Bouquet of Lies

by Smith, Roberta

  He sneered. “You must think I’m a cheap date.”

  She took out another twenty. “That’s all I got.”

  He looked her up and down. “I doubt that.” But he pushed out of the chair and waddled over. After slipping the money into a pocket, he checked the photo with no expression.

  “Fourth floor. Apartment 423.”

  “Tiffany Class.” Lacey wanted to be certain.

  “One of them.”

  “You mean there’s two?”

  “I mean they look alike. But this one. She’s not so friendly. Kinda high-fallutin’. Like she thinks she’s better’n me.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Hey! It ain’t Christian and she always wears a cross around her neck.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid of vampires.” Lacey eyed the lobby. “There could be vampires here.”

  “Cute, cutie pie. But that ain’t it. Ehh.” He sloughed it off with a jerk of his head. “She always comes up with the rent. Her roommate usually tries to finagle things with a—”

  “I get it,” Lacey quickly said, not needing any disturbing images in her head. “Apartment 423.”

  She hurried to the elevator before he said anything more.

  The fourth floor hallway was dark and she had to walk to the far end to get to Tiffany’s place. She was surprised to see—and smell—that the walls had been recently painted. Albeit, without scraping off the old, flaking paint. The surface had a gritty, pealing texture. Here and there graffiti was already on the rise. The sounds of a TV and a baby crying lofted through one of the doors, but as she neared her destination, the hall grew as quiet as a tomb. She reached 423, took a deep breath, and knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again.

  “Hold your horses. Hold your horses!” a gravelly voice came through. The door swung open and there stood a woman in her mid forties who looked every bit of it. The makeup was too heavy. The short, messy hair had been bleached once too often. The lines around her lips said she smoked. Plus, she reeked of cigarettes. She retied the sash of the faded pink silk robe she wore and said, “I was in the little girl’s room.”

  Lacey stared. She resembled the woman in the photo, but not exactly, and the word “Honey” was embroidered on the robe.

  “Honey, if you’re looking to sell something, you came to the wrong place. There’s no money here.” The blonde shut the door. Lacey knocked again.

  “I’m not selling anything. My name is Lacey Bouquet.” The door reopened. Lacey stared at Honey’s face, hoping for recognition and got none. “Guess you don’t know me.”

  “Am I supposed to?” She put a hand on one hip.

  “Depends.” Lacey handed over the photo. “Is this you?”

  Honey squinted and adjusted the nearness of the picture so she could properly see. “You think this looks like me?”

  “Frankly, yes. Some. Okay, a lot.” The woman smiled at Lacey’s answer. Her teeth were crooked and smoke-gray. “I need to talk to her—you—if you’re her,” Lacey said.

  The blonde’s smile went away. “Honey, this is Tif ‘n I’m not her.” She gave the picture back. “I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Working.”

  “Does she have a cell phone? I’ll—”

  “We got a landline, Hon. We split the cost. How can we divvy up a cell?”

  “Well, where does she work?”

  “Can’t rightly say.”

  “That sounds like a won’t.” Lacey took out a pen and paper and wrote down her phone number. “Here. Give her this.”

  Honey squinted and adjusted again. “It ain’t local.”

  Lacey took out a five and handed it to her. “Please. It’s important and—”

  “I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.” Honey shut the door. When Lacey knocked again she heard, “Time for all things pesky to go away.”

  Dan stood before his commander at the police station and with the most serious of faces told him, “I’m suspending myself without pay for a month.”

  “What?” The commander chuckled. “O’Donnell, I do get a kick out of you. What is it you think you’ve done?”

  “I used the bike for personal business while on duty.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “I followed someone.” He pictured Lacey on the back of the Harley, her arms wrapped tightly around the guy in front whose hands gripped the handlebars, but might, at some other time, be gripping her. An angry sort of hotness had filled his body. If she was going to be on the back of anybody’s motorcycle it should be his.

  “I see. Did you miss a call?”

