Orpha asked about Bubba and expressed concern for his well-being. She told me she had skipped lunch prior to the wedding ceremony and admitted to not only enjoying a first piece of the wedding cake, but another piece, as well. She assured me she’d only partaken in the second helping so as not to offend the bride and groom. “It did kind of look as if it was baked in some kid’s Easy Bake Oven, you know.”
“Yeah. My sentiments exactly, Orpha.”
Orpha went on to say she hadn’t suffered any negative consequences, and wasn’t aware of anyone who had, but then again, she hadn’t spoken to anyone except her proctologist since the ceremony. In fact, she’d skipped church Sunday due to the reason she’d had to call her proctologist in the first place.
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry to hear that.” I could sense Orpha wanted me to inquire further about her health issues and knew it would be the polite thing for me to do. However, after minimal consideration, I decided I really didn’t want to hear all about the itching and swelling of her hemorrhoidal tissue, or whatever else might have prompted that phone call to her doctor. I thanked her, wished her a good day, and called Hazel.
“The cake looked pitiful, and it smelled even worse, but surprisingly it didn’t taste all that bad,” Hazel said. “Although later on Saturday evening, I had a slight tummy upset and a rather severe case of dysentery.”
“Dysentery?” I asked, not because I didn’t know what it was, but because I’d never actually heard anyone use the term in the last century, or so.
“The runs, dear. I nearly pooped myself at church yesterday morning. And the fact Orpha didn’t attend the service makes me wonder if she didn’t have the same issue.”
“I am so sorry, Hazel.” I didn’t mention that I’d just spoken with Orpha, and her friend did have some issue in that same general region. I was glad I had not face-timed Hazel, or she would’ve wondered why I had grinned so broadly at the news of her near accident. It’s not that I normally found other people’s problems to be comical, but I’ll admit I did find her remarks rather amusing. Hazel’s next remark, however, proved to be more shocking than humorous.
“No worries,” she said matter-of-factly. “After a few capfuls of ammonia, I felt much better.”
“Ammonia?” That sounded dreadfully risky, and I wondered if drinking the pungent-smelling compound had been an old tried and true home remedy I’d never heard about. I’d have thought it’d severally burn everything in its path. “Did you say you drank ammonia?”
“Yes. Ammonia. The pharmacist at the drug store recommended it. She told me the A-D variety of it is very effective against diarrhea and, thankfully, she was correct. I’ll have to tell Orpha about it.”
I stifled a chuckle. “I think you meant to say the pharmacist recommended you take Imodium A-D.”
“That’s what I said,” Hazel insisted. “Ammonia A-D.”
“Yes, of course.” Although relieved the elderly woman wasn’t downing ammonia to cure herself of the runs, I hoped she wouldn’t recommend the corrosive compound to Orpha as a remedy. “I’m glad you feel better now, Hazel. And again, I apologize if the cake made you ill. I had no idea it―”
“Well, honestly, dear, I can’t be certain it was the cake. It’s possible it was the bowl of chili I ate after I got home. It’d been sitting on the stove for a few days, and―”
“Oh, dear!” I exclaimed. “Hazel, I don’t think you should make a habit of leaving food out on the stove for days on end. You should always refrigerate it between meals.”
“My mammy and pappy didn’t even own an icebox, dearie, and they never got food poisoning from leftover chili.”
Hazel sounded insulted by my advice about storing food in the fridge, and I didn’t want to further antagonize her by explaining that earlier generations probably had stronger constitutions than people today. The fact that folks back then didn’t have safe ways to store leftover food may have factored in to why the average lifespan had been much shorter than it was today. In fact, I was now amazed Hazel had made it into her eighties if she habitually ate food that’d been left on her stove for days. A lot of food-borne illnesses were passed off as the flu in her parents’ days. When you hear someone say Great Aunt Mildred died in the midst of an influenza outbreak, she might have actually been killed off by a pot of stew gone bad.
The very thought made me want to clean out both of our refrigerators and start over with fresh food items. That month-old, half-emptied bottle of mayo has got to go. The sooner the better, I thought. And the leftover fried chicken from two nights ago is as good as gone.
After listening to a long, detailed story about a rumor Hazel heard involving a clandestine relationship between the choir leader and the organist’s wife, I thanked her for her help. I assured her there’d be a second ceremony to make certain Wendy and Andy were officially wed, and we wouldn’t forget to notify her of the date and time.
As I ended the call, Sheila joined me in the kitchen. We sat at the table sipping cups of strong Columbian brew, and laughed as I repeated the conversations I’d had with Orpha and Hazel. Suddenly something Hazel said came back to me. The cake smelled even worse than it looked. I thought back and recalled the distinct smell of Bubba’s boutonniere.
Sheila handled the same boutonniere shortly after Bubba collapsed and had fallen ill. Raven had her face right next to the boutonniere for six or seven minutes as she administered CPR to Bubba, and she’d experienced an even more severe reaction. And Bubba, who’d had the longest and most pronounced exposure to the flowers, had been rendered comatose.
Could Bubba’s boutonniere have had something to do with his current condition, along with the adverse reactions by everyone else who was in close proximity to it? I pondered that possibility for a few moments.
“Hey, did you hear what I said about that chimichanga that nearly killed me a couple of years ago?” Sheila asked. “You seem to be off in la-la land. Are you okay?”
“Sorry. Something strange just occurred to me.” I told her what had happened to me the previous evening in the tub, and went on to explain my suspicions about Bubba’s boutonniere.
