Lilies That Fester (21 page)

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Authors: Janis Harrison

BOOK: Lilies That Fester
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“Just one more thing. Effie is tied up—literally. I wouldn't count on her assistance for the contest.”
Alvin's humdrum delivery concerning Effie took a moment to register. When it did, my chin shot up, my eyes widened with disbelief. “My God, you
are
a monster. Where is she? What have you done to her?”
“I know it'll be difficult carrying on with your conference duties, but if you want Effie to live, you don't have a choice.”
“There are always choices.”
“Not this time if you value the life of your friend.”
“Friend?” I nearly screeched the word. “What would you know about being a friend?” I forced myself to calm down and speak quietly. “Staging the benefits each year is commendable. Your intentions were selfless, but you've tainted all the good you could've done. Let Effie go. She's just a sweet, little old lady.”
“The McDuffys were good people, too,” said Alvin. “But Mabel was dying. Vincent wouldn't have lasted much longer. I think they expected me to do something. That look in Vincent's eyes, just before he went over the edge of the bluff, has haunted me. It was as if he was satisfied by the turn of events.”
“He pressed you into killing them because he was afraid nothing could be proved about Stephanie's death.”
“You're sharp, Bretta. Sharp as a razor blade.”
Startled, I jerked upright.
Alvin nodded. “Yeah, those little gifts came from me. I didn't want to maim you, but only slow you down. You've complicated everything, but I've decided that's par for the course when you're around. You get involved. You're too softhearted for your own good, but that's my mulligan—a free shot at this game. Effie will be found when this conference is over, if you don't go against my instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“Continue with the conference. Keep your mouth shut or you'll bogie yourself into a sand trap.” Alvin moved past me, opened the door, then calmly walked away.
I hurried after him and watched him saunter to the elevators. Before he entered the box, he turned, daring me to stop him. I met his gaze but did nothing until he was on the elevator.
I went to the balcony and leaned over the railing, searching for Bailey. I spotted him outside the souvenir shop. He appeared to be waiting for a companion, glancing impatiently at his wristwatch.
Alvin got off the elevator and crossed the lobby. He waved jauntily to the woman at the front desk before going out the front doors of the hotel.
What was I to do? If I told Bailey about Alvin, would he spring into action? Would he see apprehending Alvin as more important than Effie's safety? Last night he'd said, “Let's get the bastard.” I'd taken the statement as camaraderie—banding together to right a wrong. But what if Bailey had meant it as a gung-ho macho remark—not letting anything or anyone get in his path? I was attracted to Bailey, but I didn't know him. If it were Carl in Bailey's place, he'd make sure Effie was unharmed before he went after Alvin.
But there was no Carl, and time was running out. I could sit
tight, say nothing, and hope that Alvin had told the truth and Effie would be free when the conference ended. But that would be tomorrow evening. If he were lying, then hours would have passed with Effie enduring God knows what.
With my head bowed in thought I rode the elevator to the lobby. I'd hardly stepped out of the car when Bailey was at my side.
“I've been waiting for you,” he said, taking my elbow and leading me to a quiet corner. “Robbee said you went up to check on Effie. Is she all right?”
“I hope so.”
Bailey squeezed my arm. “What's wrong? Wasn't she in her room?”
“No,” I said, turning away from the concern in his eyes. Was I misjudging Bailey? I hardened my “soft” heart. Alvin had said to keep my mouth shut.
“She's probably wandering around the hotel looking for you.” He lowered his head so he could stare into my face. “Something's wrong. Is it Effie? Do you want me to look for her?”
“Yes. Would you see if she's here in the hotel?” I gestured to the crowd of florists that were already gathering in the lobby for the contest. “I need some air. While I'm outside, I'll check to see if her little car is in the parking lot.”
“Okay,” said Bailey, flashing me a smile. “Got a case of nerves about the contest?” He winked. “You'll do fine. I'll meet you in this general area in about twenty minutes.” He squeezed my arm again before moving off.
After he'd disappeared into the crowd, I went outside. The smell of spring quickened the blood in my veins. I drew a deep breath. The sun had gilded the landscape. Clouds skimmed across a sky that was as blue as a morning-glory blossom.
My gaze circled the parking lot for Effie's car. It was there. I eyed the hotel. Alvin had said she was “tied up—literally.” With his master key, he had access to any empty room in the nine-story building. I stared up the hill to Haversham Hall and the conservatory—more rooms, more space. I would need an army to make a thorough search. Behind me the miniature golf course was ready and waiting for its grand opening next week.
Golf course? Alvin had peppered his appraisal of my character with golfing terms. “Par for the course.” “Mulligan.” “Bogie.” “Sand trap.” Or was he setting a trap for me? I gritted my teeth. That's a stupid question.
I crossed the parking lot to the admittance gate. It was unlatched. “How convenient?” I murmured, stepping through the opening. My uneasiness at entering the course was outranked by the need to make sure Effie was safe. I hadn't intentionally drawn her into danger, but my actions had played a major role. She'd attached herself to my heart, and I wasn't about to let anything happen to her.
There were eighteen different attractions on this course. I knew the layout from having looked down on it from my hotel room. The only place where Effie could be hidden from view was in the cave, which the hotel brochure boasted as being a “real tourist treat.”
