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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Lilies That Fester
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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.
“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 fascinated.
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.
I hung back from the group, pretending a curiosity for an odd piece of statuary. “This is different,” I said, pointing to the atrocity. The hunk of stone had been chipped and hollowed into a contortion of geometric shapes. “I wonder what it means?”
“Our guide said it was done by a local artist. We could look him up and ask.”
“That's not necessary,” I said, though the idea of spending time driving around with Bailey was tempting. “But the sculpture is strange, and makes me wonder what the artist
was trying to say. Life has enough oddities. Take for instance the way we met.” I turned a dazzling smile on Bailey, but he didn't see it. He was gazing up at the intricate plaster cornices and elaborate carved wood moldings. I persevered. “We met in an elevator. Some people might see that as an indication of how our friendship might progress—highs, lows, ups, and downs.”
“These old houses fascinate me,” said Bailey. “I'd love to own one and renovate it, but I don't think I'd have the nerve to open it to the public.”
I wanted to get a personal conversation going. I tried again, pausing at a window. “Last fall I became the proud owner of an eighteen-room mansion. Do you live in an apartment or a house?”
“The tour is going upstairs. Shouldn't we catch up with them?”
I dug in my heels. I wanted just one straight answer. “Well? Do you live in an apartment or a house?”
Bailey shrugged. “I keep a roof over my head. Are we taking the rest of the tour or not?”
“What do
you
want to do?”
“I'm with you.”
“Don't you have a preference?”
“Not really.”
“Why did you come?”
“Why not?”
I wanted to pull my hair out by the roots. To calm myself, I took a couple of breaths. “Why don't you take the tour, and I'll just hang around down here by the conservatory?”
“I'll hang, too.”
How could one man be so totally annoying? “You stay. I'm leaving.” I walked off grumbling.
“You'll have to speak up if I'm going to answer,” said Bailey, keeping pace at my side.
“Answer? That's a novel idea.”
As we approached a public rest room, the door opened and Gellie walked out. Her jaws were grinding away on something until she caught sight of us but mainly me. She wouldn't meet my gaze and quickly swallowed whatever was in her mouth.
I recognized the look of guilt on her face. That expression coupled with her jaw activity told me she'd sneaked a forbidden treat. “Are you okay?” I asked.
Gellie turned her head away. “Potty break,” she mumbled.
Conscious of Bailey at my back, I said quietly, “Effie says you were upset earlier.” I smiled sympathetically and leaned closer. “If you're tempted to overeat, just give me a call, and I'll talk you out of it. That's what friends are for.”
She gave me a horrified look and practically ran down the hall. I watched as she maneuvered herself to the front of the tour, where she was well away from me.
Without a word to Bailey, I went into the rest room. There were three stalls, all unoccupied. I glanced in each doorway, then went to the wastebasket that was sitting by the sink. On top of the trash were two Butterfinger candy bars—unopened.
What had Gellie been eating? I reached under the bars and saw an empty plastic bag. I pulled it out, and down in a corner saw a speck of green that was half the size of a dime. I worked the particle out of the bag and into the palm of my hand, where I pressed it with a fingernail.
Good for Gellie. She'd tossed the candy away and had eaten something healthful. I frowned. Then why had she acted flustered at being caught?
I put the bit of vegetation back in the bag and tucked it in my purse. After washing my hands, I came out of the rest room to find Bailey waiting for me. The tour group had disappeared. “You should have gone on,” I said.
“Who was that woman?” asked Bailey. “She was creating quite an uproar in the hotel lobby. From what I gathered she's lost a bunch of weight. How'd
she
do it?”
“I guess she closed her mouth and got up off her wide behind.” I waited for his reaction at my use of his insensitive comment, but he only stared at me in stony silence. “I'm going to pass on the rest of the house tour,” I said, walking off.
I took the necessary twists and turns through the maze of hallways until I was at the back of the house. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw I'd lost Bailey. I stepped through the door marked EMPLOYEES' LOUNGE and surprised a man and a woman in a hot clinch. A little hanky-panky on the job, if I gauged their embarrassment correctly. I acted as if I hadn't noticed anything amiss and swung into what I wanted.
“I'm looking for some information about a couple I know. I understand that in the last four days Mr. and Mrs. McDuffy have taken this tour several times. Vincent is very much overweight. His wife is extremely thin. Do either of you remember them?”
The man shrugged and walked out. The woman leaned lazily against the table. She had big hair and a small body. Her skin had that bottled-bronzed look with the yellow undertones. She must have slathered the sunless suntan lotion on by the bucketful to achieve such a jaundice glow.
“I know who you mean,” she said in answer to my question. “But I didn't know their name. They seemed kind of lonely and sad, and weren't interested in visiting with anyone. They
never took the house tour, but sat in the conservatory and stared at the flowers, talking to each other. I bought them a couple of Cokes, and we chatted.”
“Any particular subject?”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “Mostly about the plants, the flowers, and the crowds.”
“And you say they didn't talk to anyone? They weren't meeting someone?”
“Not that I saw, though I think they were on the lookout.”
“For anyone in particular?”
“The man asked if I knew anyone that went by the nickname of ‘Friend.' I don't, but I told them that was a nicer handle than mine.” She looked around, then lowered her voice. “My family calls me Saffron.” She stroked her dark hair. “Isn't that ridiculous? I can't for the life of me understand where they came up with that.”
I eyed her tinted skin and murmured, “Go figure.” I thanked her, then headed out the door and down the hall toward the conservatory. So Mabel and Vincent were looking for someone nicknamed “Friend.”
At the final stretch to the conservatory, I saw Bailey leaning against a wall, a perturbed look on his face. “Where've you been?” he asked when I was within earshot.
“Here and there,” I said, sauntering past him.
Three strides and he was at my elbow. “Doing what?” he demanded.
“This and that.” I sped up, then wished I hadn't. Robbee and Chloe were seated on one of the benches that flanked the entry into the conservatory. Chloe beckoned me.
When I got closer, she whispered, “Bretta, who is that fantastic man you're with? He's so distinguished. Makes me think of a congressman.”
Wasn't that the truth? Pushy, snoopy, and full of hot air described Bailey to perfection.
“He looks irritated,” said Robbee, staring behind me. “Did the two of you have words?”
I didn't bother turning around. “Very, very few.”
The aroma of Old Spice cologne told me Bailey was nearby. I didn't know how close until he spoke in my ear. “Here comes the tour.”
I jumped in surprise.
“Why so edgy?” he asked. “I've heard that comes from a guilty conscience. Been doing something you shouldn't?”
“Shh. I'm listening to the guide.” He didn't dispute me, but his frown let me know he wasn't buying my sudden interest in Joan's commentary. Just to prove him wrong, I tuned in to what she was saying.

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