“Friend? Which one, Gellie? You have so many. Come down, so we can go back to the hotel.”
Bailey was nearly at the top. Just a few more feet and he could grab her. Gellie shifted her position and almost fell. There were gasps of horror.
“Gellie,” I screamed. “Sit down.”
She rose on her toes. “My name is Angelica, Bretta. I will fly.” She flapped her arms, making the shawl flutter like gossamer wings, then she leaped from the top of the waterfall.
If she made a sound as she fell, I didn’t hear it. The only noise in my ears was my own high-pitched screech.
Chapter Fourteen
“Had your friend had a fight with her husband or boyfriend?” asked the officer.
I answered his question in a spiritless monotone. “Gellie didn’t have a husband.” Remembering Effie’s comment that she thought Gellie had fallen in love, I added, “And as far as I know, there wasn’t a boyfriend.”
But there was someone nicknamed “Friend” lurking around. I wanted to pursue this line of thought, but my muddled brain refused to cooperate.
It helped that the officer and I were in my room at the hotel and away from the conservatory where Gellie had died. But no change of scenery could shake the image of her balanced on that rock, her arms outstretched before she plunged to her death.
When she hit the stone pool, none of us had moved. It was Bailey who’d scrambled down from the top of the waterfall and checked for a pulse. Finding none, he’d immediately urged everyone out of the Fern Grotto, myself included. He had alerted the Branson authorities from his cell phone, and hardly before the tragedy had sunk in, our group was back aboard the bus and headed for the hotel.
“Gellie?” the officer repeated, consulting his notebook. “Angelica Weston. Gellie was a nickname?”
“There’s a lot of that going around,” I said, then shuddered. Gellie’s last words had been an admonishment to me that her name was Angelica, but in my mind she’d always be Gellie.
“Had Ms. Weston been depressed?”
“Some. She’d lost weight, but was putting a few pounds back on.”
“Do you think that’s why she jumped?”
“I don’t know.” I mopped the tears from my cheeks. “She was trying to curb her appetite. She’d come on the tour prepared with a healthy snack.”
I opened my purse and saw the empty razor-blade cartridge. I hesitated for a split second. Telling this officer about the blades taped to the door handles would complicate everything. So I simply handed him the plastic bag with the sliver of green and briefly told him how I’d come by it, and how Gellie had tossed the unopened candy bars in the trash.
The look he shot me was skeptical. “Let me get this straight. You think your friend was in control because she’d fought off eating the candy bars by substituting a bunch of green stuff?” He shrugged. “In light of the fact that she jumped, I’d say it didn’t work worth a damn.”
He slapped his notebook shut and tucked it into his pocket. Gingerly, he picked up the plastic bag. “I’ll keep this. I may have more questions, so don’t leave the hotel without letting the front desk know your whereabouts.” He walked out of my room shaking his head.
I was staring at the closed door when the phone rang. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but when it continued to ring, I finally picked up the receiver. “What is it?”
“Bretta?” asked Lois.
“Oh, Lois,” I said, sinking onto the bed. “Something awful has happened.” The floodgates opened, and I sobbed. “Gellie’s dead. She thought she could fly and jumped off a waterfall.”
“Fly? Why would a woman her size think she could get off the ground?”
“She had her stomach stapled and had lost one hundred and sixty pounds, but she was gaining again. I should have taken her worries more seriously. I should have done something to help her. I was there. I saw her—fall. It was horrible, and it happened so fast. I was helpless to do anything.”
“Gosh, Bretta, I don’t know what to say. We are talking about the same Gellie? The one we’ve known for years? I can’t picture a slim and trim Gellie, let alone fathom her leaping to her death.”
I used the tail of my sweater to wipe away my tears. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I can’t imagine us going on with the conference.”
“Really? But think of all the florists who will be arriving. I’ve talked to several today, and they’re leaving for Branson as soon as they close their shops. Too late to stop them from making the trip.”
We were silent, thinking our own thoughts. I finally roused myself to ask, “So what did you need? Why’d you call?”
