While Effie was in the john, I found the McDuffys’ address in the local phone directory. After I’d made a note of the road name and number, I placed a call to the Terraced Plaza Hotel. I didn’t want to personally speak with Robbee, so I left an ambiguous message. Since I was already connected to the hotel, and in light of the news brief in the paper, I asked if Helen was available. She came on the line all abuzz with information.
“You won’t believe what’s happened?” she whispered into the receiver.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “The McDuffys have been found,” but I stopped myself. “Tell me,” was all I said.
“A DO NOT DISTURB sign has been hung on Mr. and Mrs. McDuffys’ door. I’ve asked around, but no one knows who put it there or when.” She took a deep breath. “But the big news is that the police were here. They towed the McDuffys’ car out of the hotel parking lot.”
“Did they give a reason as to why they were taking it?”
“I asked that same question, but the officer in charge told me it wasn’t any of my business.”
“I guess we’ll have to wait for an answer.”
“I don’t like it. I’ve got this creepy feeling that something bad has happened.”
I wanted to tell Helen that her intuition was grounded in reality, but I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned from Carl that an ongoing investigation could be jeopardized by a careless remark. For some reason, the McDuffys’ deaths were being concealed. Before I said something I might regret, I told Helen I’d talk with her when I got back to the hotel, then ended our conversation.
Effie wasn’t happy that the McDuffys had lived on a gravel road. She drove her little black car as if the tires were made of marshmallows, and each time a rock pinged against the undercarriage, she winced as if she’d felt the blow.
“How much farther, dear?” she asked.
“That last mailbox had 981 painted on the side. We want 1004, so it’ll probably be a few more miles. Houses are spaced far apart here on County Line Road. This is cattle country. Most of these farms are anywhere from three to six hundred acres.”
I smothered a sigh. Idle chitchat, when time was slipping by. I wanted to ask Effie to step on it, but she’d been a real trooper. She’d listened carefully to everything I’d told her about the McDuffys. I’d read her both notes and the three messages. I’d shown her Stephanie’s picture, but her car didn’t have a tape deck, and she’d never heard of Kenny Loggins.
I looked over my shoulder at the mailbox we’d just passed. “We’re getting closer. The next box will be the one right before the McDuffys’. Why don’t you turn in there, and we’ll have a chat with their neighbor?”
“I’m still not sure why we made this trip, dear. What kind of information are we seeking?”
“Anything is better than what I have.”
“What kind of questions will you ask?”
“I don’t know.”
She glanced at me. “And you say you’ve done this kind of thing before?”
“I used to help Carl with his investigations. Since his death, I’ve delved into a couple of matters on my own.”
“And that’s what the McDuffys are referring to in their note to you?”
“Yes.” I admitted it reluctantly.
“You don’t sound very enthused, dear. If you made an investigation, you must have been interested in discovering the outcome.”
“I do care, Effie, but it’s more than that. Since Carl’s death, I’ve gotten involved in some rather dangerous situations. When someone needs my help, I can’t seem to stop from getting involved.”
“Then don’t try. Bloom where you’re planted, dear. Why analyze and criticize your abilities? Perhaps you have a God-given talent for this kind of thing. Your husband must have been proud of you or he wouldn’t have expressed his pride to the McDuffys. And it sounds to me as if they needed someone who cares. Grief affects everyone differently. You help others, and the McDuffys wanted your expertise to ease the pain from having lost their daughter.”
“It’s too late to ease their pain. I’m sure they’re dead.”
“From what you’ve told me you could be right.”
“Now more than ever, I want to find out what’s going on, but I have more questions than I have answers.”
“But isn’t that part of the thrill? The unearthing of the facts? If everything were laid out for you, where would be the satisfaction?”
I smiled weakly at the little woman. “Bloom where I’m planted, huh? Even if it feels as if my roots are sometimes struggling through rock?”
Effie chuckled pleasantly. “Adversity builds character, dear,” she said, applying the brake. “This mailbox is 1003, which should be the one before the McDuffys’. Shall I turn in here?”
I saw the name “Thorpe” on the mailbox and nodded. She drove down a tree-lined lane. The white clapboard house, when it came into view, looked as if it had been designed and constructed by a ten-year-old. Judging the multiple rooflines, I’d guess four different additions had been made to the original structure. The house sat on a knoll, and the land gently sloped away to pastures with a lake in the valley. White geese swam lazily on the glassy surface, while cows grazed their fill on the spring grass that fringed the water’s edge.
It was a classic picture of peace and tranquillity, and Effie sighed with appreciation as she parked the car. “If I lived here I’d hang a swing from that maple tree and never grow tired of the view.”
