Lilies That Fester

by Janis Harrison

  Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and stepped inside. My sudden appearance made the old man behind the desk sit up straight in his chair. He was dressed decorously in a dark suit and tie. His hair was gray, eyes solemn and direct.

  “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t hear the front doorbell.”

  “I didn’t come in the front door. I came around to the back.”

  “I see. My name is Anthony Bardova. How may I help you?”

  “I’ve come to see the McDuffys.”

  Instantly he was alert, but his propriety never wavered. He flashed a smile, but his right hand dropped out of sight. “You have reason to believe they’re here?”

  “Bailey Monroe told me,” I lied.

  Anthony never took his eyes off mine. “Mr. Monroe is a friend of yours?”

  “We’re acquainted. May I see Mabel and Vincent, please?”

  He pushed away from the desk, and I thought he was going to lead the way to the McDuffys, but he merely leaned back in his chair. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “That’s because I never tossed it.” He chuckled and crossed his legs, settling in for a pleasant visit. Softly, I asked, “Are you waiting for the next of kin to claim the bodies? Their daughter, Stephanie, died last month, so whom have you contacted?”

  Finally, I’d shaken Anthony’s composure. He uncrossed his legs and stood up. “I think you’d better go,” he said, walking around his desk.

  From the look in his eye, I knew he was about to politely escort me from the room and out of the chapel. In my present mood I wasn’t willing to budge. Then like a typical female, I changed my mind. I smiled at Anthony and turned toward the door. He opened it, and we traded smiles, again.

  I was facing the back door, where Anthony assumed I’d go. I played along, even took a step in that direction before pivoting on my toe and hotfooting it down the hall bound for the scenic route. I had a nice head start before the old man grasped my intention. I was randomly opening doors, peering in, and backing out when he caught up to me.

  “Don’t do that,” he said, putting a hand on my arm. “Please. You can’t—”

  I shrugged him away and threw open another door. Since I was in a funeral home, I’d prepared myself for any and all situations, but never what I got. Bailey and another man were seated at a table covered with papers, a chrome cell phone, and a laptop computer. Neither man appeared surprised by my sudden entry. In fact, Bailey beckoned me into the room, then nodded to Anthony, who backed out and quietly closed the door.

  Bailey shook his head. “I’ve had several informative chats with Sheriff Hancock, but he didn’t do you justice. He told me you were clever and … uh … tenacious. I understand you’re inquiring about the McDuffys.”

  At my amazed look, Bailey pointed to a speaker in the corner of the room. “When you mentioned their name, Anthony switched on the intercom. Sheriff Hancock called to tell us that you would be dropping off an envelope. You must have been in the area because Reggie and I weren’t expecting you quite so soon.”

  Bailey glanced at my empty hands. “I don’t see that envelope. Where is it, Bretta? I want it, and I want it now.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say that “People in hell want ice water,” but I swallowed that comment and lied instead. “I don’t have it with me.”

  Bailey traded glances with Reggie, who had shaggy brown hair and prominent eyes in a thin face. He wore grungy blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a torn pocket, and a pair of dirty sneakers.

  “We could get a search warrant,” said Reggie, “but I hesitate going to that extreme when we don’t know what’s in the envelope. It could be nothing, but then again—” He lifted a shoulder. “It’ll have to be your call, Bailey. You’re more familiar with the participants.”

  They leaned across the table, speaking in hushed tones. I looked from Bailey’s spit and polish to Reggie’s disheveled appearance. The latter looked like a thug, while Bailey gave the impression of impeccable respectability.

  “Impression” was the tip-off that set my mind to whirling. Who was Bailey trying to impress? Then it hit me like a wallop between the eyes. I’m no prodigy, but I’m not a fool. Even if Reggie were cleaned up, I’d never give him another thought. But Bailey had worked hard to catch my attention, and he’d done it superbly.

  From the beginning, he’d let me know that we had many things in common. I felt a flash of betrayal when I remembered how he’d sympathized about Carl’s death. I thought I’d found someone who understood my loneliness. But why had he singled me out? What did he hope to gain from making my acquaintance?