I worked my way toward the fourteenth hole, taking the twisting path of green carpet-covered walks. Even in my harried state, I could see there was plenty of potential for this theme park becoming a popular stopping place. No expense had been spared when it came to the plantings. Beds of tulips, narcissus, daffodils, and crocus were tucked into a thick layer of mulch. Forsythia, pussywillow bushes, and Bradford pear trees were coming into bloom. Around each corner, statues of
noted Missourians—Walt Disney, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Mark Twain, George Washington Carver, Harry S. Truman, and Scott Joplin—were incorporated into the challenge of sinking a putt.
I hastened under the replica of the St. Louis arch that loomed twenty-five feet in the air—far short of the six hundred and thirty foot rise of the original. Laminated signs guided me down a ramp and gave a historical background of the two-chamber cave. I skipped over the chronicle, concentrating on the map.
Directly in front of me was the chamber where the golfer would find his fourteenth putt. The main attraction involved taking a winding corridor that looped like an intestine into the bowels of the earth and ended in a colon-shaped cavern. According to the hype, by taking this “special tour” my “senses would be titillated by the atmospheric conditions.” I wasn't sure I could handle “titillated” on top of just plain scared.
As I entered the dimly lit hole, the sudden change in temperature made me shiver. I walked the golf green to the fourteenth hole. Colored lights guided me around unusual rock formations. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, while stalagmites rose from the floor like evil spears waiting to impale an imprudent visitor.
It took only a few seconds to see that Effie wasn't in this first chamber. I followed directional arrows to the entrance for the special tour and stepped to the opening.
“Effie?” I called into the dark cavern. An eerie silence greeted me. I strained my ears when I picked up a faraway cry. “Effie?”
“Leave!” she shouted.
Alvin's mocking voice filled the air. “But you won't, will
you? You're a predictable woman, Bretta Solomon. I knew you'd figure it out, and here you are.”
It sounded as if Alvin was speaking over an intercom, so he could be anywhere. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Take the tour, of course.”
“And if I don't?”
I heard what sounded like a smack. Effie cried out in pain.
“No! No!” I shouted. “I'm coming in.”
“I thought you would,” was Alvin's soft reply.
With heart pounding, I took a step into the blackness. A network of twinkle lights came on, crisscrossing the ceiling like a million tiny stars. Reassured by the festive, almost frivolous sight, I slung the strap of my handbag over my shoulder and navigated the first stretch of corridor that was eight feet wide.
I rounded a bend and heard a far-off rumble. I choked back a cry of surprise when the twinkle lights dimmed, then went out. Lightning flashed across the ceiling in a jagged streak followed by another menacing rumble. Pictures projected on the walls drew me into a violent thunderstorm. Bolts of electricity sliced the darkness, splitting it and exposing clouds that were green and ominous. Hailstones the size of grapefruit pounded craters into the earth, stripped trees of their leaves. The scene abruptly switched to an expensive brick house. Pellets of ice smashed through the bay windows, shattering the glass, sending lethal shards in all directions.
When the storm died away, and the lights had come back on, I leaned against the wall, willing my heart to behave.
Alvin's voice surrounded me. “Wasn't that a treat, Bretta? I've never understood why tourists pay money to have the bejabbers scared out of them. Keep walking.”
I crept down the passage like a soldier on patrol, looking first to my left and then to my right. Without warning the lights went out, but under my feet a five-by-ten-foot square of glass was lit. Water rumbled by with simulated people caught in the flood.
I stared in horror as their bodies helplessly fought the crashing waves. Piercing screams for help echoed off the stone walls. The faces turned up to me were so lifelike, so in need of rescuing, I nearly burst into tears at their plight and mine. Then without warning the floor reverted to darkness, but the twinkle lights didn't come on.
I waited, praying that the blackness would be broken by their glow, but no comforting light appeared. My breath came in painful gasps. My chest ached with tension. These were minor concerns, as Alvin once again spoke.
“Effie looks lovely today, Bretta. She's dressed in purple. Wonder if she'd bleed purple, too.”
A sob worked its way up my throat, and I cried, “Please, don't hurt her.”
“That's up to you, isn't it?”
I clenched my jaws. He's baiting you, I thought wildly. Keep control. Keep moving forward. I pictured the map in my mind. How many twists of the corridor before I reached the final cavern? Five? Six? How many had I already passed? Three? Four?
A gentle breeze against my face alerted me that another production was in the making. I moved to my left, hugging the damp stone wall, sidling slowly. The breeze turned to a swift flow of air. A lit sign flashed the words—TORNADO ALLEY. Jets of air swooshed past me. A roar like a freight train filled the corridor. The sound escalated until my head throbbed with the pulsation.
I cowered, panting in terror. Images flashed on the rock walls—trees uprooted, houses torn apart, and shingles flew through the air like guided missiles. Sheets of tin, ripped off an old barn, carried the threat of decapitation. It was as if I were in the tornado funnel. The sights, the sounds, and even the smell that permeated the air reeked of death and destruction.
Abruptly the storm ended. I walked another twenty feet, and a ball of hot light shone down on me. I wiggled uncomfortably. The heat was intense. I squinted against the glare.
Alvin's whisper chilled me. “It feels like hell, doesn't it, Bretta? Hell hath no fury like a woman on my trail. You're getting closer.”

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