“I received an unexpected visitor this afternoon at the flower shop.” Lois paused for dramatic effect. “Our esteemed sheriff.”
My shoulders slumped even lower. “That’s just great. What did Sid want?”
“For starters, he says you’ve been back to Spencer County today. I told him I hadn’t heard from you. Is he right? Have you been back?”
“Yeah, but just to the edge of the county.”
“Bretta, Sid is ticked off, but not in his usual way. He seemed genuinely worried about you. What are you doing? What have you gotten mixed up in?”
“The McDuffys have been murdered, but it’s too complicated to get into now. What else did Sid say?”
“This is the frightening part. He said you’re very smart, and you’ve done some fine work in the past, but you’re out of your element and out of his jurisdiction. He won’t be able to help you this time.” Lois’s tone grew earnest. “Sid doesn’t hand out compliments, and especially not where you’re concerned. Whatever you’re doing, please stop.”
“But I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes you are. You’re asking questions, chatting it up with people who could be dangerous.”
I shivered at the intensity in her voice. How would she react if I told her about the razor blades? “Don’t talk for a minute. I need to think.”
“It’s your dime. I’m at the flower shop.”
Carl had taught me that with detective work you grab one primary fact and run with it, even if it doesn’t seem to have a connection. It was difficult centralizing my thoughts on the McDuffys and Stephanie, when my mind wanted to hopscotch back to Gellie.
I stopped chewing on my lip. But wasn’t that what this was about—a connection between the McDuffys, or at least Stephanie and Gellie? There were lots of loose ends, but the one fact that leaped—I shivered—out at me was that both women had been grossly overweight.
Gellie had taken the drastic action of having her stomach stapled to reduce her intake of food, but she’d learned that she could still eat the snacks she craved, only in small amounts. Since her choices were high in calories, she’d put on a few pounds and was horrified that she might regain the lost weight.
In the café, she’d told me that she still had “the mind of a fat woman.” Most people wouldn’t understand how an obese person thinks. I had an advantage. While I’d never felt frantic, there had been times when I’d cried about my weight.
As a “fat woman” Gellie had been desperate to lose her extra poundage and had resorted to surgery. In the picture of Stephanie, I’d seen that same desperation to make a change.
Change?
Had Stephanie lost weight, too? If so, how had she done it?
“Are you there?” whispered Lois in my ear. “I’ve got something else for you.”
“Mmm? What’s that?”
“Something has been bothering me. You said the McDuffys had eavesdropped on your phone conversation, while I was helping them plan the flowers for their daughter’s funeral. That made me think about how small the service was. That made me think about the people who did send flowers. So, while I’m not encouraging you, I do have a scrap of information. I looked up the flower orders that we did for Stephanie’s service.”
“Really? That was ingenious. I’ll make an official sidekick out of you yet.”
Lois
’s tone was dry. “I don’t want an ounce of credit if you get into serious trouble, but here’s what I found. We sent the spray of flowers for the casket, of course, but we also sent two potted plants and one cut flower bouquet. The plants were from a Baptist church and Kidwell’s Greenhouse.”
“So Stephanie attended church, and bought plants at her local greenhouse. Nothing helpful there. What about the cut flower bouquet? Who was it from?”
“We received the order from a shop right there in Branson. Tessa’s Flowers requested a fifty-dollar arrangement of pastel colors, but no name on the card. I’ve been around you long enough to know the next step. Since I had the number in front of me, I called Tessa and asked who placed the order. Sorry, but it was a cash sale.”
“Damn!”
“Originally, I took the order and after studying it, I recalled thinking at the time that we sure get odd messages for sympathy cards. When Mr. Chappen died I had to write, ‘Wait for me at the Pearly Gates.’ However, the card we put on a sympathy bouquet for Lucille Peters’s service was the best. ‘Ain’t misbehavin’ without you,’ signed ‘Snookie.’ I understand her husband is still looking for Snookie, whoever he or she might be. But it was another cash order, so I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t know who the sender might be.”
