“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 th
e 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
The photograph had landed facedown against my jeans, but I reached for the cassette instead. It was a Kenny Loggins single release titled “Whenever I Call You ‘Friend.’” I was familiar with the song, could even hum a few bars, but the lyrics eluded me.
I turned the photograph over, and for the time being, ignored the figure, taking in only the background. To the right of Stephanie was the corner of a white-porch railing, to her left a flower garden. She looked directly into the camera. I looked directly at her and took a shaky breath.
When I was about her age, this could have been a picture of me. Not the hair or the eyes or the facial features, but the triple chins, the thick waistline, and the fat thighs. I did as her father had asked and looked into Stephanie’s eyes. A veil of love had distorted Vincent’s vision if all he saw was his daughter’s kind and trusting soul. What I saw was an overwhelming depression that stooped her shoulders and kept her smile from being genuine. This was the image of a very unhappy young woman. It was as if I’d lived in her body. I knew her pain. I’d heard the hurtful remarks made by people who thought they were being helpful, and others who didn’t care how their comments cut.
I stared at the photograph. Stephanie and I had never met, but in a sense, we were well acquainted. Her eyes pierced mine with a look I’d carried most of my life.
“Poor girl,” I murmured. We were kindred spirits. I thought the McDuffys had asked for my help because of what Carl had told them. But perhaps, the couple had hoped I’d understand their daughter’s anguish.
But what could I do? Lois had said she thought Stephanie had died from a heart attack. Had her weight been a contributing factor to her heart problems? What kind of change had the McDuffys meant? How had Stephanie been led astray?
From my purse, I took the original note that had been taped to the outside of the envelope and reread it. Once again I was caught by their reference to my solving two murders. Had Mabel and Vincent found the person who’d led their daughter astray? My heart lurched. Had that person not wanted to be discovered?
Bodies? Funeral home?
The car door opened, and I jumped in surprise.
“—bathroom was a disgrace,” said Effie as she settled herself in the seat. “I always feel as if I’ve been exposed to a dreaded disease when I use public rest rooms.”
“Effie, I want you to call that funeral home—”
“The Eternal Rest Chapel, dear?”
“That’s right. I want you to ask when you can deliver the sympathy bouquets for the McDuffys’ service.”
“Where shall I make this call?”
I nodded to the booth outside the gas station. “We’ll do it from there, okay? I’ll be right beside you, listening to what is said.”
Effie studied me pensively. “I won’t ask why now, but later, I’d like an explanation.”
As I got out of the car, I murmured, “So would I, Effie, so would I.”
I bought a newspaper from the rack and tucked it under my arm. While I looked up the funeral home number, I rehearsed Effie on the dos and don’ts of subterfuge. “Carl used to say that the big boys—”
“Big boys, dear?”
“The professionally trained investigators. Carl used to say that they like to answer a question with a question. Since we don’t come close to their expertise, I think we’ll do best to say as little as possible. Try to sound casual. Keep your wits about you.”
“Good gracious, it’s not as if I’m calling the Pentagon for classified information. I phone my local funeral home often, asking about different services. I’m sure the people at the Eternal Rest Chapel are used to this kind of inquiry.”
I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. Effie was right. It was a simple inquiry, except I was afraid of the answer. What if the call Bailey had gotten had been about human bodies? But why would he get a call?
My stomach muscles were tied in knots as I picked up the phone and poked in the numbers for the funeral home. At the first ring, I handed the receiver to Effie, who was as calm and composed as I was frazzled.
I put my head close to hers and heard a man say, “Eternal Rest Chapel. This is Anthony.”
“Anthony,” said Effie, “when can we deliver the sympathy bouquets for the McDuffy service?”
“McDuffy?” He gasped. “How did you—I … uh … I …”
Suddenly Bailey’s unmistakable voice boomed in our ears. “Anthony didn’t catch your name, but I understand you’re inquiring about a service. How may I help?”
Effie opened her mouth, but I pressed her arm and shook my head.
“Hello,” said Bailey. “Who’s calling? I know you’re on the line. Speak up! Why are you asking about the McDuffys?”
I took the phone out of Effie’s hand and quietly hung it up. “Let’s get out of here.”
This time I had Effie slide behind the wheel, while I slumped in the passenger seat. “Just drive, Effie, but steer clear of the funeral home, and we might as well stay away from the hotel, too, at least for a little while. I’d rather not run into Bailey just now.”
“Why do you think your Mr. Bailey came on the line? Does he have a connection with the funeral home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t that nice-sounding Anthony answer my question? And who is this McDuffy?”
“Please, Effie, I need to think. If you’ll drive for a while, then I’ll try to answer your questions. Okay?”
She nodded and turned on the ignition. Like a pro, she shifted gears, and we shot out of the service station lot into a stream of traffic. Seeing that she was more than capable at the wheel, I leaned back and mulled over the situation.
I still didn’t know who Bailey Monroe was, but one thing was for certain, he hadn’t liked the question about the McDuffys. A tiny smile teased my lips. I’d outmaneuvered him. I’d learned that the McDuffys were of interest to him, otherwise why had he come on the line? His voice had been cold with authority. His tone let me know that he was accustomed to having his questions answered, and he expected results.
I sank farther into the seat and opened the local newspaper to the front page. Near the bottom was a news brief that made my skin prickle.
COUPLE FOUND DEAD AT BOTTOM OF RAVINE.
(Names being withheld pending notice to family.)
I stared out the window at the trees that were a kaleidoscope of earth tones, and felt physically ill to my stomach. I could be wrong that the dead couple was the McDuffys, but I didn’t think so. They had been in plain sight at the hotel for four days, and then had suddenly disappeared.
I knew so little about them and their daughter Stephanie. What I needed were solid facts. I sat up straight, coming out of my daze
. “Where are we, Effie?”
“You said drive, so I’m driving. We’re on Highway 65 headed north. I’d rather travel the open road than creep along in Branson’s stop-and-go traffic. I’d planned to intrude on your thoughts before we got to Springfield.”
A highway mileage sign loomed ahead. I skimmed over the first three towns, honing in on River City. We were a little over an hour away from home, but the scheme I was hatching didn’t include entering the city limits. What I wanted was outside of town. In the “outer reaches” of Spencer County.
Chapter Nine
Wearily, I closed my eyes. I was tired after my sleepless night, and the breeze coming through the open car window was soothing. I’d stalled Effie’s questions for the time being, so she’d turned on the radio and was humming happily.
When we were closer to our destination, I planned to stop and call Robbee. By now the contest flowers would have arrived, and he’d be wondering where I was. I also needed a Spencer County telephone book, so I could look up the McDuffys’ address. I wanted to dig up some personal information on the McDuffy family, and what better place to start than in their neighborhood.
I fell asleep with the words “dig up” in my subconscious. I dreamed I was in a flower garden, and Bailey was Adam to my Eve. His fig leaf covered his essentials. My “leaf” was a shovel. If I lowered it to scoop the soil, I exposed the stretch marks that were like battle scars that told the tale of how misshapen my body had been. But if I didn’t use that shovel, truth and justice would be buried forever. I urged Bailey to go away so I could uncover the facts, but he only smiled and shook his head.
Frustration woke me, but I found I was eager to get on with my plan. I looked out the window and saw familiar landmarks. “Once we crest this hill, Effie, you’ll see a McDonald’s. Pull in, and I’ll buy you a snack.”
“I need their rest room worse, dear. My water pill is working overtime.”
I touched her lightly on the arm. “You’ve been a good sport about this. After we finish our business inside, I’ll try to explain what’s going on.”
Lilies That Fester Page 8
