Darren relaxed against the sofa’s overstuffed cushion. “Great show, and from what I understand, past attendance records were broken. Plus the hybrid lilies were absolutely exquisite.”
“So I heard. What I’m wondering is if you remember meeting a woman by the name of Stephanie McDuffy?”
Darren rubbed his chin. “Seems familiar. What’s she look like?”
“Big woman. Dark hair, sad eyes.”
“Is she a florist?”
“No, but she presses flowers for pictures.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I remember.” He glanced across the room to Robbee. “Our token Lothario was all over her.”
I leaned closer. “You mean physically?”
“No. Just charming, attentive. I wondered what the attraction was. She was pretty, if you looked directly into her face. But frankly, when a woman tops two hundred pounds, I back off.” Realizing how prejudiced he sounded, and who he was speaking to—a woman who had once more than topped two hundred pounds—he dropped his gaze and muttered, “Maybe she had a glandular problem. I heard her tell Gellie that before she grazed, she’d have to think long and hard.”
“Grazed?” I repeated. Before I could question Darren further, I saw Miriam get off the elevator and take a quick look around the lobby. I figured she was hunting me so she could blather about Delia leaving and about the contest categories.
I wasn’t in the mood and beat a hasty retreat. I soon saw I’d made a mistake. Miriam wasn’t interested in me. When she spied Darren, she smoothed her red hair and hurried to him. She spoke, he looked up in surprise. After hesitating, he shrugged and gestured to the cushion beside him. Miriam promptly sat down, talking and waving her hands until my stomach tightened with apprehension.
The hotel’s use of massive tropical plants added to the decor, and made a screened effect around the pieces of furniture. I reversed the direction I’d been traveling to the bushy schefflera plant that was directly behind the sofa occupied by Miriam and Darren. The plant would offer an excellent place to monitor what appeared to be a very animated conversation.
Before I had the chance to get into position, I met Alvin, who looked harassed. Taking pity on the poor guy, I sympathized, “Are the ‘glitches’ getting to you?”
“Nah, I can handle it, but you florists are a rowdy bunch.” He nodded across the lobby to the Missouri Order of Butterfly Watchers’ information booth. Two ladies sat behind a table, and their expressions weren’t favorable as they studied the new arrivals to the hotel. “They’ve got their noses out of joint because your group has such a great turnout. I’m on my way to the kitchen to get them a snack. I figure a plate of brownies might sweeten up their dispositions.”
“You can’t feed the world,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if he heard. He’d moved on, disappearing into the throng. Sighing, I turned my attention back to Miriam and Darren. They appeared to be having a friendly chat. I glanced at the butterfly table.
Hmm? Butterflies and Bailey.
Where was he? Not in the lobby. I checked the balconies at each floor. No sign of him. I looked at the floral designers seated on the sofa. Miriam was up to something, but I hoped Darren could take care of himself. At the moment, Bailey was a top priority.
I sauntered over to the butterfly table, hoping for more info than when the next swallowtail swooped into Missouri. “Hi! My name’s Bretta Solomon.”
Both women looked up. One wore a pink-striped shirt. The other a T-shirt with a huge monarch butterfly plastered across her buxom bosom. “Are you interested in butterflies?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” I gushed with what I hoped was the right note of enthusiasm. “They’re such dainty, exquisite little beauties. I have a garden back home, and I want to enhance it with plants that will attract the … uh … little … beauties. Bailey Monroe told me to drop by your table.”
The women looked at each other. “Monroe?” asked pink-striped shirt. “Is he a new member? I don’t recognize the name.”
In spite of myself, I gave a glowing physical description of Bailey. When I was finished, pink-striped shirt said, “That sounds like the man who donated the flowers.” She pointed to the bouquet sitting on the floor. “It was a nice idea, but too top heavy for the water pitcher. We need a vase, but no one has offered us one.”
