Authors: Janis Harrison

Lilies That Fester (11 page)

BOOK: Lilies That Fester

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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 â¦ uh â¦ 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 partâthe 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, andâ”

“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 anythingâto 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 toâ”

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.

I cleared my throat. “The â¦ uh â¦ stargazer lilies are the most fragrant, but they're also the most expensive. I can't give them away.”

“Money,” said Bailey softly. “It always comes back to money, doesn't it?”

This man could rile me faster than a telemarketer, but being near him made my heart thump in an abnormal fashion. “I wasn't talking about being compensated. The flowers aren't mine to give away or to sell. They were donated to the association for our contest.”

Bailey pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “I don't know of any organization that can't use extra cash. I'd like five pink carnations, a stem of lilies, and some of that stuff over there.” He pointed to the glossy foliage that had arrived from California last night. “I like the shiny leaves.”

His random choices went against my creative nature. “That foliage is too heavy to use with the flowers you've chosen. How about some baby's breath, or maybe some fern to give your bouquet an airy look?”

Bailey snorted. “I'm going to stuff the flowers into a water pitcher and set it on a table with literature about attracting butterflies to gardens. Do you think anyone will care if the greens are heavy or if the bouquet is airy?”

“They should,” I said as I stepped past him into the cooler. I
broke off a woody stem of greenery, then came out of the cooler, shutting the door a bit harder than necessary. I chose the carnations and the lily, then looked around for something to wrap them in.

Bailey took the flowers out of my hands. “Thanks,” he murmured and buried his nose in the open lily blossom. “These
are
strong smelling,” he said, looking at me over the tops of the blooms.

I smothered a giggle. The rusty-brown pollen from the anther had left its imprint across the tip of his nose. I touched one of the anthers, and then showed him the dust on my finger. “You look like a brown-noser,” I said softly. “A good cop would never want to be accused of that.”

Bailey laid the flowers on a table. In a measured tone, he said, “I told you I was a deejay.”

“That's right, you did say that. My radar must be on the fritz.”

Bailey took a step closer. “You need something else to think about,” he said, cupping my head in his hands. He leaned forward and rubbed his nose sensuously across mine.

Our breath mingled. Our eyes locked. Nerve endings exploded all over my body, and then his lips touched mine. His kiss was as soft and light as the brush of a rose petal. He stepped back, picked up his flowers, and walked out.

When I could breathe again, I murmured, “Oh, Carl, I'm sorry.”

“Why, Babe, because you enjoyed a little kiss?”

“But I don't even know the man.”

Carl's derisive laughter rang in my ears. “What's to know? Bailey Monroe intrigues you.”

“More like irritates and aggravates. Effie was right. Bailey's a cop. I could kick myself for not seeing it sooner. My gosh, I
lived with you for twenty-four years, I ought to be able to spot one.”

Staring off into space, I mused aloud, “I wonder if anything Bailey told me is the truth. When we spoke on the elevator, he said he was an avid gardener. Wouldn't an experienced gardener know about the pollen on the lily? Wouldn't he know which flowers were the most fragrant? Why didn't he go to the roses or the carnations or the lilies without asking me?”

“He wanted honeysuckle, Babe.”

I grimaced. “That's a moot point. Everyone knows honeysuckle has an aroma. When I didn't have what he wanted, wouldn't an avid gardener and a butterfly enthusiast know which flowers to pick?

“Effie told him I'd lost pounds and pounds. So why did he make that crack about fat women to me? Gellie was right to worry about packing on the pounds. My emotions are a direct line to my overeating. I think I'm strong, but, Carl, there are so many pressures.

“And speaking of pressures, what about the McDuffys? Is Robbee involved in their deaths? Did Stephanie witness something at the hybrid lily exhibition that haunted her? Lavelle said she had been filled with hopes and dreams when she came home. Was Robbee the main focus of those hopes and dreams?”

I sighed a gusty breath. “It looks like I have plenty of suspects, if I take into account that half our contestants and board of directors was at that June exhibit. Darren, Gellie, Miriam, Zach, Tyrone, and Bernice were all on that tour. How does this floral conference factor into what's going on?”

I waited expectantly for one of Carl's intelligent commentaries, but he was silent. Grumpily, I reached for the switch to
the lights just as the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and said, “Basement. This is Bretta.”

“I have information on the McDuffys.”

The voice was raspy. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. “Who is this?”

“You want what I have or not?”

“How do you know the McDuffys?”

“I'm hanging up.”

“All right, all right. What kind of information do you have?”

“I'm not going into it over the phone.”

“And I'm not meeting you in some dark, deserted alley. You can keep your infoâ”

“Just shut up and listen. I've made some notes, and I'll leave the paper in the tropical plant that's by the entrance into the souvenir shop. Better not tarry too long.”

“How do youâ” I stopped when I heard the click in my ear. Tarry too long? Was that a threat that the info would be taken away if I didn't get there immediately?

I switched the lights off, grabbed my purse, and headed for the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, I arrived at the door to the lobby. As I reached for the handle, I saw something that didn't look right. I leaned closer and spied a razor blade positioned where I'd been ready to grab. What had gotten my attention was the tail end of a piece of duct tape used to fasten the blade in place. The gray of the tape was a different color than the metal gray of the handle.

I was spooked. It showed in the tiny beads of sweat that gathered on my upper lip, and the way my legs weakened to the point where I had to lean against the wall for support. Now there wasn't any doubt that I was on someone's list. The phone call had been a red herring to get me up to the lobby
quickly. I had done as predicted and leaped at the chance to know more about the McDuffys.

The use of the blade was maniacal, sadistic, and downright scary. When I felt that I could trust my legs to support me, I moved back to the door and carefully peeled the tape away. I wrapped the sticky stuff around the edge of the blade before putting the wad in my purse.

I reached for the handle, then hesitated. Someone was waiting in the lobby for me to come charging through the door with blood dripping from my fingers. I could pretend the blade had done its damage, and create a scene, but I didn't see how that would make me any wiser as to the identity of the culprit. Or I could go quietly up to the next floor and check out who was in the lobby and see if anyone showed any unusual interest in the stairwell door.

I decided on the second option, though the idea of creating a foot-stomping, hell-raising ruckus was tempting. I navigated the stairs to the floor above, eyed the handle to see if it was safe to touch, and then eased the door open wide enough so I could squeeze through. Once on the balcony, I crept to the railing and peeked over the side.

People were circulating, chatting, and enjoying a good time. My gaze drifted up and down the room, looking for anyone acting suspicious. After five minutes, I decided my surveillance was a bust. I hadn't spied any furtive maneuvers.

I took the elevator down to the lobby and brazenly crossed to the six-foot, multiple-stemmed rubber tree plant that was outside the souvenir shop entrance. Pushing the heavy branches this way and that, I searched among the broad leaves for the piece of paper I was sure didn't exist.

Empty-handed, I moved on to the conference room. Just my rotten luck, Bernice was the first person I met. Her expression
mirrored my own grouchy mood. To put her in better spirits, I pulled Bailey's fifty-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to her.

“Here,” I said. “I had a chance to sell a few flowers for the butterfly convention.” I watched her greedily palm the money. Bailey had told the truth about one thingâit always came back to money. It made people snap up and take notice. Robbee needed it to save a failing business. Bernice used it to get on the good side of Tyrone, to make him take notice of her. And Tyrone wanted this conference to show a marked increase in the association's budget.

“âenter it under donations,” she was saying. “It'll help defray the cost of that trophy. Do you have any other outstanding bills?”

Wearily, I said, “No, Bernice. That's it.”

BOOK: Lilies That Fester

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