A Deadly Bouquet (24 page)

“Eddie,” shouted one of the men. “The fire is almost to the southwest corner. You wanna check it out?”

“Gotta go,” he said. “I'll be around all day to make sure everything is saturated with water. We don't want any flare-ups. I hoped it would rain tonight or tomorrow, but I guess that isn't going to happen.”

The sun popped over the horizon, showering the landscape with flecks of gold. Looking at the light, I said, “I can't forget to paint those shrubs in the park.”

Eddie snorted. “Better you than me.” He took a couple of steps, stopped, and hollered, “Jerry, I said I didn't want the fire close to that tree. Put your eyes back in your head and pick up a shovel.”

I looked at Jerry and saw him staring at me. Under my breath, I said, “Wonder what his problem is?”

DeeDee giggled. “B-baby doll p-pajamas show p-plenty of leg.”

My father said, “We have enough heat around here, Bretta, without you adding to it.”

Embarrassed, I wrapped my robe around me and marched into the house. What a way to start the day.

Chapter Twenty

Friday was a repeat of Thursday with two exceptions. The morning paper ran the girl's picture from Claire's beauty shop ceiling. The photo was less imposing in black and white and only the width of two columns. I asked Lois, Lew, and my three extra helpers if they recognized the girl. None did. I thought about calling Chief Kelley to see if the picture had generated any new information, but didn't. As Avery, my lawyer friend, had said, I had “enough on my plate” with this wedding.

At four o'clock, the hospital called. Bailey was awake and asking for me. Tears of relief filled my eyes, but my heart was heavy.

“Go see him,” urged Lois. “According to your schedule, we're doing fine.”

“I can't.”

“Why not? While he was in a coma you visited him. Now that he's awake, don't you want to be there?”

I sighed. “I do, and I don't.”

Lois grabbed my arm and hauled me to the back room for a private grilling. “I'm not getting this,” she said. “What's going on? I know you like the man.”

“That's the problem. I don't just
like
him. I think I may love him.”

Lois rocked back on her heels. “Well, I'll be damned. You finally admitted it. I'm impressed. I thought it would be at least another six to eight months before you figured that out.”

I made a face. “Are you saying I'm slow?”

She grinned. “No, just conservative, and loyal to Carl's memory, and timid, and scared, and you think too much, and—”

I held up my hands. “Stop. Stop. I get the picture. I'm a neurotic mess, but only where Bailey is concerned. He boggles my mind.”

“Everyone should be so boggled. What's the problem?”

“I miss Carl, but I'm adjusting. I like my life the way it is. I have DeeDee. Dad is here, and our relationship is progressing. Bailey could complicate everything. I don't know what he expects. He said he's interested in me. He bought the cottage.” I gave her a meaningful look. “He might want
more
than I'm ready to give.”

Lois knew me well and tracked my thought explicitly. “Bretta, the man just woke up from a coma. I doubt that he's recovered his libido this quickly.”

“I don't know. He's danged sexy.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “If he has that kind of stamina, hook him and reel him in. He's a keeper.”

Grumbling, I said, “I never was much of a fisherman, but I'll think about it while I'm spraying the shrubs. Help me load those boxes of gold paint into the SUV. I'm going to the park. Can you keep everyone in line while I'm gone?”

“On the straight and narrow,” she said, hefting the first box. “They won't know you've left the building.”

*   *   *

Painting foliage was a mindless chore. Shake the can, aim, and press the nozzle. A light first coat. Another application and a final touch-up. Move on to the next bush.

Ho-hum. This area of the park was quiet and secluded. In a few hours the wedding rehearsal would begin. I wanted to be done with this painting and out of here, but if I could be a leaf on a tree, I'd stay. I wondered if Evelyn would order her daughter around like she'd ordered us.

Another ho-hum. I could think about Bailey, but what was the use? I could plan, and dream, and fret, and stew, but until I faced him, I didn't have a clue how I should act. A small part of me wanted to rush to his side and fling myself into his arms. But I wasn't the flinging type. Carl used to tease me that when it came my time to pass on, I'd have it planned down to my last breath.

