“What are we going to do now?”
“Everything I’ve said is speculation. I wish I could talk to Sid in a rational manner, but that’s out of the question. If he suspected I was anywhere near here, he’d bluster and blaze and threaten to have me arrested.”
My gaze lighted on the FRESH EGGS FOR SALE sign nailed to a fence post. I chewed my lower lip for a minute, then asked, “Effie, how do you feel about doing a bit of amateur detecting?”
“It would be purely amateur, dear. What do you have in mind?”
“Drive up to the house and buy a dozen eggs.”
“I don’t eat eggs. My cholesterol has a tendency to be—” A light dawned in her china-blue eyes. “Aha. Subterfuge, again. I understand. And where will you be, while I’m playing Miss Marple?”
I told her I’d wait down the road in a patch of shade. Even as I spoke, I was having second thoughts, but Effie was chomping at the bit, ready to take on anyone and everything.
“I never dreamed when I came to Branson that I’d have such an adventure. I thought I’d be attending those boring workshops of Allison’s, and here I am on a quest for the truth.”
“Just remember, Effie, you can’t let anyone know about this … uh … quest. Subtlety will get you more information than a flat-out question. I can tell you right now, Sid won’t volunteer a thing. You’ll have to be smooth, and maybe even devious if we’re to learn anything.”
As I got out of the car, she mouthed the words “smooth and devious” as if she were chanting a mantra. I stifled a sigh. This wasn’t going to work. I must have had a brain cramp, but there was nothing for it than to let Effie try. She was high on adrenaline, and I knew what that was like. I just hoped at her age, she didn’t stroke out.
My eyes widened at this horrible thought. I turned back to the car. “I’ve changed my mind, Effie.”
“Too late, dear. Wish me luck.” She wiggled knobby fingers and took off, leaving me in a cloud of dust.
The next fifteen minutes passed with all the anxiety of a trip to the dentist. I paced the gravel road, wondering for the fortieth time, “What was I thinking?” Sweet little Effie didn’t stand a chance matching wits with Spencer County’s obnoxious, opinionated, crotchety sheriff.
I heard a shout from the direction of the McDuffys’ house and spun on my heel. Sid was on the front porch, waving something at Effie. Was he threatening her?
I hunkered in the weeds and watched as Sid came down the steps. I glanced at Effie. She hadn’t moved. Had fear immobilized her? I looked back at Sid. What was in his hand?
I squinted and nearly wilted with relief. He was holding an egg carton.
“That was fun, and I got an added bonus of a dozen eggs,” said Effie after she’d picked me up.
I’d put off cross-examining her until we were out of the immediate vicinity. If I’d known Sid was so close by when we’d stopped at the Thorpes’, I’d probably have turned around and headed back the way we’d come. I thought about that for half a second, then shook my head. No, I wouldn’t. This was the kind of thing that made me feel alive, that I was worth something to someone.
Once we were headed in the direction of Springfield and points beyond, I turned eagerly to Effie. “So what did the sheriff say? What did you say? What did you use as your cover?”
“Cover?” murmured Effie, confused by my Nancy Drew vernacular. She peered over the windshield at the sky. “Are you talking about my car’s top?”
I quickly hid a smile. “No, Effie, I just wondered what kind of excuse you gave Sid for stopping and asking questions?”
She lifted a stooped shoulder. “I simply said I was worried about Vincent and Mabel. I hadn’t heard from them and was out of fresh farm eggs and thought I’d stop by to see how they were.”
This time my lips spread into a wide grin. “Well, that’s original. The important thing is did it work? Did you get any information?”
“I’m not sure. Sheriff Hancock told me I’d have to find another source for my eggs. He also said that in a few days, the McDuffys would be kissing Bernard’s porcelain table. I don’t think I misunderstood the sheriff, but what in the world did he mean?”
I made a face. “That’s an example of Sid’s tasteless wit. In some of the older funeral homes the embalming tables are made of porcelain. Bernard Delaney is one of River City’s funeral directors.”