  “No. But I wasn’t paying attention. I was off the grid for a good hour.”

  “Then maybe we should just dock your pay.”

  Dan took a breath and let it out. “I need some time off, sir.”

  He hadn’t taken leave when Sally died even though everyone had recommended it. He’d toughed it out. Kept busy during the day and grieved at night. The shrink had said he was well enough to be at work; everyone grieved in his or her own way. And so he’d worked and that’s how he’d coped with it.

  But now, everything seemed to be caving in. He was falling for a girl, a beautiful girl who was out of his league, but didn’t treat him like it. Only she was angry with him, and she had every right to be angry with him, and he needed to straighten that out.

  And there was something else. Lacey needed him. Not just because she’d lost her father, but because Uncle Carrick seemed to suspect her of murder. Did he have evidence, or was it just suspicion? His uncle clearly didn’t approve of Lacey. Maybe that was tainting his judgment.

  Or was his own judgment tainted when it came to Lacey? What was she doing at that run-down hotel with that biker? At least the biker hadn’t gone in with her.

  “You look pale,” the commander said.

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  Dan didn’t remember much of what was said after that except he got the time he’d asked for.

  When Lacey walked in the foyer she found Darla spinning around like she thought she was a Disney princess, humming some song from Aladdin or The Little Mermaid or The Lion King. She wasn’t sure which. When Darla saw Lacey, she stopped, ran to her, and grabbed her hands. “Guess what?” She was out of breath.

  “Surprise me.”

  “I’m getting married.”

  The wind flew out of Lacey’s lungs. “What?” This was just wrong. It was going from zero to a thousand without protective gear. Randy could be a boyfriend, but a fiancé? They’d gone out to dinner twice, and only a month ago he’d been practically proposing to her. She didn’t want to believe Randy might be after Darla’s money . . . But it was just too screwy.

  Lacey’s face must have given away her thoughts. Darla took a step back and looked like she’d sucked on a lemon. “Randy said you’d react like that. He said you’d be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous. I’m in shock.”

  “Why? You don’t think he could love me?”

  “Of course I think he could love you. It’s just too fast.”

  “It could have been faster. He wanted to run away. But I said no. I wanted a wedding and he said ‘Anything my heart desires’ and so the day after I turn eighteen, that’s what we’re going to do. Have a wedding whether you like it or not.”

  Darla’s birthday was in two weeks. That didn’t give much time to break things up or make the best of a bad situation. “Okay. You’ll be eighteen. A woman at the helm of her own life. Congratulations.”

  Darla softened. “I guess it would be a shock. The way I told you. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For telling you like this. If you still have feelings for Randy, I should be more sensitive.”

  “Well, I don’t. So don’t worry about that. You say you want a real wedding. I don’t see a ring.”

  “We’ll get one.”

  “Who are you going to invite? Does Randy have family? Because we’ve got
none.” She flashed on the Hotel Pamela. Don’t forget about Tiffany.

  “No. No, he doesn’t. I didn’t think of that. Maybe that’s why he wanted to elope.” A hand went to her face.

  “Well, weddings are mostly for the bride anyway. He’ll survive.” If I don’t kill him first. “And we’ll invite my friends. They’re into free food.”

  Darla looked ashamed, like her old self, and Lacey didn’t want that. She put an arm around her sister. “I’ll help you plan, but you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t understand the rush.”

  “We’re in love. And . . . and my loins ache for him.”

  “What?” Lacey broke into a laugh and Darla turned red. “Okay. You’ve definitely read too many historical romances. But I get your point. No sex before marriage.”

  “He doesn’t want me to be . . .” Her voice trailed.

  Lacey’s mood shifted. “Be what?”

  Darla shrugged and gnashed her jaw.

  Lacey hardened her expression. “Uh-huh. Just make sure it’s what you want. And don’t let him pull any of that double-standard bullshit. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

  “We’re an old fashioned couple.”