I couldn't help it. I had to think everything through to what I thought might be the correct conclusion. I called it “covering my ass.” I didn't have to be right, but I had to use my brain.

I hadn't always been like this. The flower shop had changed the way I approached life. Every hour of every day I had to anticipate any eventuality. Should I order extra flowers? Would people want red roses this week or yellow or pink? Most of the time it was guesswork based on experience, but I still had to plan, to think, to reason.

I tossed another empty paint can into the box and uncapped a fresh container. My arm moved steadily back and forth, giving the foliage the Midas touch. The motion was hypnotic, and I was tired. My eyelids drooped. I jerked upright. Or maybe I was sucking down paint fumes. I giggled. Good thing I wasn't a smoker. If I lit up, I might
poof
like the sugar cubes DeeDee had saturated with liquor.

I eased my finger off the spray button.
Poof!
In my mind I saw Eddie's torch burst into flames and burn the blades of grass.

I shook my head to make the thought clearer. When that didn't work, I put the paint can on the path and walked away from my work. I went to the gazebo and sat on the steps. Taking deep breaths, I concentrated on that fragment of thought.

Liquor. Alcohol.
Poof!

Cause and effect.

Mead's milkweed.

I put my elbows on my knees and cupped my chin in my hands. Staring at the ground, I ordered myself to concentrate.

Claire had been the activist. Sonya had won honors in the Debate Club. Dana had cheered her team to victory. Kasey had been president of the Botany Club. In fact, all four girls had been members.

The preservation of our natural resources would have interested Kasey. It would also have made a good debate topic for Sonya. From past information, Claire had been hot and ready to take on any and all causes. Dana would've tagged along because that's the kind of person she is.

Was the Mead's milkweed extinct back in the sixties?

I sat up straight. Howie, Claire's ex-husband, had been the one to use the word
extinct.
I closed my eyes so I could remember his exact words: “History has a way of biting you in the ass. Everything can't be saved. It became extinct just like she is.”

“Everything can't be saved,” I said out loud. During the sixties, groups were formed to save the whales, save the rain forests, save the—flowers?

Had the girls tried to save the Mead's milkweed? How? Eddie had said a rapid burn would get rid of the thatch but would leave the plants underneath unharmed. Had the girls tried a controlled burn? Eddie used a propane torch to set the fire. What would the girls have used as an accelerant to set fire to an entire glade?

Something combustible. Gas? Diesel fuel? Kerosene? No. All were environmentally unsafe, and would have gone against ecological preservation.

My eyes binged open. “I'll be damned.” It had to be the lemon extract. Wasn't it made up of alcohol? Wouldn't it burn?

“Bretta, are you all right?”

I jerked around. Dana, Kasey, and Sonya stood off to my left.

Dana said, “Bretta, you're pale. Are you sick?”

“Inhaled too many paint fumes,” I said, getting up from the steps. I brushed past their united front, then turned and asked, “What brings all of you to the park? Kind of early for the rehearsal, isn't it?”

“There isn't going to be a rehearsal,” said Sonya.

I looked from one to the other. “Why? What's going on?”

“Evelyn says the ballet company has been held over in St. Louis for an encore performance.”

I shook my head. “I bet Evelyn is fit to be tied.”

Sonya said, “She's handling it well. She says Nikki is an intelligent woman. She can find her way to the altar.”

“I'm glad Evelyn is confident. I haven't liked this tight schedule since the first time I heard about it.” I looked at the women and repeated, “So what brings you to the park?”

Sonya seemed to be the trio's spokeswoman. “Dana called the flower shop and was told you were here. We've tried talking to you one-on-one, but that hasn't worked. Perhaps if we're together, we can persuade you to leave Claire's memory intact.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Claire's memory or your reputations?”

The women traded looks. Sonya said, “You obviously have something on your mind. Say it, and let's be done with it.”

I wasn't ready to speak my theory aloud. There were still too many leftover pieces of the puzzle. But I couldn't let this opportunity pass. I felt my way along. “Something was bothering Claire on the day she was murdered. She hinted at a secret while we were here at the park. Later she called me. Why me? Why not one of her friends? Unless she knew none of you would help her.”

“That's not true,” said Dana. “We would have done anything for Claire.”

