Read Lilies That Fester Online
Authors: Janis Harrison
Lilies That Fester (14 page)
“âwinter weather makes most of us burrow under a blanket in front of a fire,” said Joan, leading the group toward us. “Samuel Haversham wanted to enjoy each season to its fullest. The main conservatory was built in 1922. Eight additional wings were constructed as interest in the collected plants blossomed.”
Several people tittered politely at Joan's play on words. Bernice snorted. “More like an excuse for hiking the price of admission.”
The snide remark flustered the young tour guide. Joan stammered, “We ⦠uh ⦠here at Haversham Hall take pride in our work and our jobs.” She tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth wavered. “As I was saying, the ⦠uh ⦠eight additional wings have provided our staff with more landscaping space. The Desert Den contains cacti that are over one hundred years old. We've used sand and rock outcroppings taken directly from the Mojave to give our display
authenticity. Our Fern Grotto has a collection of plants that came from the darkest jungles in Africa. I'm sorry that this exhibit is closed at the present, but you're welcome to sneak a peek across the barrier. We're revamping the thirty-foot waterfall, so I'll ask that none of you go beyond the designated area.
authenticity. Our Fern Grotto has a collection of plants that came from the darkest jungles in Africa. I'm sorry that this exhibit is closed at the present, but you're welcome to sneak a peek across the barrier. We're revamping the thirty-foot waterfall, so I'll ask that none of you go beyond the designated area.
“My favorite spot to relax is the Orangery. The first known greenhouses were constructed by northern Europeans to grow oranges, a fruit exotic to their region. Even George Washington had a greenhouse at Mount Vernon. It was called a âpiney' since it was built to grow pineapples, his favorite fruit.
“At this point of the tour, you can wander on your own. You are free to go through all of the conservatories except the Fern Grotto. I ⦠uh ⦠want to thank you for being such a ⦠uh ⦠large group. Enjoy the rest of the tour.” She quickly departed.
Robbee snickered. “We sure made an impression on her. Tyrone warned us to be on our best behavior. When he hears about this, he'll have Bernice so rattled she won't know her âassets' from a hole in the ground. I wonder why she acted like a jerk?”
Chloe flicked her fingers down Robbee's shirt. “You men are such ninnies. Bernice is crazy about Tyrone. It won't matter to her if he rakes her over the coals, just so he focuses on her, even if it's only for a few minutes.”
“Seems damned stupid to me,” said Robbee. “Women play the most devious games.”
I glared at him. He met my gaze calmly and asked, “What was Miriam talking to Darren about? At first I thought they were getting along fine, then he turned red and stomped off.”
I didn't want to let his remark slide about devious women, especially when he was such a pro, but I squelched my rebuttal. “I hope Darren is still at the hotel when we get back. He may have packed his bags and left.”
“Two designers out of the contest,” said Robbee, rubbing his hands together. “I may get a shot at those beaches yet.”
“If Darren leaves, too, there won't be a contest.”
“How can you say that?” asked Chloe. “All the florists are here and there's more coming. Even if Darren does leave the contest, we'll have to go ahead. You'll see,” she said, “everything will be just fine.”
Yeah. Yeah. Who wants to see fine, when they had the chance to view a genius at work? What had Darren said to Miriam? “My repertoire suits any occasion.” Why did that phrase haunt me? It sounded as ifâ
“Are you going to stand there the rest of the afternoon or are you coming with me to see the conservatory?” asked Bailey.
I waved my hand at Robbee and Chloe to lead the way. Bailey leaned close. “Florists are a strange bunch. I thought the butterfly watchers were a flighty group, but, babe, yours has them beat.”
Air swooshed out of my lungs. It was as if Bailey had punched me in the gut. I struggled for a breath. “Don't ⦠ever ⦠call ⦠me that.” I saw astonishment register on Bailey's face, but I couldn't explain.
I hurried away, blinking back tears. Of all the names Bailey could have called me, why had he hit upon “babe”? Just the sound of the word coming from another man's lips made my skin pucker with goose bumps. No one in my life had ever called me babe except Carl. We'd only been married a short
time when he'd christened me with the endearment, saying I wasn't a sugar or a honey, but a babe ⦠his Babe.
time when he'd christened me with the endearment, saying I wasn't a sugar or a honey, but a babe ⦠his Babe.
I wandered aimlessly, wondering which way to go to find the rest of the group. An aerial view would have shown the conservatory resembled a giant daisy, with the domed roof as the center of the flower and each of the eight greenhouses veering off like petals.
I heard laughter and headed to my right, following the sound to the Topiary Cotillion room. I had to pass the Fern Grotto, and paused at the barrier, which was only a couple of sawhorses.
The water for the falls had been turned off, leaving the moss-stained rocks exposed. Judging the size of the holes left in the soil, massive plants had been removed from the display. The roof was covered with heavy netting that shut out the sun and made the air dank and stagnated. When in operation, it would be a refreshing place to visit, with the water pouring over the rocks, splashing into the pool. But at the moment, it looked like I feltâforlorn.
