Lilies That Fester (20 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Lilies That Fester
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“I don't know,” muttered Robbee. “Seems to me you're hinging everything on their love for each other.” He snorted. “That emotion gets too much press, as far as I'm concerned.”
“Only because you've never experienced it, dear.” Effie's eyes were shiny with tears. “When two people find each other, whether their relationship remains a friendship or leads to something more serious, they should cherish that alliance.”
I sat silent, waiting for Bailey to speak. He took his time, staring off into space. I assumed he was mulling over the evidence. I forced myself not to prod him with any more of my conjectures. When I was ready to give up, Bailey reached down to his penny loafers and reverently touched each dime.
“My wife and I celebrated twenty years together,” he said quietly. “On our last anniversary she gave me these two dimes taped in a card. A week later she was killed in a car crash. One dime is from the year I was born. The other is hers.” He cleared his throat roughly. “She was a romantic, sentimental woman. I loved her beyond reason. When she died, I wanted to die, too.”
Bailey looked up. His gaze rested on my lips. “We'll never know what was in Vincent's mind, Bretta,” said Bailey softly. “You and I have both experienced what it's like to lose someone
we love. Based on that, I'd say your assumption is possible. However one fact hasn't changed.”
His voice deepened with authority. “Someone has been distributing an illegal drug. That's the person I'm after. And if I net a killer in the bargain, so much the better. Let's get the bastard.”
Saturday morning dawned with clear skies. The sun rose above the horizon, shedding its brilliance over the land, chasing away shadows that blurred the imagination. I hoped the light of day would reveal answers, just as it was exposing the familiar landmarks that were outside my window.
The miniature golf course appeared deserted. It was 6:00 A.M., but I'd noticed during my stay at the hotel that workmen usually congregated outside the gates by this time. I leaned closer and saw a banner stretched between two posts. GRAND OPENING—SUNDAY, MAY 1. The golf course would open a week from tomorrow. By that time, I'd be back home, in my same old rut, and I hoped a murderer would be in jail.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep. I reached up to rub them, but remembered in time that I'd already applied my makeup. Wearily, I closed my eyes and leaned against the chair Bailey had occupied last night. I was dressed for the contest—mauve suit, a floral-print blouse, hose, and flats. Heels were out. I'd be on my feet all day.
I opened my eyes and touched the chair cushion where Bailey had rested his head. If Robbee and Effie hadn't been in the room last night, I wondered what might have happened between Bailey and me. Maybe nothing, but then again … His gaze on my lips had spoken of a promise. Or was I merely
hoping? I couldn't toss my memories of Carl aside, but they were only—memories. Bailey represented a new course in my life, if I had the nerve to pursue it.
I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. My thoughts were premature. First I had to get through my responsibilities as coordinator for the floral contest. I reached under the mattress for my notebook and CD and stuffed them into my bulging handbag.
Not long ago, this contest had been vastly important. Now it was merely the backdrop for a sinister plot that had resulted in four deaths. Were there other victims? How many people had been persuaded to use this khat? How far-reaching was the drug? Could it be traced back to a florist, to one of my colleagues?
Effie was to meet me downstairs for some last-minute details before the contest began at ten o'clock. Allison, Bernice, and Tyrone would be there, too. So would Chloe, Miriam, Zach, and Robbee. Before he left my room last night, I'd given Robbee the go-ahead to participate as a contestant. I'd expected jubilation, but his response had been low-key. A different priority rested on his shoulders.
Bailey had told us to continue with the conference as if nothing was amiss. We weren't to ask questions—this was stressed with another “special agent” look. Above all, we were to act normal toward everyone involved in the conference.
I passed on the stairs and rode down to the lobby in the elevator. Catching my reflection in the glass panel, I smoothed my skirt over my hips and thought about the khat. On the surface it seemed admirable that someone had tried to help obese women lose weight.
Admirable? I'd paid that compliment recently. I frowned but couldn't make the association. My thoughts skipped on.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if the plant worked healthfully? There had been times in my life when I might have bought into the drug. By chewing some leaves the appetite would disappear, and the excess weight would melt off. It sounded too good to be true—and it was.
The elevator bell dinged, and I stepped into the lobby. The main conference doors had been tied shut with a bright red bow. I took the service hall and stepped into the meeting room, expecting to see Effie fluttering about checking bouquets for water.
Robbee, dressed in a suit and tie, was tidying up with a whisk broom and dustpan. The casket was gone, and in its place was the trophy among the display of sympathy arrangements.
“What do you think?” he asked, catching sight of me.
“It doesn't have the ‘grabber' effect I'd hoped for with the casket, but in light of all that's happened, it'll be fine.”
“Alvin and three of the hotel employees helped me bring the flowers up from the basement.” He gave me a significant look. “We brought
everything
up.”
I stepped through the connecting doorway. Robbee had switched on the spotlights that were aimed at the tables spaced across the front of the room. My gaze zeroed in on the glossy foliage sitting among the colorful blossoms. The obnoxious leaves appeared to shimmer in the bright lights. Now that I knew what it was, I wanted a closer look but resisted the urge.
“Have you seen Effie?” I asked.
“Not since I escorted her to her room last night.”
I shifted my handbag so I could see my watch. “She's late. I wonder if she overslept? She was exhausted when she left my room.” Worry set in. “You hold down the fort. I'm going upstairs to check on her.”
I walked out of the contest room, down the service hall, and to the stairwell that was closer. I had my hand on the doorknob when I felt an uncomfortable tingling of the skin on my neck. When I glanced around Bernice stared at me with loathing.
I spun on my heel and went to the elevators. The hotel was coming alive, and I had to wait for my ride up to the second floor. It was a tedious delay—one I could have forgone if I'd had the nerve to use the stairs.