“I'm sure you would. Right down to stealing four bottles of lemon extract from the high school's home ec kitchen.”

Sonya laughed. “That was a long time ago. What does a childhood prank have to do with Claire's murder?”

“You tell me.”

Kasey started to speak, but a look from Sonya silenced her.

I nodded. “Okay, if that's the way you want it. As you said, it was a long time ago, but not if the memory of what happened plays in your head daily. The mind keeps events fresh, and the pain doesn't go away, especially if you continue to probe it. I think that's what Claire did. She was the organizer of your little group. She decided to take the lemon extract, but only after Kasey expressed an urge to preserve the Mead's milkweed plant.

“I'm assuming you learned about the plant's extinction in botany class. Perhaps you took a field trip and saw it growing in its natural habitat, which is out on Catalpa Road.”

Sonya scoffed, “I don't see what you're driving at. We used the extract to make lemon squares.”

I shook my head. “No, you didn't. You set fire to that glade. You wanted to do a burn. Get rid of the heavy thatch of grass so the Mead's milkweed would have a chance to survive.”

Sonya looked at her two friends, then turned back to me. “This is all very interesting, but again I'm asking, what does it have to do with Claire's death?”

I didn't answer right away. I sensed a change in the trio facing me. When they'd arrived at the gazebo, I'd felt the tension in the air. Now they seemed more at ease. In fact, the longer I'd talked the more relaxed they'd become. That meant I was missing something. What?

Softly I recited, “You can boil me in oil. You can burn me at the stake. But a—”

The tension was back. Sonya's spine stiffened. Dana's knuckles turned white as she clenched her hands.

“No!” shouted Kasey. “Stop it. Don't say another word.”

“Why does that poem upset all of you so much?”

Sonya took a step in my direction. Her eyes were narrowed. “I'm telling you for the last time to drop it, Bretta.”

I was fully aware of my vulnerable position. I was in a secluded area of the park with three women, any of whom could be a murderer. In my head I heard Carl whisper, “Use the buddy approach, Babe, and if that don't work, run like hell.”

I softened my tone. “Your childhood friend has been murdered. A killer is walking around free. Doesn't that bother you? If any of you knows something, you need to tell me.”

Sonya said, “We don't have to tell you anything. I'm leaving, and if you ladies have any brains, you'll come with me.”

Without hesitation, Kasey went to Sonya's side. I looked at Dana. She was my best bet for information. I waited hopefully, wondering if she'd meekly follow Sonya's lead.

Dana licked her lips and fought back tears. “We aren't bad women, Bretta. We weren't bad girls. We most surely aren't murderers.”

Her words and tone touched me, but if I believed her, then who had killed Claire and Lydia? Who had driven the SUV that plowed into Bailey's truck? Who had constructed the deadly bouquet that had been left in my car? Who had the most to gain by bringing the past into the present?

Chapter Twenty-one

Nikki Montgomery's wedding day had arrived. It was Saturday, and the ceremony was to begin at eight o'clock that evening. My crew and I were in the park by ten
A.M.
, ready for some intense decorating and beautifying. We wouldn't bring the flowers until later in the day, but there was plenty of preparation to do before we set the bouquets in place. My SUV was packed with everything I'd need—hammers, nails, tacks, florist knives and nippers, wire, tape, a ladder, and a box of Band-Aids.

Lois would stay at the flower shop until twelve, when the store closed. She had several sympathy arrangements to make for Lydia's memorial service, which was scheduled for two o'clock that afternoon. Gertrude was answering the phone, doing whatever needed to be done. Once the shop was locked, both women would join us in the park. I'd left money for them to buy us lunch. By noon we would be in need of sustenance.

I had begun my day by tackling the tulle. Working with the filmy material was like fighting a phantom opponent. My nerves were already shredded. I'd spent another sleepless night, worrying and wondering. I'd juggled thoughts of the wedding with the murders until I thought I'd go bananas. Bananas had made me think of food. I'd raided the refrigerator. At the very back of the freezer, I'd found DeeDee's stash of Blue Bunny ice cream—tin-roof sundae, my favorite. I'd eaten half the carton, and had indigestion the rest of the night.