The door at the back of the house opened, and a woman struggled out with a loaded laundry basket. She wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a green-checkered shirt. Her face was broad, her hair a mop of brown curls. I hopped from the car and strode across the grass toward her, dodging the bicycles, tricycles, and wagons that littered the yard. She had seen me, acknowledged me with a nod, but with the cumbersome load, had kept up a fast pace to an already crowded clothesline.
“You’ve been busy this morning,” I said in greeting.
“Every morning,” she grumbled, dropping the basket to the ground with a solid plop. “We have eight boys, and the laundry is unreal. I’ve never been able to decide if we’re the cleanest bunch in the county or the dirtiest.”
“Eight boys? Wow. Talk about being outnumbered by the male population.”
She chuckled. “We also have Harry, the dog, and Bob, the cat.”
“How old are they?”
She raised an eyebrow as she grabbed the corner of a purple-and-lavender-striped sheet. “Harry and Bob?”
I laughed, taking hold of the sheet and helping her pin it to the line. “And you keep a sense of humor, too. No, I was thinking of your boys.”
In a singsong tone, she recited, “Fifteen, twelve, eleven, nine, the twins are seven, five, and two. Wally, Billy, Tommy, Timmy, Jerry and Terry, Tony, and Patrick. That’s my tribe.”
I pulled a matching pillowcase from the basket. “I saw the name on the mailbox. You’re Allison’s sister-in-law?”
“That’s right. I’m Lavelle Thorpe, and you’re Bretta Solomon.” She ducked her head, but I saw her smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you, but I discount most of what Allison says. I’ve read about you in the River City Daily newspaper, and my neighbors, Vincent and Mabel McDuffy, have spoken of you.” A frown creased her forehead. “I thought you were at that floral thing in Branson? In fact, Vincent and Mabel were looking forward to meeting you.”
“I had to make a fast trip home, but I’m going back to Branson. I received messages from the McDuffys, but our paths haven’t crossed yet. If you have time, I’d like to ask you a few questions?”
“About what?”
“Like I said, I’ve gotten messages from the McDuffys but they didn’t tell me exactly what they wanted. I wondered if you knew.”
“No, but you could have knocked me over with a feather when Vincent came by and told us he and Mabel were going to Branson. Since he retired from trucking cattle to market, they rarely set foot off their property, totally content to
be with each other.”
Lavelle smiled sadly. “Stephanie’s death was a blow to them, but they had each other. When Mabel goes, I don’t know what Vincent will do. He has no other family, and he cherishes Mabel.”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I’ll do either. They’re good neighbors—good people but a bit overly cautious. It took them two weeks to plan this trip. A few days before they left, Vincent was by and mentioned that he thought he ought to have the electricity shut off at his house. He was afraid there might be a short or something while they were gone. I reminded him that Missouri weather is unpredictable, and we could get a cold spell. With no heat in the house, the water pipes might freeze. He was even going to sell their chickens, but I told him my older boys would look after the flock.”
I felt a chill against the nape of my neck. Had Vincent gone to Branson knowing that he and Mabel would be in danger? Had he suspected that they might not be coming home?
Lavelle was still talking. “—assured him that I’d keep an eye on everything.” A note of envy crept into her voice. “Imagine just packing up and taking off. No dishes to do. No dirty clothes to contend with.” She gave a pair of jeans a brisk shake. “But I’d wash clothes for the rest of my life if it meant I could keep each and every one of my boys healthy.”
“You’re thinking about their daughter, Stephanie?”
She nodded. “What a waste of a kind and talented woman. I felt sorry for her. She didn’t have a social life. All she had were her pictures.”
“Pictures? She was a photographer?”
“No, more like an artist, but not with paints or colored pencils. She used dried flowers that she pressed, then glued to mats before framing them.” Lavelle glanced at Effie’s car. “If you have a minute, I’ll go get the one she gave me?”
I assured her I had plenty of time, and she went off to the house. I continued to hang up the clothes, a relaxing task I hadn’t done in a long, long time. When the back door opened, I turned, expecting to see Lavelle, but the gaping doorway discharged a mad rush of boys headed directly for Effie and her little car.
The older woman’s jaws dropped, and her eyes widened with astonishment. In a flash the kids had circled her car, fingering the cloth top, touching the side mirrors, leaning in the open window to get a glimpse of the minuscule interior. Seeing that she had an appreciative audience for her pride and joy, Effie climbed out to point like a proud parent to all her baby’s sterling qualities.
“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.
Chapter Ten
“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 depar
t. “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.”
Lilies That Fester Page 9