I drummed my fingers impatiently on the nightstand. “Is this going somewhere?”
“Just thought you might like to know how this card was signed.”
“I thought you said there wasn’t a name.”
“No name, but a neat message. I think it’s the title of a song. ‘Whenever I Call You “Friend.” ’ That’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”
After I’d told the woman at the front desk that I was going for a drive and would be back in an hour, I went out to my car. Just before I climbed behind the wheel I saw something on the hood. The muscles in my throat tightened. This time I used a tissue to pick up the empty Schick razor-blade container.
I looked around. A few people were in the parking lot, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. My skin was cold and clammy. My knees felt hinged on both sides. I flopped into the car unable to stand a moment longer.
Once the doors were locked, I asked myself who was stalking me? Where were all those blades that were missing from the two containers I’d found? Would they turn up when I least expected them? What if someone was seriously injured when I was the intended victim? What was I to do? Who should I talk to? I felt vulnerable sitting alone in the parking lot. I started the car and pulled out on the highway.
The fresh air felt good on my face. I lowered my car window a few more inches and pressed on the accelerator. On the seat next to me was the Kenny Loggins cassette. That was my reason for getting away from the hotel, but I couldn’t concentrate on the music when I was agitated over the empty razor-blade box.
Carl’s voice in my ear tried to soothe me. “Settle down, Bretta. Keep your cool. Someone is playing mind games.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Listen to the cassette, Babe.”
I nodded, but I put off slipping it in the tape deck. I wanted the volume turned up, and I also wanted out of heavy traffic so I could focus on the lyrics.
Once I’d left Branson behind, I looked for a quiet place to pull over. Several miles outside of town I happened upon a tourist rest stop with a view of Table Rock Lake. The lot was empty, which suited my purpose. I parked my car and stared at the water that was as placid as a pool of gray paint. The edges blended and bled onto the land that was slowly being shadowed by nightfall.
I put the cassette in the tape deck but didn’t push the PLAY button. I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes. My original plan was to think about Stephanie and listen to the song that according to her parents she’d played over and over. But I was so tired. My emotional day had taken a toll on my body. I was running on empty, and yet I couldn’t erase the melee of images that persisted in my mind.
“Help me, Carl,” I said aloud.
But it was Bailey’s voice that answered, “You need something else to think about.” I visualized his face, his coppery eyes, and his warm smile. I felt his lips brush mine in a tender kiss.
“No!” I shouted, then looked around to see if someone had driven up while I’d been lost in thought. I was alone.
Frustrated, I jerked upright and punched the PLAY button. I turned the volume up and Kenny Loggins’s voice, accompanied by Stevie Nicks, filled the car. Straining to catch the lyrics, I mouthed the words.
I played the song to the end, then hit the REWIND button and turned the volume a notch higher. Leaning forward, I listened carefully. A third time, I poked the button to rewind the tape, and then played it again.
When the song came to its conclusion, I snapped off the player. Gellie had sung a portion of this song before she jumped to her death. The same song Stephanie McDuffy had played, while she sipped tea and waited for the mail.
Chapter Fifteen
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. My allotted hour away from the hotel was almost gone. I started my car and pulled out on the blacktop, traveling the dark and winding road back into Branson.
What did the Kenny Loggins song represent? I’d listened to the lyrics, but they hadn’t carried any particular message. Other than the word “Friend” in the title, I couldn’t see how the music was important except that it was another bond between Gellie and Stephanie. But wasn’t it trivial? Kind of like a weed in a flowerbed. If I yanked it out, what difference would it make to the overall picture?
I smiled. Maybe that’s what I should do to this entire investigation. Yank out the nonessential and concentrate on the basic design of my garden. I’d told Effie that I needed to discover “why” the McDuffys had been murdered. If I could do that, the guilty party would slither out of hiding.
The “why” was in my peripheral vision, but it was obscured by too many irrelevant details. I needed to pull a few more “weeds.” I thought a moment. Or maybe, I needed to attack the situation from another angle. Forget the “why” and think of the “who.”
