the board arrived earlier than Wednesday?”
“Tyrone was here Tuesday.”
“He was. I wonder why?”
“Because he's concerned that this conference has a good showing. He's done a lot of work that will never give him the recognition he deserves. I think Miriam arrived on Tuesday, too. I heard her tell Allison that she needed time to herself. A day to get into a creative mode.” Bernice snorted. “More like a destructive mode, if you ask me. That woman is out to cause trouble.”
“You mean with the contest?”
“That among other things.”
Before I could press Bernice to be more specific, she said, “I've been thinking that we should raffle off the designs after the contest. Why let the flowers go to waste? We can deposit the proceeds in the association's account.”
“Money. Money. Money,” I muttered under my breath. Louder, I said, “I've already told Alvin the hotel can have the arrangements to decorate the lobby.”
Bernice's face flushed with anger. “You had no right to do that, Bretta. Those flowers belong to the association, and it should profit from them, not this hotel. We've paid handsomely for the use of these conference rooms. I'm taking this up with Tyrone,” she said, glancing up at his room.
I followed her gaze to the second tier of rooms where Miriam and Tyrone were having a heated discussion outside his suite. Miriam's jaws were flapping. Tyrone put a hand up to stop her verbal onslaught, and she smacked him sharply across the face.
“That was slick,” I said, watching Tyrone go back into his suite and the door slam shut. “Is that the kind of trouble you were talking about?”
Bernice ignored me to paddle off like a steamboat bound for rough waters.
At my elbow, Effie said, “While we were gone this morning, dear, the contest almost went to Hades in a handbasket. Judging from that scene, I'd say it's still on a downward spiral.”
I glanced at Effie, and then back to Tyrone's closed door. “You know what that was about?” Effie nodded. We watched Bernice get off the elevator and plod along the balcony to Tyrone's suite. “Stupid woman,” I said, shaking my head. “She
doesn't have the sense God gave a goose. In the mood Tyrone is in, he just might toss her broad butt over the railing. Let's go into the conference room. We can talk there.”
I led the way into the cool, dark room. Effie found the light switch and everything sprang into focus. The sight of the funeral bier made me heartsick. “I'm going to have the casket removed, Effie,” I said, making a spur-of-the-moment decision.
“Because of the McDuffys, dear?”
“Yeah. I thought it would be a bit of dark humor to have Chloe lay there, then sit up to welcome the florists. Now it's too close to reality, and too painful to look at.”
“You might be right. But what will you put in its place?”
“The bouquets are pretty and original. I'll set the trophy among them and let that be it. I've hid my contest notes in the bottom of the casket. If you'll help me, I'll retrieve them, and then I'll have someone from the funeral home—”
“What is it, dear?”
“I was thinking that my odds are very good that Alvin borrowed this casket from the Eternal Rest Chapel. Perhaps I can have a chat with whoever comes to pick it up.”
“When will you find the time? Don't forget the conservatory tour is in an hour. We have the Mel Tillis show tonight.” Her tone held a light rebuke. “Other people are depending on you, dear. Florists have been trickling in all morning. I know the McDuffys' deaths are a personal concern, but don't slight our conference and contest.”
“I'm trying, but what did you mean that the contest was going to hell in a handbasket?”
“Hades, dear. I don't use that other word. I wanted to talk about what happened at last night's dinner on our trip this morning, but you had plenty on your mind.”
“What happened?”
“After you left the dining room, Miriam tried to draw Darren into a conversation about some recent flower designs he'd done for a wedding and the grand opening of a new theater here in Branson. She pressed him relentlessly about his work. Then as we were leaving the dining room, I heard her tell Tyrone that the poop was about to splatter.” Color tinged Effie's cheeks. “I've cleaned that statement up, too, dear.”
“I'm still not getting it, Effie. What does that have to do with the contest?”