  Lacey doubted if Darla knew what she was talking about. Her head was in the clouds with fairy tales on the brain. Old fashioned as in cook dinner every night and massage his straying feet? Lacey was sure Randy would cheat. And did he really love her sister or was he after money? Darla was such an innocent thing. Still a child. It would never occur to her that Randy might be using her.

  She watched Darla walk up the stairs, her steps not unlike a bride gliding along the aisle. A feeling of urgency swept through Lacey. What should she do?

  Have a talk with Randy.

  Yeah. At the very least he’d know she was watching every move he made. And if he didn’t treat Darla with respect, well, hell hath no fury like a woman who loves her little sister.

  Lacey drove to Bouquet Industries and had to clue the receptionist in. “In case you haven’t heard, Daddy was murdered and I own this joint now. So give me a visitor’s badge, or don’t. I’m going in.”

  She wandered through the maze of executive offices and found where Randy Barber lived and breathed. It was just as she expected. Classed up. Expensive everything. Diplomas and awards on the wall. What she didn’t expect was Uncle D sitting across from Randy popping Tums in his mouth.

  “Miss Bouquet. Come in. Come in.” Uncle D acted like Randy’s office was his. He looked at her, then looked at Randy, and Lacey could see the mental chain he’d conjured linking the two of them as an item.

  “Before you get the wrong impression.” She tapped her foot and put her hands behind her back. “I came to congratulate the groom. Well, pending groom. Fiancé. That’s the right word. Yes. It may interest you to know that Randy and my sister are engaged.”

  The detective looked at Randy. “Is that so? You didn’t tell me.”

  “Is it relevant? I just proposed last night and you asked about other things.” Randy was as cool as they come. Nothing flustered him. Not a cop rattling his chain. Not an ex-girlfriend/future sister-in-law whose face had to say she wanted to skewer him for shish kebob and feed him to the fishes.

  The detective looked at Lacey. “You’re not happy about this?”

  “She’s seventeen.”

  Randy held up a finger. “Eighteen in a couple weeks.”

  “She’s a baby. I was fine with you taking her out. Helping her grow up a little. But this is too much too fast. What’s the rush?”

  “She has a point,” the detective said to Randy.

  “What are you really up to?” Lacey gave him the hardest stare she could.

  Randy shook his head and gave her a broad not-to-be-trusted smile. “I was willing to wait. I just proposed. She’s the one in a hurry.”

  “That’s not how she tells it.”

  Randy shrugged. “But that’s how it is.”

  “Then you won’t mind putting it off for say, a year or ten? Until you get to know each other.” Lacey turned to Uncle D. “Why are you here, anyway? Is Randy a suspect?”

  Randy shifted in the chair. “I think the term is person of interest. They talk to everybody. And I have a meeting to get to.” He stood. “If you want to fill her in on what we discussed, Detective, be my guest.” He walked out.

  “Well?” Lacey sat down in Randy’s chair and swiveled it. “I’d fire him. I could, you know. Technically, no, officially, I’m the boss now. But Darla would never talk to me again. And they’d probably get married anyway. She’s very wealthy, you know. Even if it is tied up in a trust and there’s an executor or trustee or whatever. A lawyer. A nice lawyer. A smart lawyer. If he ends up dead, then you’ll know who to blame.”

  “Me.” Randy had returned. He was at the door. He came in and grabbed a file from the desk.

  “Yes. Except you’re a silver-tongued Satan and you’ll get yourself put in charge somehow,” Lacey said.

  “Sounds like sour grapes.” He looked at the detective and thumbed toward Lacey. “I broke up with her.”

  “Ha!” She looked at Uncle D. “But who cares? I’m worried about my sister. Does Randy have an alibi for Maggot’s murder? Or are you here about my dad’s? You think they’re tied together, don’t you? So do I. Does all this babbling make me look guilty?”

  “You inherited a lot of money,” Randy said.

  Lacey smiled at him. “I already had a lot of money. Nothing’s changed. Except now I have to go to school.” She looked at the detective. “Did you know about that?”