I could have taken the hint, but her tone put me off. “Bailey is so thoughtful and tenderhearted, too. He was very upset about those butterflies that were captured yesterday and subsequently died. He and the president of your organization were going to mount the bodies on a poster as a reminder to other members to be more careful.” I made a show of looking around their area. “I don’t see the poster. Isn’t it finished?”
Ms. Butterfly Bust frowned. “I’m the president, and I don’t know anything about a poster. And as to the butterflies, this is April. There aren’t any butterflies here in Missouri, unless you count the ones in pupa stage, and they won’t hatch until the days get warmer. Strong winds will blow different species into our state, but not until we get breezes from the south. That won’t be for another four to eight weeks, if you can count on our weather, which you can’t.”
“I … uh … must have misunderstood. But you do know Bailey?”
“We can’t know every member personally.” Pink-striped shirt smiled proudly. “We’re eight hundred members strong.”
I persisted. “But Bailey is one of your members?”
With her butterfly jiggling, the one in the T-shirt pulled a notebook from a briefcase that was sitting on the chair behind them. She flipped the pages. “Monroe. Monroe. Here it is. Blair Monroe. No, wait. You said Bailey. Nope, don’t have a Bailey Monroe listed.”
Suddenly there was a loud cheer from the lobby. I looked over my shoulder. Gellie was on board a baggage cart, and a harassed porter wheeled her down a ramp. She smiled and waved like a queen, having the time of her life, while her colleagues applauded.
“From the moment that woman got off the elevator, she’s been creating a ruckus,” said Ms. T-shirt disapprovingly. “I hope they quiet down before evening. I need my rest.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “They’re excited at seeing each other. I’d better get back to my duties. Have a good conference,” I said as I walked away.
It was rewarding to know I’d been right that Bailey had lied about being a member of the Missouri Order of Butterfly Watchers. I also suspected that he wasn’t telling the truth about being an avid gardener. He’d shown an interest in the flowers, wandering around the basement. I started to grin at the memory of the pollen on his nose, but stopped when that thought recalled the brush of his lips against mine.
“Don’t go there,” I murmured, ignoring the flip-flop of my stomach.
Doubling around another grouping of chairs, I came upon the schefflera plant. Quickly I stooped to tie my shoelace while straining my ears.
Miriam was saying, “My daughter, Teresa, can take a piece of cloth and with a few snips of her scissors and a needle and thread whip up an outfit that can take your breath away.” The back of the sofa bulged, as Miriam shifted her position. “Teresa’s head is full of clever ideas. So often she can’t sleep at night, and has to get up and sketch the designs so she doesn’t forget them.”
“She shouldn’t put her ideas on paper,” said Darren. “I never commit anything to a physical drawing. When I need an idea, the design in my head is transferred to my hands. I’m fortunate that my fingers instinctively know what to do.”
Ho hum, I thought, such titillating conversation. I was ready to move on when I heard my name. “Bretta’s being obstinate about these secret contest categories, but I’m not surprised. Doesn’t it bother you not knowing what to expect?”
“Of course not,” denied Darren with a short laugh. “I’ve designed arrangements for dignitaries all over the world. I can surely please this competition. My repertoire suits any occasion.”
“I wish Teresa had your confidence. She’s a behind-thescenes person.”
“
Confidence is the name of the game. A shy designer won’t make it in this competitive world. You have to flaunt your work with an aggressive attitude if you’re going to be noticed.”
“How fortunate that you were blessed with both an outgoing personality and creative talent. My daughter lacks the confidence to present her ideas to the right people. You wouldn’t be shy at offering your ideas for, say, a complete renovation of this lobby. What if your customer wanted art nouveau? What would you do?”
“Do?” repeated Darren sharply.
“I’m curious how your creative mind works. Take that corner for instance. If you could redesign that atrocious silk arrangement, what would you change?”
A pair of shiny penny loafers appeared beside me. I knew those shoes, and wondered again why dimes were in the slots? Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze to a well-creased trouser leg, followed by a crisp-white shirt and neatly knotted tie. Finally, I settled on a countenance that made my heart hammer.
Bailey jerked his head, indicating that I was to follow him. Sighing softly, I crept from behind my screen of foliage to the alcove where he waited.