When I was in the glass box, I looked down on the lobby for Bernice. She was where I'd last seen her, watching my every move.
Was she furious because I'd upstaged Tyrone last night? She'd been the one to call my attention to the California delivery. Was her constant haggling about money a blind to her distributing the khat?
Stepping out of the elevator, I repeated a comment Bailey had made to me. “It always comes back to money.”
Selling drugs usually equates to a financial gain. But was money the only issue? A criminal's persona was built upon layers and layers of personality defects and past occurrences. The first step in bringing him or her to justice was to peel away the veneer that covered the outer facade, much as Stephanie had done in her artwork.
From the moment I'd seen the picture on the armoire in the McDuffys' room, I'd felt that they'd brought it with them for a reason. In my mind, I went back over each caricature, aligning it with the facts Bailey had revealed. The green leaves that Gellie had been holding could represent the khat. Was there another clue?
I had recognized each person, either by a physical characteristic or a personality flaw. Stephanie had captured their
essence in her portrayals. I frowned. Except for one. Why had Stephanie used an onion skin in her depiction of Alvin?
The pulse at the base of my throat beat an erratic tempo. Alvin? I hadn't considered him a suspect, and yet, hadn't my subconscious been alerted? An onion consisted of concentric layers, the skin a fragile veneer.
As I rapped on Effie's door, I let my thoughts flow. Bailey had said that the khat was from Africa. Was Alvin using drug money to help that orphanage in Somalia? I nodded slowly as pieces drifted into place. Alvin was the one whose actions I'd said were admirable.
It's always the least suspected. African tea. Somalia orphanage. Obese women. Starving children. Starve—die. That's what my weary mind had spun on last night in bed when I couldn't sleep.
I knocked harder on the door. “Effie? Are you awake?” I put my ear to the panel but heard no movement on the other side.
“What's wrong, Bretta?”
I swung around and saw Alvin hurrying along the balcony toward me. I stiffened, then forced myself to relax and smile naturally. I had to hide my suspicions, and think of Alvin as the nice man who'd assisted me with the conference. Not the one who might be responsible for four deaths.
“It's Effie,” I explained. “She was supposed to meet me downstairs but didn't. I'm worried about her.”
“I have a master key, but I'm not supposed to use it except in case of emergency.”
“This is an emergency.”
“All right,” said Alvin, pulling the plastic card from his pocket. “If we surprise her getting out of the shower, you take the responsibility. Okay?”
I agreed, and Alvin swung the door open. I hurried inside. The bed was made, the draperies pushed back to let the sun in. The bathroom was empty. Papers littered a small table by the windows. I stepped closer and examined them. Nothing but her notes for the conference.
“We might as well go downstairs,” I said. “Perhaps she's in the café. I should have checked before coming up here.”
“Are you all right?”
My gaze slid across his face. “It's this contest. I need Effie's help and it isn't like her not to be around.” I forced my stiff lips into a semblance of a smile. “Robbee told me that you and some of the staff helped him bring everything up from the basement. I'd better go do my part. Effie will show up before long.”
I took two steps to the door, but stopped when Alvin said, “I understand you've lost a considerable amount of weight. Are you having trouble keeping it off?”
Brushing the hair off my damp forehead, I glanced around. Alvin stood with his back to me, staring out the window. I wasn't sure where this conversation was headed, but I played along. “I have my days. Remember how I devoured the snacks you had sent to us when we were cutting flower stems the other night?”
“Not flowers, Bretta.” Alvin turned. “Those bronze leaves are an effective tool for weight loss and controlling your appetite. Yemenites and East African natives chew the tender shoots. I usually dry the leaves before packaging the mixture into bags for my clients. It makes shipment easier, and they can get a cup of hot water most anywhere when hunger attacks.”
I worked my way closer to the door. “And it grows in California?”
“It isn't indigenous to the area, but southern California's weather parallels East Africa or southern Arabia, so the plants have done fairly well. Ben, my grower, was with me in the Peace Corps. He and his team tried to teach the natives how to raise nourishing crops, but conditions were deplorable. He became as sickened as I did at the sight of fellow human beings barely existing, and the children who don't stand a chance.”
Alvin stared at the carpet. “I didn't know Ben had smuggled plants into the U.S. until I received the box of the foliage. I recognized the leaves, having seen them used as a recreational and religious drug. Ben proposed the plan for the orphanage in Somalia. As a blind for receiving the shipment of foliage, I suggested fresh flowers for the hotel. When your florist convention picked this location, I decided it would be a convenient time to receive an even larger shipment. With all your flowers arriving, who'd notice an extra box of greens?”
I licked my dry lips. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I understand from Helen that you've been asking lots of questions. I have the answers. The McDuffys checked into the hotel, then spent hours in the lobby watching me. That first day I went up to them and asked if I could help them. That's when I learned they believed I was responsible for Stephanie's death. I walked away, but they continued to watch me whenever I was nearby.
“After four days, I'd had enough. I invited them to go on a sightseeing trip. I was sorry for their loss, but there was more at stake than their grief. I met them at the side entrance of the hotel, and we took my car up to a particularly lovely area. It helped that I'd taken Stephanie there because she'd described the view to her parents, and they were willing to go with me.”
Alvin dashed a hand across his face. “I didn't take them up there to kill them, Bretta, but when it came down to being
exposed by the McDuffys or getting rid of them—I chose the latter.”
From the way Alvin was talking, I didn't think he knew about the DEA investigation. Bailey was my ace in the hole. If Alvin didn't know about Bailey, then perhaps he wouldn't become desperate to murder again.
I took another step toward the door. “I'm leaving.”
“I can't keep you here.”
Why would Alvin feed me these details only to let me walk away? Whatever his reasoning, I had to find Bailey. I hurried to the door and had even turned the knob when Alvin spoke again.

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