  Apparently, Bailey hadn’t known about the McDuffys’ envelope until Sid told him a short time ago. So that wasn’t it. Bailey had begun his observance of me before he’d gotten the call about the “bodies.” If I followed this line of reasoning, whatever was going on had started before the McDuffys were murdered. Somehow I figured into this, but I wasn’t sure how, unless it had to do with the florist convention.

  I took a step forward. Reggie slammed the laptop shut, then shuffled the scattered papers. His actions briefly exposed a badge, lying on the table. I caught sight of a gold eagle and the words—“Department of Justice.”

  I ignored Reggie, concentrating on Bailey. He still had the ability to leave me giddy, but now for another reason. I’d stepped into the middle of a federal investigation. I wanted reassurance from Bailey. I wanted comfort. If he would’ve stood up and opened his arms, I’d have walked into his embrace without hesitation.

  But this man, who sat at the table, was a different Bailey Monroe than the one who’d stroked my hand and kissed my lips. Had the attention he’d paid me been part of the investigation?

  The two men were still whispering. I broke into their gabfest, directing a question at Bailey. “Why have you been hanging around me?”

  “I’m not at liberty to answer your questions.”

  His abrupt tone hurt, but I kept my voice under control. “All right, then let me tell you a few facts. The McDuffys slid an envelope under the door of my room. In a note addressed to me, they requested that I keep the envelope for them until they came back for it. The note also advised that if they didn’t return, I was to open the envelope and assess the contents.”

  Bailey listened closely. “Which you’ve done?”

  “Yes, but only after I made numerous attempts to contact them. Since they didn’t retrieve the envelope or make an effort to find me, I’ve put two and two together. The couple found at the bottom of the ravine was the McDuffys.”

  “Not bad,” said Reggie. He smirked at Bailey. “I see what you mean about her.”

  I didn’t appreciate the comment or the look he’d given Bailey, but I focused on what I wanted to say. “You went out of your way to meet me in the hotel. Why? What did you expect me to tell you? What did you want from me?”

  Bailey fielded my questions with questions. “Why wouldn’t I look to you for insight when you possess a plethora of knowledge? By your own admission you’re capable of putting two and two together. How do we know you haven’t used your expertise for less than honorable reasons? How do we know you found the envelope in your room? Perhaps you stole it from the McDuffys. Why wouldn’t you become a suspect in the McDuffys’double homicide?”

  The words “suspect” and “double homicide” blew what little composure I had left. When I’d recovered enough air so I could speak, I said, “The envelope held a picture of their daughter, Stephanie, a cassette tape, and a note to me. None of which are motives for me to commit murder.”

  “So you say,” said Bailey. “But now that the envelope has been opened, how are we to know you didn’t privately remove a piece of incriminating evidence?”

  “Because I’m telling you I did not.”

  Bailey shrugged. “Just your being here is suspicious. Weren’t you told this afternoon by a Branson police officer not to leave the hotel?”

  “Yes, but he said if I did leave, I had to tell th
e people at the front desk where I was going.”

  “So they know you’re here?”

  I swallowed. “No. I said I was taking a drive.” The quick glance Bailey shot Reggie made my hands shake. “You aren’t going to tell me anything, are you?”

  Both men stared. I could have told them that it was in their best interests to have me as an ally, rather than blunder on my own, but I didn’t. I left the room, pulling the door shut. Before the latch caught, I heard Reggie say, “Maybe we should’ve taken her into custody.”

  Bailey replied, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  His brusque tone, more than Reggie’s suggestion, brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked them away. Anthony hadn’t put in an appearance, so I let myself out the back door of the funeral chapel.

