Lilies That Fester (19 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Lilies That Fester
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“Good reasoning,” said Bailey. “The tea bags found in her room contained dried khat. But she could have brought that stuff with her. I need evidence to connect someone with that shipment in the basement. Do you have something else in mind?”
Quickly I explained about the candy bars in the rest room at Haversham Hall and the plastic bag with the bit of green. “I gave that bag to the officer who questioned me after Gellie's death. If you could do an analysis on that piece of foliage, we'd know if it was khat.”
“It's been done. It was.”
I huffed. “Well! Why did you ask me if you already knew the answer?”
For the first time since Bailey came out of the closet, his eyes crinkled with humor and his full lips eased into a grin. “I'm still trying to get a handle on how your mind works. Frankly, it's damned scary.”
“Damned scary” or not, Bailey spent more than an hour exploring every crease and crevice of my memory, probing for facts. It was his suggestion that we adjourn to my room for an in-depth discussion.
Effie looked exhausted, but she wouldn't give in to my suggestion that I take her back to her room. She compromised by lying on my bed, propped up with two fluffy pillows. I sat near her. Bailey and Robbee occupied the chairs by the window. We speculated on the association's board of directors and the contestants.
“I think you ought to look into Darren's background,” said Robbee for the umpteenth time. “He makes all those trips abroad. He says he's doing design classes, but how do we know he hasn't been cultivating khat clients on the side?”
If Darren could dupe the entire florist industry into believing he was the “great designer,” wasn't it possible that he could bamboozle us about the khat? He'd been at the Fleur-De-Lis Extravaganza. He had contacts with people around the world who specialized in growing plants. Perhaps he'd brought the khat to the U.S., set up the farm in California to raise the crop, and then used his fame to make contacts for selling the drug.
“Who owns that farm in California?” I asked Bailey.
“If there's a connection with anyone here, we haven't discovered it. We're in the process of tracing phone numbers, airfare from Missouri to California, but all that takes time. This convention will be over soon, and everyone will go his or her separate way.
“We could wait and see who snatches the khat,” said Robbee.
Bailey shrugged. “I doubt the person will make a claim. It'll be chalked up as a loss, and perhaps even the end of the business, unless there are other contacts we haven't discovered.”
I sighed. “Stephanie's death was ruled a heart attack, and I would guess since she was overweight that's as far as the coroner took his investigation. Gellie wasn't exactly murdered, but she's dead because she used khat.” I looked at Bailey. “Will you tell me the circumstances surrounding the McDuffys' murders?”
“Their bodies were found at the bottom of a ravine. No car was at the scene. Neither of the McDuffys was in condition to walk up the winding, abandoned road, so we have to assume a third person was involved. We found a camera near the couple. The developed photos showed Vincent and Mabel posed with their back to the gorge. The last frame showed the same shot, but without the McDuffys. Putting everything together, we think they were pushed over the edge.”
Effie clucked her tongue. I glanced at her and saw her eyes were closed, but she whispered, “Such a sad ending when their lives were already filled with sorrow.”
Bailey continued, “Reggie helped recover the bodies after the grisly find was reported to the local authorities. I'd already alerted the Branson chief of police that I was in town and would appreciate his cooperation if anything unusual took place.”
“A double homicide would surely qualify as unusual,” said Robbee. “But how come none of us heard about it?”
“This was a closed federal investigation. A drug bust. Reggie and I were sent to Branson to see who was on the receiving end of the khat. When the call came in about the McDuffys' murders and we learned that they were from Spencer County, I decided to keep their deaths a secret for as long as possible. At that time, it seemed like the right decision.” He shot a glance my way. “My best lead was from Spencer County, too.”
That would be me. While I'd gone about my conference duties, I'd been watched by the DEA. No wonder Sid had said I was out of my league.
Bailey was saying, “—we decided that if the killer was under the mistaken impression that the McDuffys' bodies hadn't been found, we'd have a better chance of capturing him. Sheriff Hancock was instructed to cooperate with us.”
I was more disgusted than angry. “You got my life history, right? My renovating a historical home. My preference to golden oldie music. My deceased husband, who just happened to be a deputy. Did you think I'd turned to a life of crime since his death?”
“I check out all leads,” he said firmly.
“Why were you at the funeral home?” I asked.
“I needed a location where Reggie and I could meet and plan our strategy. I didn't want him here at the hotel. He needed freedom to move about, and I couldn't be seen around the police station. When the bodies were discovered and taken to the funeral home for the coroner's examination, I designated the Eternal Rest Chapel as home base.”
I said, “I'm not going to try to dispute your evidence, but something just isn't ringing true here. I never met Vincent and Mabel, but from the tone of the notes they wrote to me, and
from my impression of them, I figured they had plenty of spirit. I can't see them going gullibly along with their daughter's killer only to end up at the base of a cliff.”
“I think you're on the right track, dear,” said Effie, sitting up straight. “The name Vincent comes from the Latin origin meaning ‘conquering.' I'd say the man had a plan.”
A plan?
Lavelle had described the McDuffys as being good neighbors but overly cautious. Vincent had wanted to shut off the electricity to his house and sell his flock of chickens. I'd wondered if he suspected that they might not be coming home. With Stephanie's death, all Vincent and Mabel had was each other. Lavelle was worried about Vincent when Mabel passed on. I frowned. I wished that I'd had the chance to meet them, then I could have formed my own opinion of the kind of people they had been. However, there was another possibility if Bailey would agree.
I asked, “Do you have those photos of the McDuffys that were taken at the top of the ravine?” When he nodded, I leaned eagerly toward him. “Please let me look at them.”
