Bouquet of Lies

by Smith, Roberta

  Raging alcoholism, maybe, Lacey thought. What’s going on, Edward?

  “My son was a great man. I always knew he would be. I think it’s common knowledge I raised him on my own.”

  Great Grandmama Harriet would beg to differ.

  “And it was a pleasure. From the time he was small, he was industrious. Always thinking in terms of business. I hate to admit it, but I was never able to be the breadwinner for my family. Yes, for good reason. Because of my health.”

  Health reasons? Lacey almost laughed out loud. Someone in the back did burst out with a “Ha.” It sounded like Courtney.

  “But the shame that comes with that can be unbearable. Admirably, it never bothered my son. He took the financial reins. He took care of me. A father and son could not have been closer.” Edward squeezed his eyes together in counterfeit grief and paused. “He was my son. He never expected to die first. So now it will be up to the daughters he raised, the daughters who lacked for nothing . . .”

  Except parental affection.

  “To care for a penniless grandfather. Harper.” He looked skyward. “I hope they make you proud, selfish creatures that they are.” He kissed two fingers and raised them as if offering the kiss to Harper.

  Now she got it. Edward was polite all week because he was at their mercy. Funny. It never occurred to her to throw him out. That she could if she wanted to, made her smile for the first time since Harper’s death.

  Business associates spoke next. They told funny anecdotes.

  “He had the driest sense of humor. No matter what woman he was dating . . .”

  Dating? Daddy had a love life? He certainly never brought anyone home.

  “He always told the same joke. ‘I answered an ad in the personals. Buxom brunette. Five-foot-seven. One hundred twenty-five pounds. Successful in business. No children. Enjoys travel and pampering her man. Seeks similar qualities in a partner for as long as the good times last. Golfers need not apply.’” The church rippled with laughter. “So, of course, Mr. Sixteen Handicap answered the ad.” More laughter.

  It seemed like everyone had something to say: “I remember the time . . .” “He was always . . .” “We had dinner together at least once a month . . .”

  The stories kept coming and Lacey realized all these people knew her father better than she did.

  Randy Barber stepped to the podium. Harper’s golden boy. What in the world did he have to say?

  “My first day of work, I witnessed Harper Bouquet fire a guy. We were in a meeting and I was giving a presentation. Yes. My first day of work I was giving a presentation. That was Harper. He gave me an assignment the day he hired me and told me to come ready. I came ready. So I’m explaining a strategy I believed the company could use to overtake the competition, a competitor Bouquet had never bested, and I’m interrupted. Someone trying to impress the boss started offering obstructions to my plan. ‘You know,’ said Harper, ‘the one who says it can’t be done should never interrupt the one who’s doing it. That’s all I ever see you do. Go pack up your desk. See if you can handle that.’ Now, that may sound a bit theatrical. But here’s my point.”

  Randy’s eyes focused on Darla.

  “Have confidence. If there is something needed, know it can be accomplished. That’s what Harper believed and I believe it too.”

  He walked away from the microphone, squeezed Edward’s hands first and spoke, “I’m sorry for your loss.” He came to Lacey and with deeply sincere eyes, squeezed her hands but said nothing. He went to Darla, took her hands and bent in close, but Lacey could still hear. “I know he believed in you. He told me so.”

  Lacey accepted condolences from those who gathered in the church social hall following the service until she thought her hands and cheeks would fall off.

  Five minutes into the gathering Edward muttered something unpleasant in her ear about not having had the reception at the country club and cut out. Thirty minutes after that, girlfriend Courtney apologized for having to go early and left as well.

  People roamed with plates of food or they chatted at tables. A slide show of Harper on the job and on the golf course played in the background and was mostly ignored. Aptly, it had no photos of Harper with his children. Lacey decided someone at Bouquet Industries had pieced it together and assumed Harper had no home life which was basically true.

  She took a chair beside Jake at a table and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “How you holding up there, Miss Priss?” He bit into a sandwich and brushed some breadcrumbs from his lap.

  “I’m tired. My feet hurt. We should get Darla and go home.”

  “Darla’s gone.”

  “What?” She had been so busy accepting everyone’s “I’m sorry for your loss” that she’d just assumed Darla was holed up in some corner staying out of sight. “Well. Who took her?”

  “Who do you think?”

  A name immediately popped into her head. “Randy Barber.”

  “I guess that’s his name. If you ask me, he’s trying to sweep Darla off her feet.”

  Lacey stopped leaning and looked at him. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Me? It’s none of my business.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I did think that little story he told was over the top. It was more about himself than Harper.”

  “It was about Darla.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. The ‘have confidence.’ He was looking right at her.”

  “I guess I couldn’t tell from the back.” Jake examined what was left of the sandwich. “He seems like a bit of an ego head. You think he’s good for her?”

  “I think you’re good for her.”

  Jake suppressed a smile. “Nah. I’m too old. She’s a baby.”

  “Randy’s older than you are.”

  “Hmm.” Jake popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and swallowed it.

  “Better make your move before you lose her.”

