“I haven’t a clue, but if it’s someone’s idea of a practical joke, that person is in for some serious trouble.”
I went to the phone and called the front desk, explaining that an assault had occurred on the fifth floor. In three minutes flat the night manager was on the scene. Delia told her tale. The young man listened, looked at the handle, made a few notes, and assured us that he’d alert his supervisor. He offered to arrange medical attention for Delia’s hand.
Before they left, I took Delia aside. “I’m sorry this happened, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“I probably know that, but right now I’m in pain and too upset to think about it.”
She turned to go, but I touched her on the arm. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. If that person is to be caught, it might be best if he isn’t alerted.”
Delia didn’t agree or disagree. She lifted a shoulder, and then cradling her injured hand, followed the manager to the elevators.
I looked up and down the hall. There were low-watt wall lights to guide guests to their rooms, but the bulbs wouldn’t have been bright enough to show a sliver of stainless steel. The thought of someone taping a razor blade to the handle was as Delia had said—reprehensible.
Somehow the use of that blade was as shocking as an outright attack. It ranked right up there with the sadistic pleasure of putting laxatives in brownies and thumbtacks on the seats of chairs. I gulped. Or a knife wedged in a cushion so the blade would slide from its casing and puncture an intended victim.
My door. My room. My name tag. My chair. Knife. Razor blade.
A shudder wracked my body. A gun to my head would have aroused the same reaction, except a gun carried an obvious threat. A razor blade was stock household supplies. My God, I shaved my legs with Carl’s old safety razor. I’d handled the pieces of steel since I was twelve years old, and treated them with respect because they sliced tender flesh.
I searched the balcony, wondering if the person responsible was lurking about to see if his sick joke had brought results. No one was in sight, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t being watched. I went into my room and locked the door, putting the security chain on. For several minutes I stared around me, wondering if I was being unduly suspicious, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been the target. But why? Outside of irritating the contestants by not revealing the categories, I’d been minding my own business.
Before going to bed, I packed all the paraphernalia back into my loaded handbag. I cleaned the bathroom and took a hot shower to help me sleep, but a good night’s rest was in short supply. By six-thirty the next morning, I was dressed in jeans, a rose-pink sweater, and sneakers. The McDuffys’ envelope waited on the bed.
As I paced, I eyed it and worried about a number of things. After my breakfast with Gellie, I faced a tough day. First order would be processing the flowers—stripping foliage from the stems that would be below the waterline in the buckets. Once the flowers had revived from their journey, they had to be separated into five groups since Delia was leaving the contest.
This afternoon was the tour of Haversham Hall and Conservatory. I was looking forward to visiting the palatial grounds and glass greenhouse conservatory. Back home I was rejuvenating my own gardens, and I hoped to get some ideas I could whittle down to accommodate my newly acquired acreage.
I checked the time again. It was five after seven. I unlocked my door and stepped into the hall. I saw no one, but something was lying on the carpet. It wasn’t until I touched it that I thought of fingerprints. It was an empty cartridge of what had once held Schick razor blades. I turned the case over and over in my hand. Where were the rest of the blades?
I crept across the balcony and peeked over the edge to the lobby below. A few people milled about, but even from this height I could tell none fit the description Lois had given me of the McDuffys. I directed my attention to the café. Gellie was already at one of the tables.
I turned the handle to go into my room and felt the sticky reminder of what had happened last night. I looked across the balcony to the opposite tier of rooms. What kind of sadistic mind would think of razor blades as a warning—a deterrent—a threat to keep me from doing what?
I should check on Delia, but I didn’t want to tie up the line in case the McDuffys were trying to reach me. I dropped the cartridge in my purse, then stared at the McDuffys’ envelope. Where were they? It was almost a quarter after seven.
I went to the phone, but my call to the McDuffys went unanswered. Now what was I supposed to do? I was tempted to open the envelope, but Gellie was waiting, and a shipment of flowers would arrive shortly. I grabbed up my purse and wedged the envelope into a side pocket.
The calves of my legs ached from all the stairs I’d climbed yesterday. This morning I took the elevator to the lobby. As the cage descended, I kept my gaze on my clenched hands. When the bell dinged and the door opened to the lobby, I lifted my head and locked eyes with Bailey.
He was dressed in the same suit pants he’d had on last night. The jacket was draped over his arm, and the burgundy tie trailed untidily out of a pocket. Whisker stubble darkened his jawline. His eyes were red-rimmed.
I stepped out of the elevator, and Bailey gave me a weary smile. “You’re up early,” he said. “Got a fun-filled day of sightseeing planned? I never asked when you got into Branson?”
