Bouquet of Lies

by Smith, Roberta

  She eyed the room. Everything was just as he’d left it. Even his cologne continued to scent the air. She looked at the chest of drawers that still held his clothes and literally rolled up her sleeves. She would start there.

  After forty minutes, the only thing she found even remotely interesting were the guns that belonged to Edward.

  Edward had threatened her with them once, when she was a kid. Normally she kept the things he did to herself, but this time, he’d frightened her enough to make her tattle. She never saw the guns again and assumed Harper had made Edward get rid of them. But here they were, along with some ammo, in an unlocked case under the bed.

  She shoved the gun case with its contents back where she found it and stood up. There was nothing in the bedroom related to her mother.

  Disappointed and discouraged, she walked downstairs to his office. It had considerably more nooks and crannies to invade, including a wall of built-ins that incorporated file drawers and book shelves. A massive, traditional desk contained plenty of drawers.

  She began with the file cabinets and found them packed to the gills, everything neatly labeled and alphabetized. The data was work Harper had brought home, all concerning companies and business deals. She thumbed through every file hoping something would catch her eye, but found nothing related to Crystal.

  Randy’s name cropped up prominently. Slated to head up a new project Harper was going after with the government, Randy was to get a promotion. A top secret security clearance was required and there were deadlines galore. With her father gone, the project had been cancelled. She remembered Randy saying his promotion was off.

  She turned her attention to the desk. The papers she found were the normal stuff: family financials, insurance papers, bills. Since she was now the one to see that things got paid, she made a mental note to go through all of it later. There might be something she didn’t know about.

  She reached far back in the bottom drawer and came across a locked metal box. She scavenged for a key, but didn’t find one. It was probably nothing to get excited about, but her pulse quickened in anticipation anyway.

  She carried the box into the kitchen, rounded up a screwdriver from a tool box in one of the cabinets, and broke the lock. After a nervous breath, she lifted the lid.

  Inside were old photos of herself as a baby and toddler. Some with Harper and some with Grandmama Harriet. How fitting that he would lock them away. Away from his heart? That lump in her throat returned and she swallowed.

  There were no pictures of Crystal or Darla. A touch of anger made her jaw twitch. No photos of her sister. What could a little baby have possibly done to deserve such emotional neglect? She pushed a lock of hair away from her face. No point in analyzing her father’s lack of parenting skills. It was old news. But still . . .

  She pushed on.

  The last photo was of Harriet as a young woman. She held an infant wrapped in a blanket. Her smile said she was happy. Lacey checked the back for a notation expecting to see Edward’s name but was surprised to find something else. The baby wasn’t Edward. Harriet had written: Deborah and Mama.

  Deborah? Did Edward have a sister?

  Beneath the pictures Lacey found a yellowed newspaper clipping. She unfolded it and read a story about a baby that had been kidnapped. Harriet’s baby. Edward’s baby sister, Debbie, only six months old.

  After several minutes of staring at the old article wondering why this was something she’d never heard about, Lacey called Courtney and read the story to her.

  “Here’s what I think,” Courtney said in response. “It’s ancient history. Forget about it.”

  But Lacey couldn’t. She needed answers and didn’t want to wait for Edward to get home. Ambushing him where and when he didn’t expect it might give her enough leverage to make him talk. She doubted it, but it was worth a try. She jumped in the Spyder and drove to the country club.

  The walls of the club’s large game room were covered in mahogany. There was a huge bar, plush leather seating, and portraits of important-looking men. It all had a rich and decidedly masculine feel.

  Edward sat at a round table with four poker-playing pals. Lacey wasn’t surprised to find him snockered, but was surprised to see that somehow he was alert enough to be winning. His stack of chips was bigger than anyone else’s.

  He probably cheats, she thought.

  She rolled up a red-leather chair and sat next to him. “Edward.”

  “What the devil are you doing here? Go away.”

  “Who’s this charmer?” one of Edward’s poker buddies asked, smiling at her. He appeared to be the youngest of the five. Mid-fifties, maybe.