Frustrated, I slapped my thighs, making them sting. “Damnit! Damnit! It’s not fair, Effie. I feel as if I’ve let them down. I never got the chance to tell them that I’d help. That I’d try to do something.”
“I’m sure they knew you’d carry on.”
“Carry on? How? I don’t know what to do next. Bailey has answers, but I don’t think he’ll give anything over to me.”
“I’ve been thinking, dear. The name ‘Bailey’ has an Old French origin that means bailiff—man in charge. Perhaps your Mr. Bailey is a police officer.”
I looked at Effie as if she’d sprouted horns and a forked tail. “Wow, Effie, you’re good. That would make perfect sense.” Ruefully, I muttered, “But why the hell didn’t I think of it?”
“You’re too close, dear. Besides, I think when Mr. Bailey is around, your guard comes up because you like him and you don’t want to.”
Well, that was a crock, but I didn’t tell Effie that. Instead, I dwelled on the more pertinent information. “If the call he took last night was about the discovery of the McDuffys’ bodies, does that mean he was here at the hotel for another reason?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have to find out why the McDuffys were killed.”
“Not who killed them?”
“From past experience I’ve learned that when you delve for the motive, the guilty party will slither out of hiding. Stephanie died last month, yet the McDuffys waited until I was in Branson before they made the trip or even contacted me.” Thinking of Robbee, I added, “Or was it the floral convention and its attendees that were important?”
“I’m not understanding, dear. If I’m to help, you’ll have to be more specific.”
Uneasily I studied Effie. The rush of air from the convertible had whipped color into her cheeks. Her eyes were bright with interest. For someone who’s seventy-one years old, she’s as naive as a child and just about as defenseless. Poking and prodding didn’t always reveal the killer, or at least maybe not right away, but it does make him nervous, and very, very dangerous.
Effie’s skin was as fragile as a piece of crepe paper. A razor blade would do serious damage to her aged flesh. I shuddered at the thought of Effie pitted against the sadistic mind that had resorted to using a razor blade as a weapon. Effie was as kind and trusting as they come. Once we were in Branson, I’d gently but firmly ease her out of the picture.
At the hotel, I encouraged Effie to go to her room and relax. I went to the basement, where I found Robbee surrounded by a sea of cut flowers. Immediately, he let me know that my prolonged absence had irritated him.
“I got your message,” he said, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. “Such as it was. Couldn’t your sightseeing trip have been postponed until this work was done? Or doesn’t this contest matter to you?”
“It matters,” I said, placing my purse on a nearby table. I reached for the zipper. Now would be a good time to lighten the load.
Robbee waved some eucalyptus, filling the air with its medicinal odor. “You couldn’t prove it by your actions. I’d like the chance to run all over Branson, too, but one of us was needed here.”
“I’m here now, so stop being a grouch.” Given Robbee’s mood, I left my purse alone and pushed up my sweater sleeves. “What can I do to help?”
“I’ve processed the flowers, and I’m almost finished dividing them into groups for the contestants. If I haven’t done it right, you’ll have to take over.”
I stared at him. Something was bugging him besides my being gone. “Spit it out, Robbee,” I said. “What’s really hacked you off?”
His laugh was bitter. “Being alone this morning gave me plenty of time to think about what an ass I was not to have applied myself at the semifinals.” He plopped the eucalyptus into a bucket and picked up some purple statice. “I could be in line for a trip to Hawaii, where I’d drown my problems in the tropical atmosphere.”
“Why do you want to run away?”
He looked surprised. “I’m not trying to run away. I’m just tired of the same old, same old.” He stuffed the statice into the container with the eucalyptus. “I want exotic. I want to see fields of flowers waiting to be cut and shipped to the States. I want to see bougainvillea growing naturally, not planted in baskets or sheltered by a greenhouse. I want to see acres and acres of tulips in Holland, and the tropical rain forests where new species of plants are being discovered and destroyed every day.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. It would be nice to see all the things you’ve mentioned, but we always have to come back to our problems.”
