Lilies That Fester Read online

  Carl had been a deputy with the Spencer County Sheriff’s Department. He’d made me privy to his investigations—everything from assault to murder. My interest in his job and his trust in me had cemented our marriage as a partnership. Carl had used me as his sounding board by laying out the facts of a case he was working on. We’d discuss the evidence, and I’d point out possibilities or weak links. My lips twitched. Carl hadn’t always agreed with my assessment—he could articulate with the best—but after I’d been right a few times, he’d listened to my theories and publicly given me credit.

  After his death, I’d been drawn into doing some amateur sleuthing on my own, which had almost gotten me killed. Abruptly I turned from the window and tossed the half-eaten peach into the trash.

  The afternoon sunlight streamed into my room and highlighted a five-by-seven manila envelope lying on the floor by the door. I hadn’t noticed it when I walked in. My mind had been on food.

  Before picking up the envelope, I pushed a portion of it under the door. Tight fit, but I figured that’s how it had been delivered. A note had been taped to the outside, and when I caught sight of the salutation, my eyebrows winged upward in surprise. It had been twenty-two months since anyone had referred to me as:

  Mrs. Carl Solomon:

  Last month my wife and I were in your shop buying flowers for our daughter’s funeral. A nice lady helped us with our order because you were on the phone. We shamelessly eavesdropped on your conversation and learned that you would be in Branson this weekend for a floral convention. We’ve timed our trip to coincide with this event.

  Your husband, Deputy Carl, was a fine man and a thoughtful officer. My wife and I live in the outer reaches of Spencer County, and when he was on patrol, he would stop in and visit with us. He often spoke of you and told us how you helped him with some of his investigations. We’ve since read in the River City Daily that you were instrumental in assisting the sheriff’s department in solving two murders.

  We don’t have enough evidence to take to the authorities. You, Mrs. Solomon, are our only hope to right a terrible wrong. Please keep this envelope safe for us. If we haven’t retrieved it by 7:00 A.M. on Friday, you have our permission to open it and assess its contents.

  Our highest regards,

  Vincent and Mabel McDuffy

  Spencer County, Missouri

  Chapter Two

  “McDuffy?” I murmured thoughtfully. The name jingled a bell of recognition. I picked up the phone and punched in the number for the front desk. “This is Bretta Solomon in room 521. I think you’re holding some messages for me from Vincent McDuffy.”

  The woman’s voice was cool. “The notes we have are addressed to a Mrs. Carol Salmon.”

  “I know that’s what it might look like, but I found another message in my room from Mr. McDuffy. I’m Mrs. Carl Solomon from River City, Missouri. Will you please have someone deliver those messages to me immediately? Thank you.”

  Carl had talked about several families he regularly saw while out on patrol. My gaze landed on the fruit in my suitcase. Peaches? Peach pie had been one of Carl’s favorite desserts. I’m only a so-so cook, and a flaky crust isn’t within my realm of expertise. But it seemed to me that a Mabel McDuffy had sated Carl’s sweet tooth with slices of pie when he dropped in for a visit.

  As for their daughter’s funeral service, I didn’t recall a single detail. Last month had been hectic what with getting the fine points ironed out for this conference.

  I was prepared with a tip and the note from Vincent when I opened the door to the same woman who’d been at the desk with Alvin. She frowned when she saw me. “Hi,” I said cheerfully. “Sorry about the mix-up, but I didn’t realize those messages were for me until I got to my room.” I held out the paper that had been taped to the envelope so she could see Vincent’s writing. “It is atrocious penmanship.”

  She saw the scrawl and visibly relaxed. “My name’s Helen. Thanks for calling down. This really takes a load off my mind. The messages seemed rather urgent, and I didn’t want to be responsible for not getting them to the right party.”

  I took the offered slips of paper, then held out the money, but she shook her head. “No thanks. I’m just glad we got this straightened out. Mr. and Mrs. McDuffy are the sweetest people. In the last four days, they’ve become very special to me.”