  “This is the anointed one. Play,” Edward said.

  Lacey remembered her manners and shook the man’s hand. “Lacey Bouquet.”

  Three of the others extended their paws. All apparently had more manners than Edward.

  “Play!” Edward snapped.

  “Read,” Lacey responded as she put the newspaper story in front of him.

  He sniffed at it, then looked down his nose at her and added one-hundred dollars in chips to the pot. He was bluffing. Lacey could see he had nothing in his hand.

  The man next to Edward matched Edward’s hundred.

  An old guy with perfect white hair looked up from his cards at Lacey. “What’s this anointed? Anointed with what?”

  “Money,” Edward said. “Quit gawking and play.”

  “I fold.”

  “I’m his granddaughter.” Lacey tapped the newspaper article on the table.

  Edward took a drink. “Yes. My granddaughter. My one and only.”

  Lacey frowned. “Oldest, not only.”

  Edward ignored her.

  “I’m out,” the next guy said, tossing down his cards.

  “Tell me what happened to your sister.” Lacey tapped the newspaper article again. “Debbie.”

  “You have a sister?” The man with the perfect white hair asked.

  “No.” Edward turned to Lacey. “Run along.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “What does the article say?” Edward’s eyes were bloodshot. They reminded Lacey of a lazy bloodhound.

  “That she was kidnapped.”

  “Then that’s what happened.” His droopy eyes narrowed. She knew that look. He was about to pick a fight. Her ambush plan had failed. She picked up the newspaper story. “Gentlemen.” She nodded, walked toward the exit, and called over her shoulder, “He’s bluffing. Ten high.”

  “You have that fire too low.” Uncle Carrick reached for the burner on the barbecue and Dan quickly smacked his hand away. “If that’s any indication, this Lacey is a bad influence on you.”

  Dan chuckled. “She’s a good influence on me.” He glanced toward the slider where he could see into his house. Aunt Helen sat on the couch with Lacey, turning the pages of a photo album. “Aunt Helen likes her. Why don’t you?”

  Uncle Carrick turned up the burner. “Your aunt likes anyone she can show off your baby pictures to.”

  “That’s not it and you know it.” Dan looked at the flames and handed Carrick the tongs. “Cook ‘em however you like ‘em.”

  The rotund detective smiled. “I thought you’d never ask. Charcoal outside, blood red in.”

  Dan turned down one burner, took back the tongs and moved two of the steaks. “But not these two. Now really, why don’t you like Lacey?”

  “Never said I didn’t like her. She’s a murder suspect.”

  “She didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I don’t know that yet.”

  “Yet. But you’re leaning that way?”

  “Didn’t say that. In her dad’s case she has motive.”

  “But not opportunity.”

  “Could be in cahoots with someone.”

  “No. No, she was too distraught. You weren’t with her afterwards.”

  “Could be an act.”

  “She acts happy when she’s not. Not the other way around. And why kill Maggo
t?”

  “Stark.”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “To get her money back.” Carrick turned two steaks over to blacken the other side.

  “Money doesn’t mean that much to her. Granted, because she has it. But she does have it and doesn’t need to kill for more. Besides, you didn’t find her money, and you would have because she didn’t know you were coming so she wouldn’t have hidden it.”

  “She withheld information.”

  “About her mother. That’s understandable.”

  Carrick smiled and shook his head. “Okay. Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, I bet if we walk in that bathroom, Sally’s things will be gone.”

  Dan stood with his lips glued tightly together.

  “Huh? Am I right?”

  Dan squeezed his eyes shut. “Is that bad?”

  Carrick laughed. “Your aunt will be proud.”

  “Proud about what?” Aunt Helen’s head poked out the slider. She pointed with one finger. “And I don’t want my steak blood rare. You know that.”

  Carrick moved one of the rib eyes to Dan’s side of the barbecue. “Fine. Go check out the master bath.”

  Aunt Helen’s brow furrowed and then she grinned. “Ah!” She hurried away to take a look.

