Lilies That Fester (8 page)

Read Lilies That Fester Online

Authors: Janis Harrison

I didn't agree. From what I'd observed, Effie could see as well as any of us. I took a breath, and I called Gellie on it.
Gellie tapped her fingers impatiently. “All right, Bretta, I arrived in Branson a day earlier than I led you to believe. I had an appointment. Last year when I was in Branson, I was approached with an idea, but I wasn't interested. After giving it some thought, I decided I wanted more information. So I arrived early.”
I also figured Gellie wanted to get settled in her room so she could make her entrance before any of us saw her. “What's going on with you and Darren?” This question curdled the custard.
Gellie's chin shot up. “What's he been saying about me?”
“Not much, but I got the impression that the two of you are on the outs.”
“More than outs, Bretta, he s furious with me and has been since the semifinals. I challenged him on a design.” She studied me. “Surely you've heard the story?”
When I shook my head, she leaned forward. “I told you that you should get out more and attend these florist meetings. Miriam discovered that Darren had come to the semifinals with prefabricated glamellia blossoms. You know how long it takes to wire the florets of a gladiolus around each other until the blooms are the size of a saucer? Darren had three exquisite ones ready and waiting to use in his bride's bouquet. None of the rest of us had that advantage. Miriam wouldn't do anything, but I called Darren on it to the judges.”
“And he got mad?”
“Are you kidding? He was livid. But the judges agreed with me.”
“He still placed in the finals.”
“Sure he did. He's a talented man. Look how he's invited all over the world to conduct design symposiums. He knows every trick of our trade.”
She leaned sidewise in her chair to look around me. “You have another visitor headed this way, and I have things to do.”
I whipped around, thinking it might be Vincent McDuffy. It was only Allison. “Just what I need this morning,” I said.
Gellie nimbly rose to her feet. She smiled down at me, but her eyes swam in tears. “I can't gain this weight back, Bretta. I love being this size. I'm only fifty. I still have a chance for a life.”
She moved off to the elevators, and Allison plopped down in the vacated chair. Nodding to Gellie's slender back, Allison said, “I have to admire her for losing all that fat. She used to be as big as a house.”
“What a compliment. I hope you won't mind if I
don't
pass it on.”
Allison, waved her hand. “Whatever. I'm here to give you a bit of advice. I don't know how you're going to pick the winner of the contest, but you'd better not have any input on deciding the outcome.”
“I don't.” Wearily I put my elbow on the table and propped up my chin. “The judges will be the audience. Ballot boxes will be placed by each design at the end of the contest, and everyone will vote on his favorite from each class.”
“Not bad. Judged by their peers. Makes for audience participation, which is always good. Who's doing the tabulation?” She looked at me from under woolly eyebrows. “Not you and Robbee, I hope?”
“No. I've asked Alvin to assemble some hotel employees for that chore.”
“Good. Good. Sounds like it'll work and should be fun.”
“Should be, but it isn't. So far nothing about this trip is fun.” I studied Allison. “By the way, do you know Vincent and Mabel McDuffy?”
Allison shrugged. “They own a farm next to my husband's brother. When Mabel was in the hospital, I sent her a bouquet.” She snorted. “Fat lot of good it did. When Stephanie died, your shop got the family's flower order.”
I was aware of Allison's cheap business tactics. I knew for a fact that she toured all of River City's funeral homes so she could read the sympathy cards and discover the names of her competitors' customers. She'd joined the River City Country Club to hobnob with the cream of our society, and she rotated her attendance among three different churches, angling for a job on their flower committees. However, sending a bouquet to someone in the hospital, with the hope of acquiring future business, had to be an all-time low, even for her.
“Why are you interested in the McDuffys?” Allison asked suspiciously. “Has Mabel taken a turn for the worse?”
“Not that I know, but that's an idea.” I pushed back my chair and headed for the nearest telephone.
My calls to hospitals within a fifty-mile radius of Branson netted me nothing on the McDuffys. I was at a loss as to what I should do next. “Do nothing” was my first thought, but I had their envelope in my purse. According to the instructions in the note, I had their permission to open the package and “assess” the contents. But I wasn't going to do that in the middle of the lobby.
I moved on to the conference meeting room where Effie's arrival at the door coincided with mine. “Hello, dear,” she greeted me. “I couldn't sleep after last night's mishap, so I thought I'd look in on the bouquets. I asked that the room temperature be kept as low as possible, but it never hurts to double-check.” She glanced past me and smiled. “There goes that nice man who escorted me to the dining room last night.”
I turned and saw Bailey crossing the lobby. He'd cleaned up since our last encounter. His thick hair had the appearance of having been freshly washed, and he'd changed into a different suit.
“I think he's interested in you, dear. He asked me several questions.”
I swung my attention back to the older woman. “What kind of questions?”
“He asked how our conference is going, and if you handle details well.” She patted my hand. “I assured him you take each of your duties very seriously.”