  “Four days, huh? They must be enjoying all the sights.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Most of the time they sit in the lobby or take the shuttle up the hill to the conservatory. They’re a devoted couple, always holding hands. Mrs. McDuffy isn’t well.” Helen leaned closer. “I think she has cancer. She wears a gray wig and is as thin as a wafer. I feel sorry for them. They lost their only child last month.”

  I was amazed at the extent of her knowledge of the McDuffys. “With so many guests, how in the world do you know all this?”

  “I get bored, and Mr. McDuffy likes to talk.” She gave a depreciative gesture. “I do, too. We hit it off.”

  “So where are they now?”

  “I’m not sure. Their names aren’t on the list for the shuttle. And I know they aren’t in their room. I just talked to Carolyn, who cleans their floor, and she said they weren’t there. They must have left early this morning because I came to work at seven, and I didn’t see them go out.”

  I’d gone to the basement about 6:00 A.M. to unpack containers and get the mundane chores done so the designers could swoop in and do their thing. It must have been after six and before seven when the McDuffys pushed the envelope under my door.

  I got the impression that Helen would have stayed and talked longer, but I was curious about my messages, so I cut short our visit. I waved the slips of paper. “Thanks,” I said, easing the door closed. “When I see Vincent and Mabel, I’ll be sure to tell them how conscientious you were.”

  As soon as the latch clicked shut, I started reading, or perhaps I should say, deciphering Vincent’s handwriting. I could see how Helen had thought she was looking for a Mrs. Carol Salmon. Each note was headed with the greeting: Mrs. Carl Solomon.

  Wednesday—11:00 A.M. Please contact me. I’m a guest here in the hotel.

  Vincent McDuffy.

  Wednesday—7:00 P.M. Please call our room immediately.

  My wife and I need to speak with you.

  Vincent and Mabel McDuffy.

  Wednesday—10:00 P:M. We can’t wait any longer. I’m sorry our paths didn’t cross, but we’re placing our trust in you, based on your husband’s faith.

  Vincent and Mabel McDuffy.

  I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat and wondered what my loving husband had spilled to these people. But more importantly, what were they expecting from me?

  Helen had said the couple wasn’t in their room, but I needed info. I went to the phone and dialed my business in River City. While the number rang, I picked up the manila envelope. It was flat except for a hard rectangular box that might be a—

  “The Flower Shop,” answered Lois.

  “Hi, it’s me. Got time for a chat?”

  “Yeah, if you hang on a minute.”

  The receiver plunked against the counter. Background noise told me she was finishing with a customer. Lois Duncan is my top designer, but she’s more than an employee. She puts up with my quirky personality and quite simply—me.

  In the last six months, I’ve tried Lois’s patience further by my amateur sleuthing. Sid Hancock, the sheriff of Spencer County, uses a colorful array of words when he describes my active interest in the crimes of his county. Regardless of what Sid thinks, I’ve never gone looking for trouble, but I’ve always been more comfortable helping others with their problems than dealing with my own.

  “Here I am,” said Lois. “How’s the vacation?”

  Jerked back to the present, I gasped. “Are you kidding? Vacation? I’m working my fingers down to stubs.”

  “Have you met any unattached males?”

  A mental picture of the man in the lobby fl
ashed through my mind. “No. I’m still footloose and fancy-free.”

  Lois grunted. “You can put a stop to that if you’ll wear your new black dress tonight. You did pack it?”

  I looked across the room to the open closet door. Lois had gone shopping with me, and I’d let her talk me into buying the dress—tight skirt, nipped-in waist, and low neckline. “Yeah. It’s hanging alongside that obscene nightie you hid in my suitcase. This isn’t a seduction trip. I’m here to conduct a floral contest.”

  “Combine business with pleasure, and you’ll come home fulfilled.”

  “Why do you think a man will solve my problems?” Before Lois, a happily married woman, could answer, I quickly said, “We’re getting off track. I called to pick your brain.”

