Bouquet of Lies

by Smith, Roberta

No more wine. When they made love for the first time she wanted to be fully aware. It would be heavenly. The most wonderful thing she ever experienced.

  Her head pounded again, interrupting the romantic thoughts. She’d get back to them when she felt better.

  Seventeen

  AT NINE THIRTY in the morning, Lacey walked into the reception area of Stark’s office and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the buxom, tight-bloused receptionist seated behind a desk. Lacey half expected the big-haired brunette to whip out an emery board and start filing her nails, except her nails were an inch long and fake.

  “Hi. I’m Marnie,” the sex-pot said in a breathy voice to the mirror she held up to her face. “I’m twenty-two and I’ve kissed a lot of frogs looking for my prince.” She giggled, waved her hand, and adjusted the tone of her voice. “Hi. I’m Marnie and I’m looking for true love.”

  “Reality TV?” Lacey switched the heavy tote she was carrying to her left hand.

  Marnie lowered the mirror. Her smile faded and she gave Lacey the once-over. “May I help you?”

  Lacey gave her the once-over back. “Tell your boss that Edward Bouquet’s granddaughter is here to see the blackmailer.”

  Marnie picked up the phone. “There’s a female here. She wants to talk to you.”

  That’s interesting. Confirming his Modus Operandi.

  Marnie listened and answered, “Somebody’s granddaughter.” She listened again and hung up. “He’s not in.”

  Lacey moved to Stark’s door as Marnie watched without protest. She opened it and caught sight of the back of Stark as he swung a tennis racket with no ball. Lacey turned to the wannabe reality star and wrinkled her nose with a phony smile. “Thanks. You’ve been super.” She went in.

  The office was classy. Sleek furniture. Real plants and a large bank of windows with an expansive twelfth-story view of Los Angeles.

  “Blackmail must be lucrative.” Lacey closed the door.

  Stark turned. Now that she wasn’t seeing him from fifteen feet away, she determined he was probably forty, had a great tan and white teeth in a wide mouth that was too big for his face.

  “Blackmail?” He raised his hand, threw high an invisible ball and smacked it directly at Lacey.

  Lacey raised her hand and caught it. “I’m ready for anything you can deliver.”

  Stark smirked. “That I’d like to see.” He put down the racket and moved to the black leather chair behind his desk and sat. “Okay, Ms. Bouquet . . . Lacey.”

  “So you know me.” She stepped toward him.

  “I’m an investigator. I investigate.” He motioned for her to take a seat. She took it. “What can I do for you?”

  “Tell me what you’ve got on Edward.”

  “What I’ve got? You have things a bit mixed up. Your father hired me to do a job. I did it. I want to get paid.”

  “I’ll pay you. Tell me what it is.”

  He looked her up and down and she felt her stomach lurch for the door. Something about this maggot made her want to heave. Flirting was out of the question.

  “That’s an interesting offer. You haven’t heard my price.”

  “One-hundred-thousand. I heard.”

  “Two-hundred-thousand.”

  “You told Edward one-hundred.”

  “The price just went up.”

  “You’ll never see a Washington from Edward. He doesn’t have money.”

  “Oh, he has his ways.”

  Lacey wondered what that meant. Maybe Edward had something stashed away. He did have a Rolex or two or three he could pawn.

  The maggot leered at her boobs. “I’m sure you have your ways too. We could work out some sort of payment plan.”

  Her skin crawled. This required action. She moved to his side of the desk, sat on it, and pulled him toward her with his tie. He reached for her breast and she grabbed his hand before it arrived.

  “Listen, Maggot. There will be no payment plan. I’ve come with cash. I figured you might try to screw me.” She flinched. “Scratch that. Extract more money and I’ve brought more. One-hundred-twenty-five.” She nodded toward the tote on the floor and his eyes followed. She shoved him back and retrieved the bag, then slapped a couple of bundles of money on the desk. “Ten thousand. Twenty thousand.” Her hand went in the bag for more and stopped.