“And that's all he wanted to know? How well I handle details?”
“Well no, dear. He asked about your husband. That's why I think he's interested. He wanted to make sure you were single. I told him Carl had passed away two years ago. That's when he commented that you're a fine-looking woman.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “I don't think anyone should base a relationship on a physical attraction, but that's what tempts most men. I told him you had the willpower of a saint. That you'd shed pounds and pounds.”
“And you say this conversation took place last night before the introductory dinner?”
At her nod, I looked back at Bailey, but he was headed out the front doors. “He just arrived and now he's leaving. Wonder where he's going?” I answered my own question. “Only one way to find out. I'll follow him.”
“Really, dear, isn't that a bit forward? Of course, your generation—”
I left her in midsentence. Mr. Bailey Monroe had shown entirely too much interest in me. Watching me in the lobby. Offering me a stool next to him in the bar. Catching my elevator and initiating a conversation. Making the nine-flight trek with me to the basement. But the real kicker was discovering that he'd known I'd once been heavy, but he'd still made that nasty comment about fat women. What was his game?
I made a beeline for the front door, but came to a halt when I saw Bailey outside the entrance, buying the morning newspaper from a vending machine. While he fumbled for the correct
change, I zeroed in on my car, which was clear across the parking lot. If he was leaving, I was out of luck if I wanted to keep a discreet tab on him.
Effie huffed up next to me. Breathlessly, she put a shaky hand to her heart. “My, but that was quite … a sprint. I haven't moved like that since a stray cat tried … to eat my canary. Stopped the feline before a feather … had been ruffled, but the close call made the bird … neurotic for the rest of his life.”
“My car might as well be on the moon for all the good it's going to do me. If I cross the lot at that angle, Bailey's sure to see me.”
“Bailey?” asked Effie. “Then you know him?”
“I know he doesn't like fat women.”
“I see. You're out to prove a point. My car is over there, dear. We can take it.”
I followed the direction of her finger and saw three cars near a row of lilac bushes that had been planted as a screen between the newly constructed miniature golf course and the parking lot. I started to nod, then her last words registered. We?
Gently, I discouraged her. “It might be best if you stayed here, but if you'll trust me with your car, I'll be back in about—”
Effie's lavender curls danced like wisteria in a spring breeze. “Sorry, but it's a package deal, and you'd better decide. Your gentleman is headed for that black and silver Dodge truck.”
I craned my neck and saw she was right. Bailey was on the move. “Let's go, Effie, but I'll drive.”
“Of course, dear. I have my keys ready.”
They jingled annoyingly as we slipped out the door. The shuttle buses were lined up for the morning tour of Haversham
Hall and offered us cover. Alvin leaned in the open door of the first bus, sharing a laugh with the driver. I gave them a casual wave as I zipped along the line of lilac bushes headed for the green Pontiac. Effie, however, stopped next to a black Volkswagen Rabbit convertible and proceeded to unlock the driver's door.
“This is it,” she said proudly.
Numbly, I walked to the car and looked inside. There was only one word for it—small. No, I sighed, as I folded myself behind the steering wheel. Make those two words—really small. The pedals were the size of S.O.S scouring pads. My rear felt like it was sitting on the ground, and how in the world was I going to move my legs to operate this tin can?
“I don't think this is going to work, Effie. I haven't driven a stick shift in twenty years, and my feet are too big for the pedals.”
Effie peered like a feisty squirrel over the car's canvas top. “Mr. Bailey is backing out of his parking spot. Here let me adjust the seat. Your legs are much longer than mine.” She reached down and flipped a lever, and I found myself staring up at the headliner. “Oops. Wrong one. Sit up straight.”
I struggled into an upright position just as she pushed another lever and the seat slammed into place, whacking me across the shoulders. Before I could catch my breath, she'd pulled another mechanism making the bucket seat slide backward. I wiggled my feet, which were about ten inches from the pedals.
“You have to cooperate, dear. I can't do everything. Now adjust your seat and let's go.” She rounded the bumper to the passenger side and got in. “Lucky for us they're unloading supplies for the miniature golf course, and your Mr. Bailey had
to make a detour around to the service exit.” She pointed. “See? There he goes.”
I started the car and heard the engine hum like a sewing machine. I pressed on the clutch and put the car in reverse, touching the gas pedal tentatively. We lurched out of the parking spot.
“Have you played miniature golf, dear?” asked Effie, looking out the side glass.
I suspected she was trying not to laugh. “Many times,” I answered, applying the brake. I pressed on the clutch, put the gearshift into first, and we hopped across the asphalt. “Rabbit, indeed,” I muttered, grinding the gears as I searched for second.
“From my hotel window I can see this golf course. ‘The Wonders of Missouri' is a charming idea for showcasing famous landmarks and distinguished Missourians.” Effie chuckled softly. “Though, I have to question what Mark Twain and George Washington Carver would have thought at having their likenesses decorating a theme park.”