“When we returned from our morning jaunt, I planned to rest, but I found a message on my door. Tyrone had summoned his board of directors for a meeting. Allison, Bernice, and I gathered in his room, where he announced that Delia has hurt her hand and is gone. Tyrone told us that since Miriam was so enthralled with what Darren had accomplished with his designs, then others would be, too. He's thinking of canceling the contest and having Darren put on a one-man show.”
My chin came up. “He can't do that.”
“I'm afraid he can, though it won't make him the most popular man in this hotel. The scene we witnessed between him and Miriam is only the beginning.”
“I have half a notion to go see him myself, but nothing would be accomplished.”
“There's more, dear.”
My mouth dropped open. I quickly recovered and sighed. “Lay it on me. I might as well hear it all.”
“Forewarned is forearmed, though in this instance, I'm not sure what you can do. It's your friend, Angelica.”
“What's wrong with her?”
“Allison told me Angelica has locked herself in her room. I knew you were busy in the basement, so I tried talking to her,
but she wouldn't open the door. She was sobbing so hard I could barely understand what she was saying. But it sounds as if she's fallen in love, and the man doesn't feel the same.”
“Did she say that?”
“No, dear, I'm drawing conclusions. She kept muttering that ‘life isn't fair' and something about ‘grazing the field' and having to ‘get control of my life.'” Effie clicked her tongue. “Before I left, she said ‘the best place for me is home.' That's what I meant about going to Hades in a handbasket. What if Angelica drops out of the contest, too?”
I didn't try to answer Effie's question, and as it turned out I didn't need to. In the lobby, a flood of conference attendees had arrived, but none of them was more charismatic than Gellie. Dressed in a navy-blue suit, she looked classy with a red carnation pinned to the lapel of her jacket.
I tried to gauge the expression in her eyes to see if she was putting on a front, but she appeared to be genuinely happy. Whatever had bothered her earlier had resolved itself or she'd put it behind her. She whirled and preened, showing off her new figure to a group of admirers, soaking up compliments like floral foam absorbs water.
Robbee and Chloe shared a table in the lounge. Effie had joined Bernice near the reservation desk, and both were visiting with the new arrivals. Tyrone's welcoming committee was complete when Allison joined the rest of the board. The vice president looked around the room, searching the numbers to make sure we were in attendance, as Tyrone had requested. She frowned until she spotted me. Nodding sharply, she turned to greet another newcomer.
My gaze circled the room again and would have slid on by Robbee's table, but Chloe gestured to me. I forced a polite smile to my lips and walked over. “Quite a crowd,” I remarked.
“It's just fabulous,” she said. “I still can't believe that I'm going to be standing before this group of florists doing original designs. I hope my brain doesn't freeze.”
Being the dutiful mother figure, I said what was expected. “You'll do fine.”
Chloe cast Robbee a quick glance. “Is it true that Delia has dropped out of the contest? I heard the news a few minutes ago and told Robbee. He said you hadn't mentioned it. I told him you might not know.”
“I know.”
Robbee swung his head up to stare at me. For a moment, his handsome features twisted into a dark scowl. That look vanished, and he flashed an irresistible smile. “If you need a replacement, I'm always available.”
“We'll have to see.” I moved away from their table in hopes of having a brief word with Gellie. I wanted to make sure she was all right, but I also wanted to discuss Stephanie McDuffy. I caught Gellie's eye and motioned for her to come closer. She nodded and started in my direction, but got detoured by another well-wisher. She flashed me an apologetic smile. I winked, deciding I could talk to her later.
Since I couldn't question Gellie, I settled on Darren. He was seated on a sofa, reading a magazine, ignoring the curious glances of his fellow florists. Tyrone wouldn't approve of this boorish attitude. I walked over to Darren and perched on the arm of the chair that was across from him.
“You're not mingling,” I said.
Darren's expression was sullen as he looked up at me, then raised his gaze to the second level of the hotel. “He's a righteous ass.”
I chuckled. “Since you've got a minute, I'd like to ask you
about a lily show you attended here at the conservatory back in June.”