  Before getting into my car, I stared up at the star-spangled sky. A short time ago I’d compared my perception of this investigation to a flower garden that had too many weeds. My analogy would have to be stretched to a grander scale. This was no longer a piddling backyard plot of tilled soil. I’d wandered smack dab into the middle of a national forest, and my “weeds” were more intimidating than I’d thought.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I walked into the hotel lobby and immediately thought I’d entered a one-man show. Hooked to a wireless microphone, Tyrone was addressing the floral conference attendees, who were ringed around the balconies. I glanced at my watch. There was less than forty minutes until the Mel Tillis show.

  Alvin noted my arrival and sidled over. “Your association’s president decided to speak from the lobby, rather than call for a group meeting in an appropriate area. I was given ten minutes to bring this assemblage out of their rooms.” He nodded to the numerous spectators. “I’ve counted one hundred and eighty-seven, which isn’t a bad turnout, if I do say so.” He grimaced. “Not that I had a choice. Your president is a … uh … forceful man. He really gets off being the master of ceremonies.”

  “Ruler,” I said. “Effie was right about the meaning of Tyrone’s name. It suits him.” Seeing Alvin’s blank look, I pointed to Effie. “She’s made it a hobby knowing the origin of names and their definitions, and how they relate to our personalities.”

  “That’s interesting. I wonder what my name means.” He raised an eyebrow. “Got any idea?”

  “You’ll have to ask Effie,” I said, moving down a ramp to the older woman’s side. “What have I missed?” I whispered.

  She shook her head wearily. “Three tawdry jokes, dear.”

  I tuned in to Tyrone. “—asked you to gather here before leaving for this evening’s festivities. My fellow florists, there has been an unfortunate accident. It isn’t necessary for me to go into the particulars, but suffice it to say we’ve lost a valuable member of our association, as well as a good friend. Angelica Weston died this afternoon; however, the conference will go on as planned.”

  “When was this decision made?” I asked Effie.

  “About an hour ago, against the board’s unanimous vote.”

  “—no reason for us to give up our weekend. Gellie was full of fun and laughter. I’m sure she would’ve wanted us to carry on with our plans and make the most of this unfortunate situation.”

  “If that man says ‘unfortunate’ one more time I’m going to bust him,” I muttered.

  Effie patted my arm. “He’s an ignoramus, and most of these people know it or if they didn’t, they do now.”

  “In Angelica’s honor, I’ve requested the hotel provide an ‘Angelic’ dessert for those of you who’d like to congregate in the east ballroom after the show this evening. I think it fitting that we share a period of reflection for our departed colleague.”

  Effie clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “The man has no concept of good taste.”

  I was steamed. The nerve. The absolute gall. To use food to celebrate Gellie’s memory was the cruelest notion Tyrone could have hatched.

  Tyrone continued, “Delia hurt her hand. Just this afternoon, Darren had to leave on an important assignment. This conference shall remain a fond memory for years to come, but I see no need to continue with the contest.”

  His announcement brought a hue and cry from the attendees. I gritted my teeth. If the conference was to go on as planned then so should the contest. I moved toward Tyrone with the intention of pointing this out.

  Once I left the sidelines and entered his realm of limelight, the crowd applauded my arrival. Tyrone had his back to me. The microphone dangled from his hand. Before he knew what was happening, I snatched the apparatus and shouted, “Welcome to the first annual Show-Me-Floral Designers’ Conference AND CONTEST.”

  My words brought bedlam to the balconies and twisted Tyrone’s facial features into a savage fury. I quickly waved for silence. “I regret beginning our conference by disputing our esteemed president’s decision, but the last time I checked, I was coordinator of the floral contest.”

  As I spoke into the microphone, my gaze circled the lobby. Chloe was dabbing her eyes. Robbee’s hard stare was telepathic, willing me to name him as a new contestant. Bernice twitched with fury, while Allison didn’t seem at all surprised by my actions. Back in the farthest corner near the café was Hubert, Darren’s right-hand man. Why hadn’t he left the hotel with his employer? Where was Miriam? I caught sight of her sitting at a table on the terrace lounge. When our eyes locked, she slowly nodded, then looked across the lobby to Hubert. Her head swiveled back to me, then back to him. What was she trying to tell me?