“I could travel the rest of my life and never look over my shoulder. I doubt that anyone in town would notice if my shop were closed. I say I own the business, but the bank has a larger investment. If I don’t do something soon, I’ll lose what little equity I have.”
I’d been looking for a way to introduce Stephanie’s name into a conversation. This was the opening I needed. “Is that why you were interested in Stephanie McDuffy’s artwork? Did you think her pictures would bail you out of a floundering business?”
Robbee’s hand hovered over a bucket of red carnations. “How do you know about Stephanie’s artwork? Did she sell you pictures before she died?”
“I don’t own any of her work, but I’ve seen it, and it’s incredible. How did you meet her?”
His movements were jerky as he counted twenty-four carnations and dropped them into a bucket. “I was in the process of telling you last night when Delia cut me off. What difference does it make now?”
“No difference,” I lied. “I just thought we’d visit while we finished these chores.”
My answer must have sounded feasible because Robbee said, “It was in June at the Fleur-De-Lis Extravaganza. Stephanie was a … uh … rather hefty woman. She stepped on my foot while we were waiting in line to take the tour bus up to the conservatory. We started a conversation, and when she discovered I was a florist, we had plenty to talk about.”
“Her parents are here in Branson.” I hesitated. This was always the hard part—the leading questions, the tweaking with the truth, but I consoled myself that it was for a good cause. “I understand that you had a nice chat with them in the lobby.”
“Me? I never talked to the McDuffys. I didn’t even know they were here.”
It had the ring of truth. “Oh, getting back to Stephanie. Besides going to the lily show, what else did she do?”
Robbee stared at me. “What’s the deal, Bretta? This doesn’t sound like a visit to me. It’s more of an interrogation.”
“I guess it is. Mr. and Mrs. McDuffy have asked me to find out what upset their daughter when she was in Branson last June. Since you’d met her, I thought you might offer up a solution or two.”
“Upset? How?”
“I’m not sure. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“She didn’t seem upset to me. Stephanie and I shared an interest in plants and flowers, and that’s what we talked about. We spent several hours together at the conservatory, and then we had a nice supper here at the hotel. I can’t imagine why her being upset almost a year ago should matter when the woman is dead. But you might ask Darren or Gellie if they know anything more.”
I gasped. “Darren or Gellie?”
“Darren was the featured speaker at the conservatory. Gellie was taking the tour the same day Stephanie and I were there. She and Stephanie visited while I went to see the Fern Grotto. That’s my favorite spot in the conservatory. It’s peaceful with water cascading over a thirty-foot rock formation. When I stand at the base of that waterfall, I can imagine I’m on some tropical island. The air is thick with mist, and—”
“What about the rest of our group? Were any of them on this tour?”
Irked at my interruption, Robbee snapped, “I told you last night that most of us that were at the introductory dinner were also at the lily show. Miriam was there, but she was too snobbish to speak to us. Zach was strutting his stuff. Bernice was trailing Tyrone, but I didn’t see Delia, Chloe, Effie, Allison, or you, for that matter.”
Lavelle had said that Stephanie was “changing for a man she’d just met.” I studied Robbee’s handsome face. “Did you come on to Stephanie? Did you make her feel special?”
“How do I know how she felt?”
A line from Vincent’s note came to mind: She’d sit in her room, sip tea, listen to the music, and wait impatiently for the mail to arrive. “Did you mail her presents? Send her letters? Did you kiss her?”
“Kiss her!” Robbee jerked in surprise. “Hell no. This wasn’t a romance, Bretta. I was hoping to buy her artwork for my shop, not get her in the sack.”
“So you didn’t lead her on?”
“I shook her hand when I left.” He ducked his head. “Well, I did press my lips to her wrist, but it didn’t mean anything.”