  Twenty minutes later everyone was seated at the kitchen table. Lacey looked at Dan’s Aunt Helen when she felt her pat her hand for the third time. Helen’s smile was wide. After she’d returned from the master bath her demeanor was almost giddy. She’d been happy before, showing off pictures of Dan as if she was his mother and not his aunt. But now she was downright bonkers. No. That wasn’t nice and a bit too extreme, but not by much. Something in the bathroom had excited her.

  “Pass the corn,” Uncle D sort of hollered and Lacey handed him a bowl.

  He sat to the right of her and Helen to the left. Dan sat directly across. It was a round oak table, not very large.

  Lacey felt Dan’s aunt squeeze her hand and she looked at Dan hoping her eyes conveyed the question, What’s going on?

  “How’s your steak?” Dan said.

  Lacey sighed. “Haven’t tried it yet.” She looked at her plate.

  “Don’t let it get cold.” Uncle D plunked a bite of meat into his mouth.

  “Okay.” Lacey cut into hers and ate. “Mmm.” She nodded her approval. “Good.”

  “But not perfect,” the detective said, his brows raised.

  “No, it’s fine.” Lacey looked at Dan, again hoping he could read eyes: What’s going on?

  Dan answered spot on. “He thinks steak should be served bloody.”

  “Oh.” Lacey looked down and adjusted her napkin. “Must be the homicide in him.” She heard a gasp and looked up. All three were staring at her. “What? Poor taste?” She chuckled at the pun.

  This time Dan laughed which made his aunt laugh too. Uncle D rolled his eyes and sucked on his cheeks to keep his lips from turning upward, but Lacey could see the smile in his eyes. Good. He had a sense of humor even if he didn’t want to.

  “Made any progress?” Lacey dared to ask.

  “My nephew said we weren’t to talk shop.” He shoveled in another bite.

  “We aren’t. We’re talking murder. My dad’s, someone my dad hired and the roommate of his ex. If she was an ex. I don’t even know if they ever got divorced. He just started telling everyone she was dead.”

  “They didn’t.” Uncle D turned his steak looking for the best place to dig in next. “After we found out that death certificate was phony, we checked. They were still married.” He looked up with a stone expression.

  “Why would he do that?” Helen asked.

  “Haven’t a clue.” The detective stared at Lacey.

  “What?” Lacey asked.

  “Sort of throws your inheritance into question, doesn’t it? Her being alive.” He cut into his steak again.

  Lacey shrugged. “You’d have to talk to Henderson. He drew up the trust.”

  “Gives you motive.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear.” Helen cocked her head at her husband. He nodded and chewed.

  “Guess you don’t know how much money my grandmother left me. If my mother is alive, I’m glad. Not for me, but for Darla. It confirms what she’s been saying all along. And now that the secret is out, it will give Edward a heart attack.”

  There was silence. She held her fork midair and eyed everyone.

  “Okay, bad choice of words. But it will drive him nuts and maybe he can be committed to that hospital he’s always threatening Darla with.” She put down her fork as she realized something. “And actually, it gives my mother motive to kill my father, doesn’t it?”

  “You don’t sound like a girl who loves her mother,” Uncle D said.

  “I don’t know my mother. She deserted us.” Lacey picked up her fork again and glanced at Dan. She couldn’t read him. His face was placid. Was he thinking she had a motive to kill her mother? That she might have possibly killed the others? She found she couldn’t bear the thought. She wanted him on her side. And yet, did he even know her side?

  She felt tension throughout her body. Of course she wanted him on her side, but this intense feeling she had told her it really mattered. What if he was just toying with her for the sake of his uncle’s case?

  Dan suddenly gave her a small smile. It was a loving smile and her entire body relaxed.

  He looked at his uncle. “You’re searching for Lacey’s mother, aren’t you?”

  It was something she’d wondered about. She eyed Uncle D and waited for his answer. She noticed that his steak was gone. He ate fast. Too bad he didn’t detect just as quickly.