  He looked at her. He looked at the money. He looked at her. “Well, I can’t tell you everything.”

  She slapped another bundle down and he let out a short sigh.

  “I can tell you one thing.”

  “The price just went down.”

  “Nope. I accept your offer. One-hundred and twenty-five.”

  Her brain went into calculation mode. Why wouldn’t he tell her everything? Because he intended to still get money out of Edward? Maybe the stuff he wouldn’t tell her was more damaging. Something she might tell the police and then he would never get money from Edward.

  She stared at Stark. His expression was solid. He wasn’t going to budge. “Fine.”

  Stark moved to the tote and emptied the rest of the cash. After a quick count, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door to a walk-in closet. She heard the sound of a metal drawer opening. Heard it shut. When he returned he had a couple of photographs in his hand. “Why not make the best of things, I always say.” He grinned.

  She frowned and took the photos. One showed a group of people waiting at a bus stop. “What’s this? What am I looking at?”

  Stark pointed at a woman amid the crowd. “Her.”

  Lacey took a closer look. “Her who?”

  Stark grabbed the photos and had her look at the second one. The same woman was exiting a fleabag hotel, only in this one her image was prominent and clear. She appeared to be in her early forties, had sallow skin and medium-length bleached-blond hair. She wore a tight, knee-length skirt and low-cut tank. Lacey looked up. “Okay. So?”

  “Your father paid me to find her.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t say why and I didn’t ask.”

  “But you know.”

  He smirked. “This is what you get for your money. A name and an address unless you want to bargain for more.”

  Lacey gave him a sour look. “What’s the name?”

  “Tiffany Class.”

  “That’s her real name?”

  “That’s what she goes by. Could be a play on words.”

  “Ya think?”

  It was a lousy neighborhood and Lacey really didn’t think it wise to leave her Spyder unattended. From the driver’s seat, she stared at the Hotel Pamela across the street, the fleabag in the photo. Built in the thirties, it had no obvious upgrades. If Texas Chainsaw hadn’t lived on a farm, he might have liked this place. Tiffany was either inside or roaming somewhere doing her thing.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Lacey drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

  People passed by and she wasn’t keen on how they ogled the car. She’d been there for two hours. It was time to go. She would have to come back using some other mode of transportation. Also, she wanted to be home when Edward returned from his four o’clock with the maggot.

  Lacey stretched out on the library couch, the one that wasn’t spotted with blood, and placed the photos she got from Stark face down on her stomach. She had stared at them long enough. The verdict was in and no amount of staring at photos was going to talk her out of it.

  If only Stark had told her more. He knew more, she was convinced of it. One-hundred thousand sure didn’t go far these days. Inflation was a bitch.

  She sighed and turned her head to stare at the dark red stain on the rug. “Well, Daddy. Did you see your killer? Was Mom really here?” Her eyes followed the footprints that went every which way. Too bad Darla’s psychic was a phony. It would be nice to get some answers. Where were the cops when you needed them?

  She suddenly felt lonely and in need of a friend. Courtney was always good for commiseration and a laugh. She called her on the cell a
nd gave a quickie update of the day.

  “It’s morbid to hang out in that room. Tell me again, why haven’t you called in the cleaners?”

  “I don’t know. I keep thinking if I stare at it hard enough I’ll see something.”

  “That the police missed? With all their CSI gadgetry?”

  “On TV they care. In real life, not so much. There’re lots of murders to solve and I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Not even from Dan-the-Man?”

  “Not a peep.”

  “Because he’s all about the ethics?”

  “I don’t know what he’s about. He confuses me. I try not to think about him. I’m protecting my heart.”

  “Uh-oh. Serious heart stuff. Sounds like a job for Mighty Friend.” Courtney liked old cartoons. “Dan-the-Man and I should talk.”

  “Here she comes to save the day!”

  “I mean it. Give me his number.”

  Lacey chuckled. “And what are you going to say?”

  “I don’t know. Something like, ‘You break’a her heart, I break’a your neck.’ How does that sound?”