Darren relaxed against the sofa's overstuffed cushion. “Great show, and from what I understand, past attendance records were broken. Plus the hybrid lilies were absolutely exquisite.”
“So I heard. What I'm wondering is if you remember meeting a woman by the name of Stephanie McDuffy?”
Darren rubbed his chin. “Seems familiar. What's she look like?”
“Big woman. Dark hair, sad eyes.”
“Is she a florist?”
“No, but she presses flowers for pictures.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I remember.” He glanced across the room to Robbee. “Our token Lothario was all over her.”
I leaned closer. “You mean physically?”
“No. Just charming, attentive. I wondered what the attraction was. She was pretty, if you looked directly into her face. But frankly, when a woman tops two hundred pounds, I back off.” Realizing how prejudiced he sounded, and who he was speaking to—a woman who had once more than topped two hundred pounds—he dropped his gaze and muttered, “Maybe she had a glandular problem. I heard her tell Gellie that before she grazed, she'd have to think long and hard.”
“Grazed?” I repeated. Before I could question Darren further, I saw Miriam get off the elevator and take a quick look around the lobby. I figured she was hunting me so she could blather about Delia leaving and about the contest categories.
I wasn't in the mood and beat a hasty retreat. I soon saw I'd made a mistake. Miriam wasn't interested in me. When she spied Darren, she smoothed her red hair and hurried to him.
She spoke, he looked up in surprise. After hesitating, he shrugged and gestured to the cushion beside him. Miriam promptly sat down, talking and waving her hands until my stomach tightened with apprehension.
The hotel's use of massive tropical plants added to the decor, and made a screened effect around the pieces of furniture. I reversed the direction I'd been traveling to the bushy schefflera plant that was directly behind the sofa occupied by Miriam and Darren. The plant would offer an excellent place to monitor what appeared to be a very animated conversation.
Before I had the chance to get into position, I met Alvin, who looked harassed. Taking pity on the poor guy, I sympathized, “Are the ‘glitches' getting to you?”
“Nah, I can handle it, but you florists are a rowdy bunch.” He nodded across the lobby to the Missouri Order of Butterfly Watchers' information booth. Two ladies sat behind a table, and their expressions weren't favorable as they studied the new arrivals to the hotel. “They've got their noses out of joint because your group has such a great turnout. I'm on my way to the kitchen to get them a snack. I figure a plate of brownies might sweeten up their dispositions.”
“You can't feed the world,” I said, but I wasn't sure if he heard. He'd moved on, disappearing into the throng. Sighing, I turned my attention back to Miriam and Darren. They appeared to be having a friendly chat. I glanced at the butterfly table.
Hmm? Butterflies and Bailey.
Where was he? Not in the lobby. I checked the balconies at each floor. No sign of him. I looked at the floral designers seated on the sofa. Miriam was up to something, but I hoped Darren could take care of himself. At the moment, Bailey was a top priority.
I sauntered over to the butterfly table, hoping for more info than when the next swallowtail swooped into Missouri. “Hi! My name's Bretta Solomon.”
Both women looked up. One wore a pink-striped shirt. The other a T-shirt with a huge monarch butterfly plastered across her buxom bosom. “Are you interested in butterflies?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” I gushed with what I hoped was the right note of enthusiasm. “They're such dainty, exquisite little beauties. I have a garden back home, and I want to enhance it with plants that will attract the … uh … little … beauties. Bailey Monroe told me to drop by your table.”
The women looked at each other. “Monroe?” asked pink-striped shirt. “Is he a new member? I don't recognize the name.”
In spite of myself, I gave a glowing physical description of Bailey. When I was finished, pink-striped shirt said, “That sounds like the man who donated the flowers.” She pointed to the bouquet sitting on the floor. “It was a nice idea, but too top heavy for the water pitcher. We need a vase, but no one has offered us one.”