  Lois sighed. “We’ve been busy so there isn’t much left to scavenge.”

  “Can you think back to last month? We did the funeral flowers for the daughter of Vincent and Mabel McDuffy. Do you remember waiting on them?”

  “Sure. Their daughter’s name was Stephanie, but they called her Steffie. She was only twenty-seven when she died.”

  “What was wrong with her?”

  “Heart attack.”

  “At twenty-seven? That’s terrible. It must not have been a big service or I’d have remembered.”

  “It wasn’t. At the time I commented that it was a shame such a young woman had so few flowers.”

  “What do you remember about her parents?”

  Lois sighed. “Bretta, I don’t mind playing twenty questions, but before this conversation comes to an end, you will me tell what’s going on?”

  I grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Yeah, right. The mother, Mabel, has cancer and had been taking chemo. She looked like a scarecrow with half the stuffing knocked out. However, the father, Vincent McDuffy, was huge. They’re a ‘Jack Sprat’ in reverse. Surely you remember him, as obsessed as you are with weight.”

  “I’m not obsessed, just careful. You would be too if you’d lost the equivalent of another person and still craved chocolate and fried chicken.” I touched the brown envelope beside me. “The McDuffys are here in Branson. I found a note from them under my door, and three more at the front desk.”

  “Sounds like they’re persistent. What do they want?”

  “I’m not sure. Apparently when Carl was on patrol, he’d go by their house and visit. I think Mrs. McDuffy is the one who used to bake him pies.”

  “That’s nice, but not enlightening. What’s the rest of the story?”

  “I wish I knew. In one of their notes they said something about me ‘righting a wrong.’”

  Lois snorted. “Well, that’s up your alley. Did they say what this ‘wrong’ is?”

  “No. I’ve been busy with conference duties, and we’ve missed connections.”

  “How did they know you were in Branson at that particular hotel?”

  After I’d explained about the eavesdropping, Lois said, “I don’t like this, Bretta. Why were they listening to your plans while ordering the flowers for their daughter’s funeral? Sounds pretty weird to me. I’d keep my distance if I were you.”

  “I can’t do that. Carl liked them, and they thought enough of Carl to trust me with this package.”

  “Package? What package? You said notes.”

  I laughed. “It’s just an envelope with what feels like a small rectangle box inside.”

  “Is it making little tick-tick sounds?”

  “You watch too many movies.”

  “No need for movies when I work for you. I get all the excitement I can handle.”

  “Then if I need some information, you won’t mind nosing around?”

  “Around where? Here in town?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got this feeling—”

  “See?” said Lois. “That’s just what I mean. Your feelings scare ten years off of my life.”

  “Don’t worry—yet. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I put the receiver back in the cradle, then reread the McDuffys’ letter. My uneasiness came from their mention of my role in solving two murders. Why bring that up? Why wouldn’t the McDuffys come back for the envelope? Why would I need to “assess” the contents? My fingers traced the outline of the hard rectangular box. It felt like a cassette. Had they recorded a message for me? Was I being ridiculous?

  There probably wasn’t any need to get worked up over what could be nothing. This was another prime example of how I get sucked into other people’s problems. It was much easier to contemplate the ands, ifs, and buts of the McDuffys than it was to mull over my own situation.

  I placed a call to their room. There wasn’t any answer, which bothered me since they hadn’t been seen all day. That was surely odd since Helen had said that for the last four days Mabel and Vincent had spent their time in the lobby or taking the shuttle up to the conservatory.

  I tempered my uneasiness by telling myself that they would be by in the morning to get the envelope. However, they’d asked me to keep it safe. I looked around for a hiding place. I was usually pretty good at this kind of thing, but a hotel room offered few choices. I’d had better luck concealing the bulky notebook that held the information for the contest. My notes and the compact disc that was the “key” to the contest were safely tucked away from prying eyes in the silver-blue casket that was on prominent display in the conference room.