I followed a narrow lane behind the hotel and saw the service exit. Synchronizing the clutch and the gears, we careened around the corner headed east on Highway 76. Sunlight glinted off of Bailey's truck as it took the first in a series of curves. I gave Effie's car more gas and shifted into third and finally fourth gear.
“Is it difficult to play?” asked Effie.
I had to think back to what she'd been talking about. “Miniature golf?”
“Yes, dear. Imagine batting the ball and making a field goal under the watchful eye of Mark Twain.”
“Putt the ball, Effie, and if you sink the ball in the cup in the
right number of strokes, you get par. High scores in other sports. Low scores in golf.”
“I don't understand, dear, but it doesn't matter. At my age, it's too late to learn.” Tears filled her voice. “Besides, I'd probably forget what you told me.”
“You can forget one thing, Effie,” I said, glancing at her. “Stop worrying about Zach and that knife. You didn't have anything to do with what happened.”
I'd been diverted for only a few seconds, but it was enough to misjudge the sharp curve we were entering. I quickly applied the brakes, and Effie pitched forward.
“You're speeding, dear. While I can understand your impatience, arriving in one piece is preferable, especially since we're in
my
car.”
When I eased off the accelerator, Effie said, “Life is so fast paced. Look at your friend, Angelica, losing all that weight in such a short time. I didn't recognize the woman when she pulled out in front of me on Wednesday. I'd met her at the semifinals, but I never put the two women together as being the same.”
We'd entered Branson with two cars and a van between Bailey and us. Effie kept talking, but I shut her out, concentrating on keeping the black and silver truck in sight. We traveled down Highway 76, passed one music theater after another until we crossed Highway 65 and entered historic downtown Branson. Bailey turned left, then right. I dropped back a block so as not to draw his attention.
As we drove along the quiet streets, I got the impression of any small town in Mid America—no flashing neon signs, gaudy paint, or oversized billboards. This was the sane side of town, where people worry over family budgets, children
attend school, and as I spied the sign for a local funeral home, where people die and others mourn their passing.
I'd scarcely completed that thought when Bailey pulled into the funeral home's parking lot. I stopped on the street and hunched down, but Bailey didn't look around. He climbed out of his truck and entered the back of the building.
Effie leaned forward so she could see around me. “Eternal Rest Chapel,” she said, reading the sign. “I hope your Mr. Bailey didn't receive bad news.”
“He's not
my
Mr. Bailey, Effie. Did you happen to notice the name of this street?”
“Pine Tree Lane, and not a pine tree in sight.”
I put the car into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb. I drove around the block and spotted a service station. The Rabbit's gas tank was full, but I needed a place to stop and think. I parked the car away from the pumps and stared off into space. For once, Effie was silent, and I took advantage of the moment.
For Carl, detecting had been a matter of using his mind over his brawn. He abhorred violence of all kinds. Truth be known, he hadn't been able to kill a mouse. But he'd solved a number of Spencer County crimes, and not once had he used his bulk to bring a criminal to justice. Outthinking, outsmarting, and outmaneuvering had been his credos. He'd contended that God had given us a brain, and we'd do well to use it.
I put my gray cells to work, and the first word to pop up was bodies. I'd thought Bailey's explanation had been lame concerning the butterflies, but it wasn't my business to challenge him. It still wasn't, and yet—Why was he showing such an interest in me?
I'd like to think it was my captivating personality, but he'd
been watching me in the lobby before I'd opened my mouth to him. Like Effie said, it might be a physical attraction, but my figure, which represented a personal triumph, was hardly a traffic stopper.
Why had he gone to a local funeral home? He'd bought the morning newspaper at the hotel. Maybe I'd better check out that newspaper, too.
I started to unzip my handbag to dig for money but saw the McDuffys' envelope in the side pocket. No one had seen the McDuffys. They hadn't come to my room at seven nor had they made any further attempt to contact me since ten o'clock Wednesday evening.
“I'm going to use the rest room, dear,” said Effie. “I'll be right back.”
I nodded absently, taking the envelope from my purse. Now I didn't hesitate. I peeled off the tape, upended the envelope, and watched three items tumble into my lap. One was a note bearing my name.
Mrs. Carl Solomon:
In this crazy world we live in, change seems to be mandatory. I wish our Steffie had been the exception. A year ago this past June, when she returned from a three-day trip to Branson, she had changed, and now she's dead.
Mabel and I are looking for the person who led our daughter astray. We don't have much information to share with you, but Steffie played this music cassette continually after her return from Branson. She'd sit in her room, sip tea, listen to the music, and wait impatiently for the mail to arrive.
Mabel wanted you to see what a pretty woman our Steffie used to be. I've enclosed a snapshot that was taken before she
deteriorated. Look into her eyes, Mrs. Solomon, and you'll see a kind and trusting soul. Someone took advantage of her, and we want that person punished.
Mabel and Vincent McDuffy
Spencer County, Missouri

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