Hearing the intensity in my voice, he said, “First rule of being a skilled detective, Bretta, is to keep your distance. Don't become emotionally involved.” He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and held it out to me. “After twenty-eight years, I'm breaking that rule.”
Was he talking about the case or becoming emotionally involved with me? I had my answer when I took the envelope. My fingers brushed his and the brief contact made my skin tingle. Did he feel it? Did he have any personal feelings for me? I looked into his coppery eyes and saw them sparkle.
In a droll tone, Robbee asked, “Should Effie and I step into the hall for twenty minutes?”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Shut up, Robbee,” I said as I went to my purse and removed the five-by-seven envelope the McDuffys had given me. When I took it to Bailey, I couldn't meet his gaze, and I didn't have the stamina to chance touching his hand again.
I laid the envelope on the table between him and Robbee. “That's from the McDuffys,” I said. “The contents are exactly as I found them.” I sat down on the bed.
Bailey left the envelope lying on the table, but when Robbee reached for it, the look he received was pure “special agent supremacy” and as effective as a slap on the wrist. “Go ahead, Bretta,” said Bailey, “look at the pictures. The one is of the McDuffys. The other is a faxed printout of a photo Sheriff Hancock found when he went to their house. From the date on the back it was taken a few weeks before Stephanie passed away.”
As I drew them out, Effie scrambled so she could see. Robbee crossed the carpet and plopped down next to me. Both of them peered over my shoulder. I unfolded the faxed picture first. It was black and white, blurred, and smudged around the edges. Stephanie was dressed in a skirt. Her blouse had a Victorian collar that framed her pretty face. The tail of her blouse was smoothly tucked into the narrow waistband of her dark skirt.
“Good Lord,” said Robbee. “She's gorgeous. Check out those fabulous cheekbones.” He leaned closer, studying the paper intently. “I can't believe it's the same woman.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Stephanie looks great, but notice the way she's hanging on to that chair? The woman is so weak she can hardly stand up.” I would have put the picture back in the envelope, but Robbee took it, staring as if mesmerized.
The other photo was clear and sharp. The Ozark Mountains
in the background were lovely, but the subjects at the forefront might've been comical if they weren't so heartbreaking. Mabel's emaciated body was wrapped in the curve of her husband's arm. Vincent McDuffy was enormous. Suspenders held up a pair of pants that looked as if they'd been painted on his massive frame. His eyes were sunk into pockets of fatty tissue. The unrelenting stare he directed into the camera's lens made me squirm.
The death of a loved one is an emotional trauma that tears at the heart and ravages the brain. To find some measure of peace, people often turn to their faith in God. I figured the McDuffys had found solace in another area. They'd put aside their grief and plotted revenge against the person who'd caused their daughter's death. They'd come to Branson for a deadly confrontation. Stephanie was gone. Mabel was dying. Vincent would be alone.
I swallowed. They had nothing to lose.
“Bailey, you said the DEA has changed the category of khat to a schedule I drug, but if the McDuffys weren't dead, what kind of sentence are we talking about?”
“Depends on the judge and the deftness of the lawyer the dealer hires. If this dealer hasn't any priors, his lawyer might use the fact that he or she was trying to help obese women lose weight. That's the defense I'd use, and the end result might be a slap on the wrist, pay out a fine, and go on probation.”
“It would be pretty tough to pin Stephanie's death or Gellie's, for that matter, on the drug. Stephanie's weight could have brought on a heart condition that none of them were aware of until it was too late.”
Bailey asked, “Where are you going with this?”
“As far as I'm concerned, both women were murdered. The dealer preyed on their vulnerability. When a person is as obese
as each of these women were, they would've seized on drastic measures, not giving a thought to the consequences. I can understand their reasoning, but there's always a chance that a judge or a jury might not see it as such.”
Bailey plucked his lower lip thoughtfully. The simple gesture was sensuous and called to mind the brief touch of his lips against mine. What would it be like to be held by this man and thoroughly kissed?
“Go on,” murmured Bailey.
My eyes widened in confusion until I recalled my original train of thought. Still I hesitated, but now for another reason. His steady gaze was on me. I didn't understand why I was drawn to this man, when I knew so little about him. But the attraction was there, and had been since I'd seen him in the lobby. I wanted the chance to get to know him better, to sort out what was the true Bailey Monroe, and what had been his cover for this operation. What I said next would test which way our relationship might go. If he scoffed at me, I'd have my answer. But if he listened—
I took the plunge. “I'm talking about a suicide pact between Mabel and Vincent.” Bailey's eyebrows drew down, but I hurried on, “No, don't say anything. Hear me out. The McDuffys knew that their daughter met someone in Branson. In their letter to me they said that their daughter had been led astray. They came to town to find that someone, but I don't think they were interested in having him arrested for dealing the drug. I think Vincent had something else in mind.”
Robbee shook his head. “That's pretty far-fetched, Bretta.”
“But it fits,” said Effie. “Vincent McDuffy—conquering his foe.”
“It isn't far-fetched at all,” I said to Robbee. “Consider the facts. Bailey just said that the dealer might get a slap on the
wrist, but murder—a double homicide—would result in more than a reprimand.” I touched the photo. “Mabel doesn't look as if she's long for this world. Vincent is a time bomb. His heart won't take much more abuse. They loved each other. Life for the one that was left would have been unbearable. They lost their daughter to this drug, which would be hard to prove. But if they could entice the dealer into killing them, what better way to bring about retribution for Stephanie's death?”

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