  “We’re looking for her. We think she might be in danger. Since Honey had her ID, the killer might have meant to kill Tiffany.”

  Lacey caught her breath. “I’ve thought of that, too.”

  “Well, it’s just a theory. We won’t be able to sort it out until we find her. Good steak.” He patted his tummy and took out a roll of Tums. Evidently he knew what was coming.

  Lacey glanced at each of the three at the table. Now was as good a time as any to share her discovery. It might have nothing to do with her father’s murder, but then again, the police didn’t seem to have figured out much. They might as well know about baby Debbie.

  “Not to throw another mystery into the works, but I’ve got one for you.” She pushed up from the table.

  Uncle D tossed in a second Tums.

  Lacey moved to her purse on the living room couch and returned with the newspaper clipping. “I found this. Edward had a sister I never knew about. The story says she was kidnapped when she was six months old. Maybe you can find out what happened. If she’s alive . . .”

  Lacey let them all finish the sentence for themselves.

  Twenty-five

  DAN WAS AS polite as he could possibly be, saying goodnight to his aunt and uncle while trying to hurry them out the door. He had sat across from Lacey all evening. Watched the light play with her hair and smelled the scent of her perfume. Amazed at the way she held her own with his uncle, he was so ready to be alone with her. He wanted her in his arms and all this murder business gone so that there was no distraction.

  He wanted the moon.

  “I like your girl.” Stalled at the threshold, Aunt Helen whispered in his ear and patted his cheek. “When you get ready to clean out that closet, if you want some help . . .”

  His aunt must have snooped when she checked the bathroom. He hadn’t emptied the closet of Sally’s things. The toiletries were gone, but that was as far as he had gotten.

  “Come on, woman,” his uncle bellowed from outside. “They’ve got plans.”

  His girl? Plans? No. He had a young woman in his living room he wanted to be his, but he was anything but sure about what she wanted.

  His aunt kissed his cheek and left. He closed the door. He was crazy about Lacey in a way he’d never been crazy about anyone before. He loved Sally, but he ha
d known her since grammar school, and theirs had been a passionate, but comfortable relationship.

  Lacey was foreign territory. She was exciting and unpredictable. Could he handle it? He’d been to war, but this relationship stuff—doing it right—was more threatening in a lot of ways.

  “Your aunt’s a peach,” Lacey said.

  He looked up. “Yeah. She’s great. So is my uncle, in his own way.”

  “Well. Maybe he’s the pit that holds the possibility. What were you thinking about just then?”

  “What?”

  “When they were leaving. You had the strangest look on your face.”

  “I did?” He smiled. “I was thinking about you.”

  “Uh-oh. That can’t be good.”

  He went to her and put his hands on her face. “No. It’s all good.”

  “Good.” She smiled at him, seemingly light-hearted.

  No. This is not a light-hearted moment. He leaned in and kissed her softly. Then his arms went around her and he pressed more deeply. Her lips parted and his tongue gently brushed the inside of her mouth. She tasted wonderful. With his eyes closed, the rest of the world slipped away. It was only the two of them and she felt so good, warm, real and exciting. He never wanted to let her go. He took a breath and kissed her again.

  Lacey wasn’t sure which of their hearts was beating faster. The kiss of a man never felt like this before.

  As a young teen, kissing boys had been a game. Exciting, stimulating, and at first awkward. The awkwardness made it feel wrong and even a little dangerous; for some reason, that was all the more thrilling.

  When she got older, she became practiced and kissing felt natural and fun. Of course when it became ordinary, she experimented and took it to the next level. She loved the attention, the affection, and because she never lost her head, she was always the one calling the shots. Turned on meant: this is really, really great. Really, really fun. Boy, am I turned on.

  But what she felt now was no game. His touch aroused her in a way she’d never been aroused. She had an ache in her chest that was affecting every cell of her body. She literally felt weak from her head to her toes. His hands on her meant the world. This was personal. This was intimacy. This was . . . love? No. She pushed the word away. It’s passion.