  I’d never examined the construction of a casket until yesterday. Chloe had told us the mattress was as thin as paper. Robbee had remarked that funeral homes rarely get complaints. I’d investigated the bottom of the stainless-steel box and found a metal grid supporting the flimsy pad. The space beneath the framework made a perfect place to hide my notes, but it wouldn’t work for this envelope. It had to be here in my room.

  After a moment’s deliberation, I dropped the package behind the armoire, where it caught on a ledge and blended with the woodwork. I’d have to get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it, but I’d done as requested.

  Now what was I to do? It was too early to get ready for the introductory dinner, an event I thought unnecessary. Those involved knew enough about each other to turn the gathering into a no-holds-barred bashing. Since I might be at the center of a major controversy concerning the design categories, I decided to make myself scarce until the appointed hour, but I could call Gellie.

  I had reached for the phone when someone knocked on my door. I opened it with a flourish, thinking it might be the McDuffys.

  In the hall was Effie, the secretary of the Show-Me Floral Association. I looked down into her rheumy blue eyes and smiled. A spry seventy-one, though her shoulders were stooped from fifty years of floral designing, she still maintains a forty-hour workweek at her flower shop.

  “Are you busy, dear?” she asked, then smoothed her orchid dress, which picked up the lavender highlights of her hair. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You could never be that,” I assured her. “I was going to call Gellie’s room to see if she’d like to get together for a chat.”

  “Then she’s arrived?” When I nodded, Effie sighed. “Well, thank goodness. Car trouble on an interstate is horrible. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom. Everyone in a rush, but no one willing to stop and help.” Her chin came up. “Did I tell you about the woman who almost bashed my car yesterday when I arrived at the hotel?”

  I nodded. I’d heard the story several times, and with each rendition, Effie had gotten upset all over again. Hoping to ward off a rise in her blood pressure, I gestured to the leatherbound binder in her hands. “Are you on a fact-finding mission?”

  “I’m about ‘facted’ out, if there is such a word.”

  I heard a note of fatigue in her voice and studied her with concern. I’d always had a soft spot for little old ladies, which probably stemmed from a cruel fate that had snatched my own grandparents away before I’d gotten to know them. When I saw the tired droop to Effie’s stooped shoulders, I asked, “Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?�
��

  Effie grimaced. “After I make the place cards for tonight’s dinner party, I might take a nap. I have a headache from my meeting with Tyrone.” She peered up at me. “Do you know the Greek origin of the name ‘Tyrone’?”

  This was just one of the reasons I loved Effie. I couldn’t always track which path her mind was taking, but the journey was usually interesting. “I haven’t a clue,” I answered.

  Effie dabbed her watery eyes with a lace-edged hankie she pulled from her dress sleeve. “I find names fascinating, especially once I get to know the owner. Each generation has a trend, but most names have a historical foundation.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I can’t decide if fate decrees us a name because our personality has been defined before we’re born, or if we subconsciously try to live up to the moniker we were blessed with at birth.”

  Airily, she waved the hand holding the hankie. “No matter. Last year, after Tyrone was elected president of the Show-Me Floral Association, I looked up his name in a book I’m partial to and found that Tyrone means ‘ruler.’ Most apropos considering his high-handed tactics at being involved in every aspect of his board’s duties. Bernice is with him now. Allison has been summoned to appear at five.”

  I didn’t know what Effie was talking about as to “historical foundation” and “fate decrees,” but I identified the names “Bernice and Allison” and tried not to scowl. As treasurer of the association, Bernice’s job is to make sure all the conference committees don’t go over budget. To hear her talk, we’re a bunch of willy-nilly spenders, and she’s the only one who knows how to balance a checkbook.

  Allison Thorpe is the association’s vice president. In our hometown of River City, Missouri, Allison and I own rival flower shops. Our tedious relationship is like the back roads that wind their way through the Ozarks—pitted and pocked as a lotus pod.