  Uncle D nodded.

  “Is Randy really a person of interest?”

  “I was at work when Stark was killed.” Randy scratched his ear with a smirk.

  Lacey scrunched her nose at him. “I thought you had a meeting to go to.”

  “This is more interesting. How your mind works.”

  “Well, you know.” The detective rocked his head in a comme ci, comme ca manner. “Randy was at work when Stark was killed, and that nickname you gave the PI.”

  “Maggot,” Lacey said.

  “Yes. Seems it’s fitting. Clients hired him and if he sensed they were keeping something from him, he’d go to work digging up dirt on the client. A lot of people probably wanted him dead. But that missing file, the case your father hired him for. I’d really like to read that.”

  Lacey leaned toward him. “It’s key, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” The detective nodded.

  Lacey looked at Randy again. “The blond woman my sister saw in the library. Our mother . . .”

  Randy’s face took on a look of surprised condescension. “Oh, you’ve changed your tune. You believe your sister now.”

  Lacey turned back to Uncle D. “Are you working that angle at all?”

  He looked at her intently. “We’re working all angles.”

  “But you found blond hairs in the library, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Come on. I was having a costume party. My friends talk to me. The ones with blond hair or who wore blond wigs, you took samples of the hair. You interviewed them.”

  “I can’t divulge certain aspects of the investigation.”

  “Ethics. Like nephew, like uncle.” Lacey leaned back and put her hands behind her head. “They could all be accounted for though, huh?”

  “Your friends?” Randy interjected. “But you couldn’t know everyone who was there.”

  Lacey sighed and her hands fell to her lap. Was this a good time to tell Uncle D about Tiffany? No. She still wanted to talk to the woman first. And she certainly wasn’t going to mention her in front of Randy.

  “What is it, Miss Bouquet?”

  She looked up. Uncle D was scrutinizing her. She eyed Randy. “He was the last person to see my father alive and the first one to get to Darla.”

  “What’s your point?” Randy asked.

  “You didn’t see a blonde?”

  “Nope. And the re
st of your thoughts are transparent. I had no reason to kill Harper. He liked me. I liked him. I was about to get a big promotion. With him dead, the promotion’s off.”

  “Maybe you didn’t want it,” Lacey said.

  Randy laughed. “Who doesn’t want to get ahead? Besides.” He grabbed a bit of his hair. “I’m not blond.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m late.” He tapped the door jamb with the file and took off.

  Uncle D scooted forward, laced his fingers together, and put his hands on the desk. “Miss Bouquet. Tell me about your sister and your mother.”

  “You questioned Darla, didn’t you?”

  “She was a bit defensive when it came to the subject. Bordering on hysterical.”

  “I think you’ll find she’s better now.”

  “Because of Mr. Barber?”

  “I hate to say it, but maybe. And because I told her I believed her.”

  “Did you? Do you?”

  “I’m sure she saw someone.”

  “Okay.”

  They sat for a moment in silence. It was getting harder not to mention Tiffany and she just didn’t want to get into it. “What do you want to know?”

  “Your sister thinks your mother has come back and is capable of murder. I’d like to know how you feel about it.”

  “Sad. Angry. Confused. You name it.”

  “Your mother. Capable of murder.”

  “Mother’s dead.”

  “You said you believed your sister.”

  “I said it to her.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. My sister is full of guilt because she blames herself for our mother’s death. For years she’s either been seeing her or looking for her while everyone called her nuts. She even made a pretty decent attempt to kill herself because of it once. I guess we told you that.”

  “Go on.”

  Lacey shook her head. “What can I say? I don’t know what the truth is. What am I supposed to tell you?”

  Her eyes hurt. Her nose smarted. Uncle D was pushing her buttons.

  He sat silently in the chair, his eyes on her like he was deciding something. He started to nod. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to tell you this because it’s something you deserve to know. And I don’t think you do know.”