  There wasn’t time to figure it out now. I had one hundred and eighty-seven pairs of eyes drilling me. “As contest coordinator, it’s my pleasure to announce that the contest—”

  The microphone went dead. I turned and saw Tyrone had disconnected the battery pack that hung from the waistband of his trousers. I appealed to Alvin for assistance. He held up his hands helplessly. Tyrone’s satisfied smile was premature. I would not be thwarted.

  My country heritage rose from the depths of my diaphragm. In my younger days, when I’d lived on a farm, I’d been able to call the cows to the barn from a field that was a quarter of a mile away.

  Graze. Green. I closed my eyes in order to concentrate, but someone yelled, “Come on, Bretta.” I opened my eyes and shook my head to clear it. Cupping my hands to my lips, I cut loose. “CONTEST TEN O’CLOCK TOMORROW. BE THERE!”

  I shoved the useless microphone into Tyrone’s hand, turned on my heel, and stalked away amid cheers that threatened to bring the hotel down around our ears.

  I made for Effie, who I knew I could count on for uncensured support. She welcomed me into the circle of her arms, and I rested my chin on her lavender curls. People underestimate the power of a hug. It was wonderful to be wrapped in an embrace and held close as if I truly mattered. Tears welled in my eyes, and I had to step away from the little woman before I blubbered all over her.

  I patted her wrinkled cheek. “Thanks for standing by me.”

  Effie grimaced. “Of course I’ll stand by you, dear, but I never should have stood by and let you provoke Tyrone. Rulers don’t like to be embarrassed or defied.”

  I put my arm across her stooped shoulders. “Don’t give it another thought. You couldn’t have stopped me. Tyrone’s insincerity regarding Gellie’s death was more than I could take. Add in the fact that he canceled the contest, and my composure crumbled like a piece of overcooked bacon.”

  Effie peered up at me. “You must be hungry, dear.”

  I took stock of my physical condition—heart rate above normal, stomach gnawing for attention. “Yeah, I could use a bite.” I looked up at the balconies. Most of the spectators were gone, but a few lingered, talking and laughing. Tyrone had vanished into his suite. Chloe and Robbee were leaving for the concert. As he passed through the doorway, Robbee glanced back at me and mouthed one word, “Please.”

  Hubert had disappeared, but Miriam was still on the terrace lounge. When our eyes met, she gestured to the chair opposite her.

  Did I have the sta
mina to deal with her? My feet hurt, and my stomach demanded food. I sighed. A conversation with Miriam wouldn’t last long. I’d either tick her off or she’d rile me, and that would be the end of it.

  Beside me, Effie said, “I’ve been thinking, dear.”

  “What about?”

  “Murder.”

  I took her arm and gently led her to a secluded corner. “But you’ve just been thinking about it, right?”

  She chuckled. “While Tyrone was speaking, it was tempting, but I haven’t done the deed.”

  “I meant you haven’t been nosing around?”

  “Just a smidgen.”

  My throat closed so I could barely get the words out. “Such as?”

  “It seemed like it might be advantageous if I let everyone know that you’re on the case. You know, shift the rock so to speak, then, like you said, our guilty party can slither out of hiding.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I think it will work, dear. I’ve seen it done on television, though we’ll be smarter than those actors. We’ll be on our toes, ready to nab the scoundrel.”

  I gazed into her faded blue eyes and spoke firmly. “Effie, you have to promise me that you’ll go up to your room.” I pictured the blood from the cut on Delia’s hand, and quickly added, “Check your door handle before you touch it. Someone is playing a nasty game with razor blades.”

  “Razor blades?” Bewildered, she shook her head. “I don’t understand. What kind of game could you play with something so menacing?”

  For her own safety, I quickly filled her in on how Delia had been hurt. When I was finished the little woman was as pale as the white hankie she’d taken from her pocket. She dabbed her eyes.

  “Someone is after you, dear? I won’t have that, you know.”