“That must’ve been one helluva knot in your shoelace,” he said dryly. “You were hunkered behind that plant for a good five minutes.”
Why was Bailey watching me? And where had he been? I’d searched the lobby and the balconies before I’d gone to the butterfly information tables. Had he seen me talking to those ladies? Did he know I’d been checking up on him?
My cheeks felt hot. In an attempt to hide my embarrassment, my tone was waspish. “Don’t you have butterflies to catch or mount or whatever it is you enthusiasts do?” He drilled me with a hard stare, but I continued undaunted. “Or as an avid gardener, maybe you’re hanging around for the conservatory tour?”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
Before I could answer, Darren jumped up from the sofa and raced for the elevator. When he saw the long lines, he detoured to the stairs. I looked back at Miriam. She gazed up at Tyrone, who was at the second-floor railing. Her satisfied smile made me quake and made him disappear into his suite.
The way I saw it, I had three choices. I could go to Miriam and ask for an explanation. I could talk to Tyrone, or I could try to calm Darren. I settled on the latter.
“Gotta go,” I said to Bailey, and started away.
“That conservatory tour sounds like a good idea. I think I’ll accompany you, and we’ll call it our first date.”
First date? That put the brakes on. I glanced around with a frown. Bailey’s lips curved into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They remained cool and steady on me.
“Eavesdropping can get you into serious trouble,” he said, clasping my hand and tucking it firmly into the crook of his arm. “You need someone to keep you out of trouble.”
When I opened my mouth to protest, he calmly patted my wrist. “No need to thank me. I’ll be at your side when we get on that bus.”
For some reason his last remark struck me as a warning. Add to that his unrelenting grip on my hand, and the fact that he’d been watching me before he’d drawn my attention away from Darren and Miriam, and I got the distinct impression that I was being herded into a corner.
I glanced around the crowded lobby, wondering how many witnesses there would be if I made a scene. Effie, Allison, and Bernice were headed toward the café but had craned their necks to gawk in our direction. Chloe and Robbee were studiously appraising Bailey and me. When Robbee caught my eye, he winked slowly. I pursed my lips. I’m sure it would ease his conscience if he thought I was having a steamy affair with Bailey. I could hardly point a finger at his dallying if I was partaking of a bit of my own.
I looked up at Bailey and found his gaze on me. “What are you staring at?” I asked, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again. Only this time embarrassment wasn’t the stimulus.
“I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Are you sure you have the time, what with your extracurricular activities?”
Bailey’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Time is all I’ve got, Bretta.”
I gulped but managed to say, “I need a drink.” Since he still had a grip on my hand, I towed him toward the terrace lounge, choosing a table well away from Robbee.
As I sat down, I asked, “I assume you’re buying?” When Bailey nodded, I said, “In that case, I’ll have diet Coke, a Reuben sandwich, and a slice of coconut cream pie.”
Bailey’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. I smiled sweetly. “I always eat when I’m happy, worried, or upset.”
“And which are you?” he asked, stroking my fingers.
“None of the above. Just hungry.” I pulled my hand away. “It’s been a busy morning.”
Bailey accepted my answer with a grin and gave the order to the waiter.
I tried to settle back in my chair. I didn’t expect Bailey to admit that he was a cop, especially if he was on assignment. But I was interested in Bailey as a man. Was he a gardener? Did we have that much in common?
I’m not into memorizing the botanical names of plants, but I knew a couple from having done some research regarding my garden back home. Once the waiter had left, I said, “This might prove to be an instructive afternoon. As an avid gardener, you can point out some of the more interesting species of plants. On the ride up to the conservatory, I’m hoping to see some Cercis canadensis.”
Casually, I propped my elbow on the table. “Don’t you just love their blossoms? But nothing can compare to the Cornus florida. Which is your favorite?”
Without missing a beat, Bailey answered, “The Cornus florida. I used to live in Tallahassee, so I have a good association with that species of plant.”