  His jaw slacked and he shook his head. “She has walls up. Only lets me get so close. Looks like this Randy guy’s already in. Can’t say I really trust him, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “But, I don’t know. If he’s helping her grow up, that’s a good thing. I hope I’m wrong about him.”

  “See. That’s why you’re good for her. You put her welfare ahead of your own.”

  He made a face, but didn’t protest. “You wanna go?”

  She scanned the room. No Dan. The part of her that had held out hope he’d show accepted reality. Yes, she wanted to go.

  Fourteen

  SEATED AT HIS kitchen table, Dan stared at the phone. Friday night. Harper Bouquet’s memorial had been today. He could have taken time off to attend, but chose not to. Now he felt guilty. Should he call Lacey and say he was sorry he missed it?

  His finger tapped the phone. How was she holding up? That night in the kitchen his heart had ached for her. He had wanted to comfort her, help her get through it. But look what he’d done. Completely stayed away.

  Shaking his head, his hand withdrew. He wouldn’t call. He’d be sending a mixed message. That she mattered to him when she didn’t. That her life was any of his business when it wasn’t. That . . .

  She did matter to him.

  He let go of a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. This girl had him so confused. He had never been this befuddled in his life.

  The phone rang and immediately he hoped it was Lacey.

  It wasn’t. He heard his uncle on the other end. “How you doing there? Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

  “Working. You know.” Dan tried to keep the disappointment he felt out of his voice.

  “Thought I’d see you at the memorial service. Thought you’d be there with your girlfriend.”

  Girlfriend. Right.

  “I had to work.”

  “Well, I know about having to work. In fact, that’s why I called. We’re not going to make it for dinner on Sunday.”

  Sunday din
ner had completely slipped Dan’s mind. “That’s not a problem. It was just going to be hamburgers anyway.”

  “And I love hamburgers.”

  “Better than my gourmet?” Dan smiled. “So what’s happening Sunday?”

  “Working. A bit of overtime. Haven’t found the thread yet that’s going to unravel this thing.”

  “Harper’s murder?”

  “Got some theories brewing. And people I want to interview.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, I can’t talk about that.”

  Dan nodded. Homicide cops weren’t supposed to share information except for what they told reporters, which was only what the brass wanted the public to know. The story that ran in the paper about Harper’s murder had been mostly highlights of his life.

  After they hung up Dan wanted to talk to Lacey more than ever. It didn’t sound like Uncle Carrick had made much headway. Lacey had to be wondering what was going on. Of course, there really wasn’t anything he could tell her.

  The phone rang again. This time Murray’s voice came through.

  “You been thinking about that car?”

  “A little bit, but not really.”

  “Can’t afford it or is it something else?”

  Dan could afford it. There’d been a life insurance policy on Sally. He hadn’t touched the money. It was just sitting there. How would it be to spend some of it on a car she would absolutely hate? He shook off the question. “I don’t know. It’s . . . I don’t know.”

  “Yeah. Hey, bud. Maybe you’ll mind my saying so, but I’m kind of a straight shooter and, uh, mind you, I got no interest in selling you that car, except I’d love to have my racing buddy back. And here’s the thing. You come off all steely on the outside, but it’s clear you’re still working through some stuff. I’ll just say this. You’re alive and you’ve got a lot of years ahead of you. Maybe it’s time to do some of the things you like to do.”

  Dan didn’t answer. What could he say? It was what his aunt and uncle had said. He agreed. It was just easier said than done.

  “I know you’re some kind of war hero. So it isn’t a question—”

  “What are you talking about?” Dan asked.

  “I was talking to a guy who knew you.”

  “What?”

  “About ten months ago. At the drags. We struck up a conversation because he had a Camaro. Looked a lot like the one you sold. I thought maybe he was the one who bought it. Wasn’t, but he knew you. Served in Iraq with you. Saw you save a guy’s life.”

  Dan raised his eyes and shook his head. That had been a knee-jerk reaction. The guy had been shot by a sniper and he went after him. He himself never suffered a scratch.

  “No. I’m no hero so we don’t need to talk about that.”

  “Well, I’m just saying psychological stuff can be tougher than physical threats. Okay, I said my piece. Now, you feel like coming over? I’ve got some pals dropping by for Nascar.”

  That sounded good. It was another way to keep his mind off Lacey and reconnect with Murray.

  “Sounds like a plan. What’s the address?”

  Dan wrote it down.

  Fifteen

  SUNDAY MORNING DARLA sat buckled into the passenger seat of Randy’s Lexus. Euphoria filled every cell of her body and she found it difficult to breathe. The air in her lungs had to compete with the ecstasy that had settled there.

  Heroines in the books she read were always feeling faint with passion, and she’d tried many a time to put herself in their shoes. But she never really got it until now. She was riding in a car with a man she trusted. Someone who made her feel strong. Someone who could have come from any of the pages of those romance novels. He was gorgeous and kind and evidently he wanted to be with her.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. She should be thinking about her father who died, not Randy. But she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as if she really knew her father. She’d as good as lost him from the day she was born. Randy, on the other hand, was present. He seemed bigger than life in her narrow world. And he was doing something with her Lacey hadn’t offered to do.