Carl's nickname for me had made me feel special, made me feel loved, but more importantly, it had made me feel connected to him. I could be at my wit's end at work, the phone would ring and it would be him. Just hearing him call me “Babe,” my topsy-turvy world would right itself, and I could carry on. Had that been how Stephanie had felt about Friend?
I turned my back on the ravaged Fern Grotto and stepped through the Topiary Cotillion doorway. Everyone was having a good time. Suddenly I wanted to be part of their fun. I wanted to laugh and joke and forget all the sad memories of my past, and every frustrating detail that had to do with this weekend. Here was the place to do it.
Imagery and imagination had cast this glass-enclosed chamber into a ballroom. Wire frames had been sculpted into the shapes of five couples, who were postured in humorous positions. Thriving plantsâcreeping fig, wandering Jew, and English ivyâgrew over the frames creating flowing gowns or tailored trousers. The topiary “dancers” were so lifelike that I expected them to yank up their roots and whirl around the floor.
It takes patience and talent to trim and train the vines to follow the designated curves. But once that feat is accomplished the results are impressive, but maintenance is a never-ending job. Haversham Conservatory has a reputation for having ten of the most elaborate topiaries in the United States. But it wasn't merely the topiaries that were imposing. It was the atmosphere in which they were presented.
Topiary Cotillion was a theatrical masterpiece. I'd read in the hotel's brochure that a computer controls the light, the sound-a waltz was playing in the backgroundâthe water for the plants, and the ventilation. While the air in the Fern Grotto had been stuffy and dead, in the Topiary Cotillion it smelled of healthy plants and moist, fertile soil.
There was a particularly loud burst of applause, and I moved until I could see what was happening. Thinking it might be a show staged for our tour, I was shocked to see Gellie as the main attraction. She'd removed the red carnation from her jacket and had stuck the flower behind her ear. Bouncing from one male topiary to another, she was making a fool of herself, asking the statue to dance while sweeping her skirt in an embellished curtsy.
I got the impression that she'd been holding court for quite a while. Several people were laughing, while others, beginning to be embarrassed by her display, were slipping quietly out of
the room. Walking among the topiaries was forbidden. Signs were posted everywhere. But apparently she'd slipped under the rope and was heedlessly crushing the plants that formed the dance floor.
the room. Walking among the topiaries was forbidden. Signs were posted everywhere. But apparently she'd slipped under the rope and was heedlessly crushing the plants that formed the dance floor.
I called to her. “Gellie, what are you doing?”
She looked around, and her face lit up. “Bretta, honey, I'm free. My life has been anchored to the ground, but now I can glide like an eagle.” She skipped up to me and peered into my face. “You of all people must understand how I feel. Our extra pounds tethered us to this earth.”
She would have danced away, but I grabbed her arm. “Gellie, what's wrong? You're acting strange. Come out of there before you get into trouble.”
“No. You come with me, Bretta. Let's show this group how we can fly. Spread your wings, Bretta,” she cried, breaking away from my grasp. “Spread your wings, and let's soar like the angels.”
“Gellie, stop talking and listen to me. What's wrong? Why are you actingâ”
“Acting? I'm not acting, my fine feathered friend.” She roared with inane laughter. “Feathered friend? Isn't that wonderful? I have these images in my brain, Bretta, and I have to try them.”
Dodging topiaries, Gellie stepped over the rope and snatched a gauzy shawl from a woman who was with our tour group. “May I borrow this?” Gellie asked. But she didn't wait for the woman's reply. After draping the cloth over her bony frame, Gellie ran from the room, jostling anyone who got in her path.
I didn't know what to do, or what Gellie might do. She was in a terrible state, and I couldn't let her go off by herself. Others
must have felt the same. There was a surge for the door, and I got caught in the shuffle.
must have felt the same. There was a surge for the door, and I got caught in the shuffle.
“Let me through,” I pleaded. “I have to get to Gellie.”
Slowly, I broke my way through the throng and into the hall. I didn't have to ask which way she'd gone. The red carnation lay crushed on the floor. Gellie's boisterous singing guided me to the doorway of the Fern Grotto, where the barrier had been pushed aside.
Bailey had caught up to me. He took my elbow and led the way through the silent tour group. Heads were tilted back, eyes were directed to the utmost rock, thirty feet above us. Gellie had taken off her shoes, climbed the structure, and was posed with her arms outspread. Off key and using only part of the words, she was singing.
“Do something, Bailey,” I said. “We have to get her down before she falls.”
“You stay here and try to keep her attention. I'll move around behind her.”
“Gellie,” I called up to her, “I didn't know you could sing.” My voice creaked with strain. “What's the name of that song? It sounds familiar.”
She looked down at me. “I should have learned more of the words. Friend told me it would keep my mind on track.”
“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.
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.
“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.”
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 herâfall. 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 aboutâa connection between the McDuffys, or at least Stephanie and Gellie? There were lots of loose ends, but the one fact that leapedâI shiveredâout 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.
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, âWait for me at the Pearly Gates.' However, the card we put on a sympathy bouquet for Lucille Peters's service was the best. âAin't misbehavin' without you,' signed âSnookie.' 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. âWhenever 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.
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.
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.
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