I couldn’t hide my disgust. Robbee’s flirtatious manner was as natural to him as breathing. I’m sure he was telling the truth when he said his kiss to Stephanie’s wrist hadn’t meant anything—to him. But to a lonely young woman, who’d probably never had the attention of a handsome man, it would have meant something special.
“Don’t give me that look,” said Robbee. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then don’t sound so defensive.”
“I’m out of here,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “I’ve done more than my share of the work.” He muttered good-bye and left.
Lavelle had said that Robbee’s main interest in Stephanie had been the flower pictures. He’d confirmed that, but wouldn’t a part of Stephanie hope to push his attention beyond those pictures? Listening to the same recording over and over while sipping tea, and waiting for the mail sounded like the actions of a woman in love.
Did I believe Robbee when he said he hadn’t flirted with Stephanie? My mouth twisted into a sour grimace. Robbee was more than capable of snagging the heart and raising the hopes of a lonely woman like Stephanie McDuffy.
In Robbee’s mind he probably hadn’t treated Stephanie any differently than he treated any other woman. But could his flirtation be classed as “leading her astray”? While Robbee’s type of innocent dalliance could cause pain to the person who took him seriously, it was scarcely an offense that demanded punishment. Unless there was more at stake than a woman’s broken heart.
The door behind me suddenly opened, and Bailey Monroe walked into the room.
Chapter Eleven
Bailey’s entrance took me by surprise. I stared at him, taking note of his physical attributes. His eyes were the color of unpolished copper. His stomach flat, his chest muscular. As he moved past me, I appraised a rear that would look fine in a pair of tight jeans.
My heart pitter-pattered at the sight of him, but I quickly diagnosed my reaction as coming from the unexpected opportunity to make a few shrewd inquiries of him in general, and his reason for going to the funeral chapel in particular.
I couldn’t blurt out my questions, so I finessed my way to the subject by giving him my most winsome smile. “Hi,” I said. I made a sweeping gesture to the room. “As you can see the contest flowers have arrived.”
“Colorful,” was his only comment.
“I’m looking forward to the conservatory tour this afternoon,” I said, maneuvering my end of the conversation. “It’ll be the first time I’ve gotten to do something fun since I came to Branson.”
He didn’t say anything, but poked at the contents of a box of leather leaf fern. I was ready to swing into what he’d been doing that morning. “I saw you leave the hotel and get into a truck. Did you take that drive
up into the hills that you invited me to—”
Before I could finish, Bailey foiled my attempt at subtlety by interrupting, “Are these all the flowers?”
I raised my eyebrows. Most people would’ve been bowled over by the accumulated mass. “How many do you think we need?”
He shrugged and moved to the door that led into the room with the walk-in cooler. He cocked his head. “More in there?”
“Not many. We used most of them in arrangements for the conference display. These flowers are for the contest.” I tried again, using another tact. “I read in the morning paper that a couple was found dead at the bottom of a ravine.”
Bailey’s expression didn’t change.
“The information was sketchy. I wonder who they were?”
He turned on his heel and went into the other room. I followed, and knew that my control over the situation had vanished, if I’d had it in the first place, which I doubted. Bailey had come downstairs for a reason and feeding me information wasn’t on his agenda.
He switched on the light and tugged open the cooler door.
“What are you looking for?” I asked. In this area I could be blunt, too.
“Honeysuckle.”
“You won’t find any here. I’ve never seen it used as a cut flower because the vase life would be too short. Why do you want honeysuckle?”
“Butterflies love it. Which of these flowers are the most fragrant? We need some to make a display upstairs.”
“You’re building a display now? I thought your conference started yesterday. Why didn’t your committee think of flowers before they came to Branson?”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Is everything with your conference going perfectly?”
“I live in hope,” I said dryly. His lips twitched with humor, and I grinned. When he continued to stare into my eyes, I shifted my gaze. The impulses running through my body were unnerving.
Lilies That Fester Page 10