  She breathed in his aftershave. From now on she would always associate this scent—this heavenly scent—with Randy.

  He glanced over at her. “You keep twisting that and I’ll have potpourri all over the floor.”

  She looked at the nosegay in her lap. The stems were bent every which way. “Oh, yeah,” she said softly. “Sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “Hey. It’s okay. But if you keep doing that you won’t have any flowers for your parents. That’s all.”

  Darla nodded and tried to quiet her hands.

  “Nervous? Don’t be. I told you I’d be with you every step of the way.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Good.”

  He pulled onto the drive that wound through the cemetery and turned right. He knew exactly which way to go. Darla was glad about that. There were green lawns, large buildings, zillions of palm trees and cypress trees not to mention the headstones, tombs and monuments that fanned out in every direction. It all looked confusing to her.

  “Thank you for bringing me.” Darla began twisting the nosegay again.

  They reached a building connected to a chapel in the far corner of the grounds and he parked the car at the curb in the shade of an old tree. “I told you. I’m happy to do it.” He put a hand on hers. “It gives me a chance to know you better.” His eyes examined her face and he brushed a wisp of her hair away. It had caught in her long lashes. “I bought you a present.”

  “You did?”

  “Well. It’s really a present for me. I like to see those beautiful green eyes of yours.” He reached into the backseat, grabbed a plastic bag and removed a headband. It was covered with a striped silk fabric and included a medium-sized bow low on the band. “Do you like it?”

  “Oh, yes.” She reached for it.

  “Allow me.” He placed it carefully on her head, drawing back the errant locks of hair. “Perfect.” He smiled at her. “It suits you.”

  “I’ll never take it off.”

  He laughed. “Ready?”

  She nodded and they hopped out of the car.

  Randy took her hand. “This way.” She allowed him to lead as if she were a puppy on a leash.

  They entered the Eternal Peace Mausoleum and walked down a long corridor flanked by marble crypts and archways. Darla raised her chin and looked skyward. Long-chained, brass chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, dispensing dim light. There was one window at the end of the hall providing a little more illumination. She turned her head to the side and saw bronze vases attached by metal rings to the many crypts that held the remains of the loved ones who’d passed. Some held flowers adding color to the solemn setting. Bronze markers of varying designs gave the names and years lived of those who rested in peace.

  “This way.” Randy guided her through an archway into a ten by thirteen foot columbarium. Niches varied in height. Some were ten inches high, some twelve, some as small as eight. The side walls had marble fronts hiding the urns that held loved ones’ ashes. Niches in the long wall were glass-covered so the urns could be seen.

  “Over here.” Randy took her to a corner of the space.

  They stood before a glass niche with two brass urns. One held the ashes of her father, the other her mother’s. She placed what was left of the nosegay in the attached vase. It had been Lacey’s idea to put the ashes here. She wanted them out of the house.

  A sense of melancholy overtook Darla and her eyes grew moist. This was all that was left of her parents. She had never been close to her father, but she felt a bond with her mother. So much so that for years she thought her alive. She could believe, now, that her mother was dead because it made sense for them to be together.

  She began to rub her wrists. “I’m not mad at her.”

  “Mad?”

  “For killing Father. It’s like a connection I have with her. She died giving birth to me. I was her
killer. She killed Father. They’re together now. She can be at peace and so can I.”

  Randy didn’t say anything.

  She looked at him. “Do you understand?”

  “All that matters is you no longer feel guilty.”

  A light panic threatened her. “You believe me, don’t you? That I saw Mother? That she killed Father?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Of course I believe you. I also think you’ve been under a great strain for years without anyone for support except that crazy sister of yours.”

  Darla suppressed a smile. It struck her as funny for Lacey to be called the crazy one.

  “You should commune with your parents. There’s a bench right there. Just sit and be with them. I’ll wait for you—”

  “No.” She took Randy’s hand.

  “I’ll be right outside. You need to do this. For closure.”

  She smiled. “Okay. If you think so.” She looked at the urns and let go of his hand. “Okay.”

  He left her and she sat on the concrete bench. With eyes closed she enjoyed a deep sense of serenity. She had Randy. She had the Reverend Irene. Her mother was with her father now, and she understood. Those times, years ago, when she saw her mom, it had been her spirit, restless and wandering. Everything was as it should be.

  Darla, a soft female voice whispered. It’s Mother.

  “Yes,” Darla answered, calm, peaceful, eyes still closed.

  I miss you.

  “I miss you too. But you’re happy now, aren’t you?”

  Yes. I’m happy. And I like your handsome young man.

  Darla smiled. “You think he’s mine?”

  I do.

  There was a pause.

  Now I need to warn you. I want you to be careful.

  “Careful? About Randy?”

  About your sister.

  Darla’s eyes shot open. She half expected to see the spirit of her mother hovering before her. She saw no one. “What do you mean?”

  She’s greedy when it comes to men. Men and money.

  “What?” Darla rose to her feet.