  “Like a plan. A bad plan, but a plan. And my heart is fine. I really like him, more than I’ve liked anybody in a long time. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I know nothing about him. Except he’s too principled for his own good. Or maybe my own good.”

  “There’s something to be said about immorality.”

  “Depravity. Wantonness. Tearing one’s clothes off and having at it.” She saw Dan in her mind’s eye, so staid and rock solid and sexy and moral. She could make fun, but she liked that moral streak in him.

  “Yeah,” said Courtney. “The more I think about it, the more I think you’re better off without him. You’re too different.”

  Courtney’s tone was light, but the words sort of stung. If Dan was all about ethics and they were too different, what did that say about her? That she was like Maggot? The thought sent a shiver through her soul. Give me an exorcism. Quick! It was time to stop discussing the ravishing Officer O’Donnell.

  “So I’m staring at bloody footprints and waiting for Edward,” Lacey said.

  “And changing the subject.”

  “And changing the subject. I’ve stared at the photos Maggot gave me until I’m blue in the face.”

  “Nice color. You should take the stage in Vegas.”

  “It’s Mom.”

  “Lacey, I know you and Darla come from the same gene pool, but don’t go off the deep end on me.”

  “I’m convinced.”

  “Why would your father and grandfather say she was dead if she isn’t?”

  “I don’t know. But I bet Maggot does. If I could screw up my immorality and make a payment plan, he’d tell me. But there’s something to be said for principles.”

  “Even if he weren’t disgusting?”

  “Even then.”

  “Maybe you and Dan-the-Man are alike.”

  Lacey smiled. Then she frowned. “You should see the neighborhood where she lives. It’s to die in. Literally.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “So you won’t give me a ride, even if I change my tune and tell you it’s like Bel Air?”

  “Lie to me? Where are your ethics? I think it’s time to call in the cops.”

  “Nope. Not yet. I need to check it out. What if it’s not her? You think they’d clue me in? And if it is, she could run and I’d never get to interrogate.”

  “Valid points.”

  “Extremely valid . . .” Lacey heard her sister coming down the stairs, singing. She laughed.

  “What?” Courtney asked.

  “Darla. She’s in love. It’s adorable.”

  “Love? This is the first I’ve heard. Who’s the lucky fella?”

  “Randy.”

  “Randy? Your Randy?”

  “He’s not mine. I gave him up for better or worse. Remember?”

  “You took a vow?”

  “Yes. And I wore black. Walked down the aisle. The whole bit.”

  “And didn’t invite me?”

  “Sorry. It was sort of spontaneous. Didn’t invite anybody.”

  Darla appeared in the doorway with the cautious look of a toddler wary of strangers. In a thin, frightened voice she called, “Hello? Mom?”

  “Oh, jeez. Courtney, I’ll talk to you later.” Lacey sat up and put the phone away. “No, Darla. It’s me.”

  Darla stepped inside, but just barely. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I was talking to Courtney. Come sit.” She moved the photos to the floor and slid them under the couch.

  “Uh.” Darla took a couple of steps and stalled.

  “There are . . .” No ghosts in here, Lacey almost said, but thought better of it. “Heard you singing.”

  “So?”

  “So it was nice.”

  Darla moved around the couch and sat next to her sister. “I hate this room. It’s scary. Now it’s scarier and I hate it more.”

  “I know. But you’re in high spirits today. The dashing Randy?”

  “Don’t make fun.”

  “Darla, I always make fun.”

  “Well, don’t. Not about him. He’s wonderful. And he’s taking me out again tonight.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve always wanted you to get out of the house. You know that. I happen to think Jake is better for you—”

  “What?”

  “What, what? He likes you. Always has.”

  “He likes you.”

  “As a friend. You were always the special one.”

  Darla sat speechless. Then she said, “I think Randy loves me. I love him.”