I could have taken the hint, but her tone put me off. “Bailey is so thoughtful and tenderhearted, too. He was very upset about those butterflies that were captured yesterday and subsequently died. He and the president of your organization were going to mount the bodies on a poster as a reminder to other members to be more careful.” I made a show of looking around their area. “I don't see the poster. Isn't it finished?”
Ms. Butterfly Bust frowned. “I'm the president, and I don't know anything about a poster. And as to the butterflies, this is April. There aren't any butterflies here in Missouri, unless you count the ones in pupa stage, and they won't hatch until the
days get warmer. Strong winds will blow different species into our state, but not until we get breezes from the south. That won't be for another four to eight weeks, if you can count on our weather, which you can't.”
“I … uh … must have misunderstood. But you do know Bailey?”
“We can't know every member personally.” Pink-striped shirt smiled proudly. “We're eight hundred members strong.”
I persisted. “But Bailey is one of your members?”
With her butterfly jiggling, the one in the T-shirt pulled a notebook from a briefcase that was sitting on the chair behind them. She flipped the pages. “Monroe. Monroe. Here it is. Blair Monroe. No, wait. You said Bailey. Nope, don't have a Bailey Monroe listed.”
Suddenly there was a loud cheer from the lobby. I looked over my shoulder. Gellie was on board a baggage cart, and a harassed porter wheeled her down a ramp. She smiled and waved like a queen, having the time of her life, while her colleagues applauded.
“From the moment that woman got off the elevator, she's been creating a ruckus,” said Ms. T-shirt disapprovingly. “I hope they quiet down before evening. I need my rest.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “They're excited at seeing each other. I'd better get back to my duties. Have a good conference,” I said as I walked away.
It was rewarding to know I'd been right that Bailey had lied about being a member of the Missouri Order of Butterfly Watchers. I also suspected that he wasn't telling the truth about being an avid gardener. He'd shown an interest in the flowers, wandering around the basement. I started to grin at
the memory of the pollen on his nose, but stopped when that thought recalled the brush of his lips against mine.
“Don't go there,” I murmured, ignoring the flip-flop of my stomach.
Doubling around another grouping of chairs, I came upon the schefflera plant. Quickly I stooped to tie my shoelace while straining my ears.
Miriam was saying, “My daughter, Teresa, can take a piece of cloth and with a few snips of her scissors and a needle and thread whip up an outfit that can take your breath away.” The back of the sofa bulged, as Miriam shifted her position. “Teresa's head is full of clever ideas. So often she can't sleep at night, and has to get up and sketch the designs so she doesn't forget them.”
“She shouldn't put her ideas on paper,” said Darren. “I never commit anything to a physical drawing. When I need an idea, the design in my head is transferred to my hands. I'm fortunate that my fingers instinctively know what to do.”
Ho hum, I thought, such titillating conversation. I was ready to move on when I heard my name. “Bretta's being obstinate about these secret contest categories, but I'm not surprised. Doesn't it bother you not knowing what to expect?”
“Of course not,” denied Darren with a short laugh. “I've designed arrangements for dignitaries all over the world. I can surely please this competition. My repertoire suits any occasion.”
“I wish Teresa had your confidence. She's a behind-thescenes person.”
“Confidence is the name of the game. A shy designer won't make it in this competitive world. You have to flaunt your
work with an aggressive attitude if you're going to be noticed.”
“How fortunate that you were blessed with both an outgoing personality and creative talent. My daughter lacks the confidence to present her ideas to the right people. You wouldn't be shy at offering your ideas for, say, a complete renovation of this lobby. What if your customer wanted art nouveau? What would you do?”
“Do?” repeated Darren sharply.
“I'm curious how your creative mind works. Take that corner for instance. If you could redesign that atrocious silk arrangement, what would you change?”
A pair of shiny penny loafers appeared beside me. I knew those shoes, and wondered again why dimes were in the slots? Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze to a well-creased trouser leg, followed by a crisp-white shirt and neatly knotted tie. Finally, I settled on a countenance that made my heart hammer.

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