“Wednesday morning, but no sightseeing. This is a working holiday for me.” I nodded to him. “Looks like you had a busy night. Mounting those butterfly bodies must have been exhausting.”
He shot me a sharp glance. “How about breakfast? Afterward, we can take a drive up into the hills and see the view from—”
I looked past Bailey and saw Gellie waving from the café. “Sorry,” I said, and was surprised to find that I meant it. “I’m meeting a friend for breakfast, and I’m keeping her waiting.”
I crossed the lobby and sat down at Gellie’s table, but my attention was on the ascending glass box. Bailey stood in the corner, staring at me. As the elevator rose higher and higher, his facial features blurred. But in my mind I continued to see his smile and hear his voice.
Gellie touched my arm. “I had the waiter bring you coffee, Bretta. I’ve also ordered a fruit plate.” She nudged the colorful platter closer. “Dig in.”
Food was the last thing I wanted with my stomach in turmoil. How could a man I’d barely met cause me such confusion? With a deceptive calmness, I popped a strawberry into my mouth. As I chewed, I forced myself to concentrate on Gellie.
She wore jeans, a denim shirt, and just the right touch of makeup. “You look great,” I said. “How’d you do it? How’d you lose so much weight so quickly?”
“It didn’t seem fast to me. Dropping one hundred and sixty pounds takes time. At the semifinals I’d lost eighty, but I disguised my loss under those old tent dresses I used to wear. I wanted all the weight off before this Branson trip so I’d get the reaction I got last night.” She chuckled. “It was worth all the pain I’ve gone through.”
“Pain?”
Gellie lowered her voice and leaned forward. “I don’t tell everyone, Bretta, but I had my stomach stapled. Doctors only do the procedure when a person is morbidly obese.” She shook her head dismally. “It makes me sick saying the words and knowing they apply to me. My stomach is only a fraction of its original size.”
I remembered the Butterfinger candy bar wrappers that I’d seen on the tray outside her room. “So you can eat anything and your weight remains stable?”
“No. I wish that were true.” She picked up a bunch of grapes and plucked one. Instead of putting it in her mouth, she rolled it between her thumb and index finger. “My body has changed, but I still have the mind of a fat woman. I can’t leave the sweets alone. I don’t gorge like I used to, but I can eat candy, milk shakes, and brownies in small doses. Lately I’ve gotten into the habit of drinking a milk shake rather than eating a healthy meal.”
Her voice choked. “The result is I�
��m gaining weight. I’ve put on eight pounds in the last week.” A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “What am I going to do?”
I stared at Gellie, and Bailey’s hurtful words slipped over my lips. “Shut your mouth and get up off your wide behind.”
Gellie blinked in surprise.
I gave a rueful grin. “Sorry, but that’s what someone said to me not long ago. I took offense, but maybe he was right. I’ve been on every fad diet that was ever invented. I’ve drunk grapefruit juice before each meal. I’ve cut the fat. I’ve cut the sugar. I’ve added more carbohydrates. I’ve counted calories on one diet, and fat grams on another until the arithmetic made me grab a calculator. I can hardly look at a plate of shredded lettuce with tuna piled on top.”
“I know. Statistics show that dieters regain nearly all their lost weight in the second year. How do you do it, Bretta? I’m afraid I’m going to become another morbidly obese statistic.”
“I try to eat right, but I still fall off the wagon and resort to old habits. There’s no magic cure.”
Suddenly Gellie waved her hands as if clearing the air of a foul smell. “Enough of this. I’m tired of talking about it. Tell me how you’ve been? Are you keeping busy at the shop? How’s Lois?”
We talked like old times, covered a lot of ground, but I still had another topic that I hesitated bringing up—Effie’s notion that Gellie had lied about her arrival time in Branson. Rather than confront Gellie outright, I tried to be subtle.
“I’ve missed you,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here. I was worried when you had car trouble. I could have come and got you.”
“Thanks. Tow charges are terrible, but I couldn’t leave my car on Highway 65.”
I licked my lips uneasily. “Sixty-five? I thought you had trouble on Interstate 44.”
Smooth as custard, Gellie said, “Forty-four—Sixty-five, they both come together in Springfield. My car conked out, but it’s fixed and I’m here.”
Her tone implied that the discussion was over, but I couldn’t let it drop. “Effie says she saw you on Wednesday. In fact she says you almost hit her car when you pulled out of the hotel parking lot.”
“Nope. Wasn’t me. Effie’s sweet, but her eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”
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.
Chapter Eight
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.”
Lilies That Fester Page 7