  “Wow . . . wow.” Lacey felt like she’d been slugged. This Randy-Darla thing was moving like a bullet train. Her motherly instincts surfaced and she wanted to tell her sister to slow down. She was only seventeen—a sheltered seventeen who read too many romance novels and put herself in the place of the heroine instead of living her own life. But she couldn’t say that, could she? Because now that Darla was seeing Randy, she was living her own life. It was a Catch-22.

  She looked at her sister, green-eyed and innocent. If only she could put the brakes on for her. Randy was so commitment-minded, so possessive. Darla needed to experience more of life, more boyfriends than just one before she got serious. She saw the intent look on Darla’s face and knew she couldn’t tell her that. Not with the way Darla had been acting toward her lately. Defensive and distrustful. Almost like they were enemies. She choked back all words of advice.

  “Okay. Love. Got it.” She squeezed her sister’s hand and smiled and Darla halfway smiled back. Light from the window caught the chain around Darla’s neck. The locket was under her shirt. In one swift grab, Lacey lifted it from concealment.

  Darla quickly put her hand on Lacey’s hand. “What are you doing?”

  “I need to see Mom’s picture.”

  “How—” Darla stared, dumbfounded.

  “Yes, I know about your locket. I used to have one just like it.”

  Darla let go and her mouth dropped. “You did?”

  “Lost it. I thought maybe this was mine when I saw it in your room way back when, but ah . . .” Lacey opened it and stared at the photograph of their mother. Mentally, she compared it to the woman in Maggot’s photos.

  “But what?”

  “Have you ever taken out the picture?”

  Darla shook her head.

  Lacey removed it and showed Darla the initials D.B. were engraved in the gold. “Mine had my initials.”

  Darla looked confused. Then she looked mad. “All this time you knew!”

  Lacey shook her head. “I always thought Grandmama Harriet gave them to us.”

  “No! Mom did.”

  “Mom the ghost? Or Mom the person?” Lacey stared at the photo. “What is it you believe now?”

  Darla snatched the locket and the picture and stood. “What do you care?”

  �
��Stop acting like you hate me. I care. I care a lot. And I happen to think that you were right. Mom’s alive.”

  Darla cocked her head. “She is?”

  “I need to confirm it.” And not with a psychic. “But I’m fairly certain.”

  Darla’s expression softened. “You believe me now? That I saw Mom in this room? That she killed Dad.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe she just led you to the body. But, yes, I believe you saw Mom.”

  Darla remained frozen for a couple of seconds. Then she grabbed Lacey and kissed her hard on the cheek. It was something she hadn’t done in a long time and Lacey thought her little sis might burst into big happy tears. It was a realization. Believing a person was a beautiful thing. It made a person ecstatic. Darla positively glowed.

  Lacey thought of her father and how, according to Henderson, he’d believed in her but had never said. If only he had. If only she’d known. She would have glowed and her glow would have been so bright, it would have lit up the world.

  In that moment, Lacey felt like she and Darla had mended whatever it was that had been broken. She didn’t tell her why she believed her now, about meeting with Stark and the photographs. And Darla didn’t ask questions. Instead, she raved about the wondrous charms of Randy as Lacey bit her tongue.

  They went upstairs. Lacey helped Darla dress for her date and Darla hated everything she put on. “I wish there was time to go shopping,” she whined. “My clothes are baby.”

  “You don’t want to look too sexy,” Lacey said. “That’s not the girl he—”

  “I don’t want to look like a school-kid geek.”

  “You don’t look like a geek. There’s a lot of in-between. Tell you what. I’ll let you borrow a blouse. And when I finish with your hair and makeup we’ll get Jake up here and we’ll see what he thinks.”

  “Jake? Why?”

  “Because he’s a man and . . .” She wanted to say, And he really cares about you, but didn’t. Darla looked fretful. Lacey backed off. “Or we don’t have to. Your call.”

  “No. That’s okay. We’ll ask him. But I want to wear the headband. Randy gave it to me.”

  Lacey turned before Darla could see her frown and led the way to her room. She pulled a baby doll, ruffle-sleeve top from the closet which Darla promptly nixed as too “sweet.”