I felt a stab of disappointment. The Cercis canadensis is the common redbud tree. The Cornus florida is Missouri’s state tree, the flowering dogwood. Bailey didn’t have to know these names to be a gardener, but why did he feel the need to bluff an answer? I could have called him on his mistake, but what the hell? I had the rest of the afternoon to figure this man out.
Chapter Thirteen
“Haversham Hall is the pride and product of coal baron Samuel F. Haversham,” said the tour guide, standing on the front steps of the estate. “A meager upbringing left its mark on Samuel, and once his fortune was made, he left Virginia to settle here in the Ozarks. Having spent his younger days in mine shafts, he opted to live his remaining years high on this hillside, surrounded by nature’s rare beauty.”
“That accounts for all the glass used in this conglomerate,” remarked Bailey in my ear. “I’d want plenty of sunlight, too, if I’d spent time underground.”
His warm breath sent a shiver down my spine. I forced my attention to the tour guide. The young woman, who’d introduced herself as Joan, surveyed her audience.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said in a choked tone, “but this part of the tour always brings a lump to my throat.”
Behind me, Bailey pressed closer and put a hand on my arm. I glanced up at his profile, but his eyes were on the tour guide, absorbing every word.
“I’m sure all of you can imagine Samuel’s joy at owning such splendor, and his pleasure at feasting his eyes on this wondrous view.” Joan smiled tearfully at our group. “And now you have that same opportunity.”
“For a damned stiff price,” grumbled Bernice. “You’d think we could’ve gotten a better deal since we’re staying at the hotel.”
Our tour group was fifty-five strong, and I stood within arm’s reach of Bernice. When heads turned in our direction, I wanted to punch her. I would’ve settled for distancing myself, except Bailey had penned me in. He was at my elbow, blocking my migration to a more desirable location.
I pulled myself away from any physical contact. I tried to remain neutral, but it was difficult to ignore the attraction I felt toward him. As the tour guide droned on, I ridiculed myself for being sucked in by Bailey’s physical allure. A compliment or two, a light stroke of his fingers, and I was fascinate
d.
I pulled in a breath of air and got a snootful of Old Spice cologne. The aroma was reminiscent of the romance that was gone from my life but not forgotten. A powerful wave of longing lapped at my senses. I missed the lingering kisses, the cuddling on the couch, and the giggling in the dark when that strategic spot behind my knee is caressed.
I had misgivings—even suspicions—about this man, and yet I had flights of fancy whenever he touched me. Even now, I dropped my gaze and studied his fingers—long and slender, the nails blunt cut. I turned my head away. Instead of letting him beguile me, I should be asking him questions, stimulating him with my charms, if I still had any and could remember how to use them.
Since we’d left the hotel, he’d acted the infatuated suitor—holding doors, smiling when our eyes met, touching my arm briefly to point out a particular vista. As I entered the house with Bailey on my heels, I identified with Samuel Haversham’s need for space. I made as if to reach into my pocket and dug my elbow into Bailey’s ribs. His grunt caused my lips to twitch, but my expression was virtuous when I murmured, “Sorry.” He nodded but took a step back.
Joan droned on about the forty-eight windows, which afforded a panoramic view. Ordinarily I’d have been taking mental notes of my surroundings. I’d have noticed the furnishings and accessories in each room. Seen how the draperies, upholstered furniture, and pieces of art accentuated the colors of the walls. My mind was otherwise occupied.
Bailey’s comment about fat women still bothered me. Statistics show anyone who loses weight stands a good chance of gaining it back. I pictured all those shrunken little fat cells waiting under my skin for a spree of overeating so they could puff up again. Bailey had admitted, “Fat women annoy the hell out of me.” So why was he being so damned attentive to a potential fat woman?
I glanced at him, and he flashed me a smile. My lips tipped up weakly. He was handsome and interesting in a mystifying way. He represented the unknown, which to my inquisitive nature was the equivalent of an unexpected gift. I was distracted from the tour, but attracted to finding out more about Bailey.
Lilies That Fester Page 12
