Lilies That Fester (16 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Lilies That Fester
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“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 the 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.
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 stamina 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.”
“I'll be fine, but I'm worried about you. Check your door, then go inside and lock up tight. I'll meet you in the contest room in the morning about seven. Okay?”
She looked as if she might argue before she turned and wobbled away. I watched her as she entered the elevator. I kept an eye on her when she got off at the third floor, and by taking several steps back, I could keep her in sight as she went to her door. She leaned close, inspected the lever, and then disappeared into her room.
I turned toward Miriam, hoping she'd given up and had left. Nope. She was still waiting. My shoulders drooped as I shuffled down the ramp to her table. It didn't enhance my mood to see her looking immaculate—every red hair in place, aquamarine-colored dress crisp and fresh, her makeup flawless. I wore the same pair of jeans and rose-pink sweater I'd put on this morning. I was sure my nose was shiny, my eyeliner smeared, and my lips as bloodless as a turnip. Suppressing the urge to sniff my armpits, I sat down and faced her with all the confidence I could muster.
“We could postpone this until later,” I said. “If you plan on making the concert.”
“I'm not going, but this won't take long.” She looked over my shoulder.
I turned, and a waiter smiled politely. “May I get you ladies something?”
I seized the opportunity. “Have room service deliver a grilled chicken salad and a diet Coke to 521. I'll be there shortly.” The waiter nodded, then looked at Miriam, who waved him impatiently away.
“Okay,” I said, “let's get this over. You've got something on your mind, and I'm too tired and too hungry to play psychic. You wanted me to see Hubert, and I took note. Somehow you got rid of Darren. What difference does it make if Hubert hangs around?”
Miriam's green eyes narrowed. “Your attitude is the very reason why I didn't come to you in the first place. There was no way you'd listen to what I had to say.” She scooted her chair away from the table. “You aren't the only one to question what's going on. I've been suspicious for a year, but it wasn't until I got to know Delia at the semifinals that I finally put it all together.”
I waved my hand in a circular motion. “What?”
“All I wanted was to keep this contest fair and aboveboard for everyone. Delia was adamant at making you reveal the categories. I never wanted them disclosed because I wanted to see Darren's repertoire of designs.”
Abruptly she stood up. “When I found out that Tyrone was considering appointing Darren as a one-man show and giving the rest of us token awards, I slapped his face. But what you did this evening was much more debilitating. Thank you for overriding his decision to cancel the contest.” Her mouth split with a spiteful grin. “That was a marvelous show. I'd pay twice the price to see it again.”
As I watched Miriam walk away, I murmured, “Repertoire.” That peculiar word had stuck in my brain since I'd heard Darren use it.
I headed for my room using the elevator. If someone had told me two days ago that I'd feel safe in the glass box, where I was plainly visible, I'd have thought they were nuts. There hadn't been any more razor-blade episodes, but I wasn't taking chances. I had two empty boxes in my purse. The missing blades were like miniature guillotines hanging over my head.

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