Who among the suspects would call himself “Friend”?
Robbee topped the list, but I came up with more reasons for him not being the suspect than I did for him. While Robbee might act like a friend, his charm was blatant and superficial. Gellie would’ve seen through his shallow demeanor, even if Stephanie hadn’t. Robbee had answered my questions about Stephanie readily enough. He’d even offered up Gellie’s name when I’d persisted in wanting to know more.
No, I was looking for someone craftier than Robbee, someone subtler, with a motive other than getting hold of Stephanie’s artwork. However, before I plucked Robbee from my garden, I wanted to talk with him again.
When I entered the city limits cars were bumper to bumper, waiting to turn into the different country music theaters. Fidgeting with my rearview mirror, I watched a couple of patrol officers trying to ease the snarl of traffic, and my thoughts went to Sid. Why had he sung my praises to Lois? Did I dare ask him?
I quickly made a right, escaping the congestion, and a few blocks later pulled into a convenience store parking lot. I got out of my car and entered the brightly lit store. Hot dogs roasting on a rotisserie held my attention for only a second. Two women waited for their order. A man was buying cigarettes at the counter. All had glanced up when I’d opened the door. The man nodded to me. I gave him a preoccupied smile, looked around for the pay phone, and spotted it next to a display of Budweiser beer.
I rummaged for change in my purse, saw the container of flower preservative, and sighed. If I didn’t get rid of some of this stuff, I was going to become lopsided from hauling it around.
I deposited the coins, then dialed a number that I dislike using. A conversation with Sheriff Sid Hancock, more often than not, brought on a whopping headache, or at least that was his complaint. On my end, it wasn’t my head that hurt but my ears. Sid has an annoying habit of sounding off in a very loud fashion. A telephone co
nversation about a topic I proposed to introduce would result in an assault on my hearing.
“Hancock, here,” answered Sid, on the fourth ring.
“Hi. It’s Bretta.” Instinctively, I moved the phone three inches from my ear.
“What the hell do you want? Are you still in Branson? Why are you calling me?”
“Has Bailey Monroe contacted you lately?” It was a shot in the dark, but it zinged in, right on target. Sid sucked in his breath, then released it in a whoosh.
“Bretta,” he began, but I interrupted him.
“What’s going on, Sid? Why has a lid been put on the McDuffys’ deaths?”
“Leave it alone, Bretta. This is out of your league. I sure the hell know it’s out of mine. If you meddle in this, I’ll be visiting you at Leavenworth.”
I blinked. Leavenworth was a federal prison. Federal? I swallowed the uncomfortable lump that rose in my throat. “If I knew what was going on, Sid, I’d—”
I should’ve known it was coming, but I was too engrossed with what I was saying to move the phone away from my ear. Sid’s next words burst through the receiver and reverberated in my brain.
“Damnit to hell, Bretta, you don’t have to know everything. This doesn’t concern you—”
“Not directly, but indirectly I’ve been dragged into it. Whatever ‘it’ might be. The McDuffys gave me an envelope to keep for them.”
“Get rid of it! Get rid of it! Give it to—” His voice dwindled away.
“Yes?” I asked coolly. “Who should I give it to, Sid?”
“Listen, Bretta. Listen real carefully. Don’t ask any questions. For once in your life, do as I say. Take that envelope to 708 Pine Tree Lane. Ask for Anthony, but that’s the only inquiry you make. Got it?”
Slowly I hung up the phone. Yeah, I got it. 708 Pine Tree Lane. That was the address to the Eternal Rest Chapel. It looked like I had one more stop to make before going back to the hotel.
Five minutes later I parked my car in the same place Bailey had that morning. Shored up by a need to get to the bottom of whatever was going on, I brazenly moved to the back door of the chapel and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I ignored the neatly printed sign—PLEASE RING BEFORE ENTERING—that hung above the bell and walked in. I continued down a hall until I came to a door marked OFFICE.
Lilies That Fester Page 14