“I’ll admit I also took several sniffs of the box of bouquets and boutonnieres right before I grew faint and confused.” Sheila took a long sip of coffee. “I think you might be on to something. But what do we do about it? Run your idea by the medical staff at the hospital?”
“Perhaps.”
“Should we take it to the Rockdale Police Department?”
“No, for sure not that,” I replied. “I’m not the local police chief’s favorite person by a long shot. Let me run this theory by Stone and see what he says. We can speak to Detective Johnston, too, who will discuss it with the police chief only if warranted.”
“All right. I trust both Stone and Wyatt’s judgments,” Sheila said. “Would you like a refill?”
“Does the Pope poop in the woods?”
Sheila looked at me oddly, laughing as she filled my cup, “I think you meant to ask, ‘Is the bear Catholic?’.”
I found Stone in the detached five-car garage that resembled an old-fashioned carriage house, bragging to Randy about his toys: a zero-turn Dixon mower with a massive fifty-four-inch blade, a heavy duty Graco power sprayer that could peel tar off the sidewalk, a Stihl chainsaw that could topple a sequoia in seconds, a Troy-Bilt snow blower that could blow an entire snowdrift into the neighbor’s yard, and several other pieces of lawn maintenance equipment he sounded extremely proud of despite the fact he bitched about them every time he had to use them. I approached Stone with my suspicions while Randy listened in.
“That sounds a little far-fetched to me.” Stone rolled his eyes and for a split second, I considered slapping them right out of their sockets. Naturally, I’d never act on an impulse such as that one.
“Maybe so. But do you agree it’s possible?”
“Well,” he said, “I suppose anything’s possible, but I wouldn’t say it was probable.”
“I didn’t ask
you if you thought it was probable. Even I realize it’s not likely. So, are you saying you don’t think I should check into it? All I want to do is talk to Lily at the floral shop.”
“I don’t know, Lexie.” Stone sounded reluctant, which came as no surprise. “I’m not certain it’s necessary, or a good idea to infer the florist has done anything disreputable. I especially don’t like the idea of you tackling this alone.”
“I’m not inferring anything, Stone. I merely want to ask a few questions. And I’m sure Sheila will accompany me.”
“Why doesn’t that bring me any comfort?” Stone asked. He exchanged a knowing look with Sheila’s husband. “Sorry, Randy, but having Sheila accompany Lexie doesn’t make me feel less concerned.”
Randy nodded his head in response. “There’s no reason to apologize, Stone. Knowing the trouble these two can get into makes my blood run colder than a dead polar bear. You weren’t around when they got kicked off an airplane in Sydney, Australia. Or, worse yet, the time they nearly got arrested for inciting a riot in downtown Kansas City. Fortunately for them, I’d once worked with the officer who had cuffed them and stuffed them in his patrol car.”
“Hey! That’s not fair!” I exclaimed. “Neither incident was our fault.”
Both men turned to stare at me in disbelief. When neither made an effort to respond, I began to plead. “Come on, guys. We’ll be very cautious and not put ourselves into any risky situations. And besides, if the flowers have anything to do with Bubba’s condition, I’m sure it was just an accidental oversight, not an intentional act.”
The two men exchanged another look. I truly considered reaching up and banging their two bullish heads together. Instead, I reminded Stone of his words from last night. “Besides, you did promise I’d have your blessing if I decided to look into the situation.”
“But only under the condition it looked as if foul play was involved, and I don’t feel as if there’s any undeniable indication of that. Certainly nothing concrete enough that justifies accusing anyone of malicious intent.”
“Listen, Stone. I only want to question Lily to see if she knows of anything that could have compromised Bubba’s boutonniere. I have no intention of accusing her of anything.”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt for you to speak with the florist. What do you think, Randy?” A clearly skeptical Stone asked his friend.
“It’s your call, buddy. If you’re okay with it, I am as well.” Randy appeared resigned, as if he instinctively knew he’d lose any battle he engaged in with Sheila about joining me on my mission. “It’s not like anything we say is going to make any difference, anyway.”
“That’s true. Well, okay. As long as Sheila is with you, and you ladies don’t do anything dangerous, maybe I’ll―”
I hadn’t expected Stone to relent, so I was nearly bowled over when he caved. Not that it made any difference, as Randy had said. It’d just be nicer if we didn’t have to go behind Stone and Randy’s backs to accomplish our mission. “Thank you. I’d best round up Sheila so we can get going.”
Before Stone could respond, I ran out the door. I took the stairs two at a time and knocked on Sheila’s door within seconds of entering the inn.
“What’s up?” Sheila opened the door and her mouth dropped. I must have looked like a panting, crazy-eyed lunatic.
“Get your shoes on. We’re going to Lily’s-in-Bloom Floral Shop.”
Sheila didn’t even ask what I planned to do once we arrived there. She just snatched a pair of sandals off a shoe bench and headed for the stairs. “Let’s go! I’ll put them on in the car.”
Twenty-Seven
When we entered the shop, the florist was cussing like a “black Friday” shopper who’d just watched the woman in front of her snatch up the last Hermes Birkin purse at a rock-bottom price. When Lily recognized the two of us, she abruptly slammed the business phone’s handset down on the base. That should have been our clue to leave without uttering a word. Instead, I explained the situation.
“Are you accusing me of putting something in the flowers that caused the best man to lapse into a coma?” Lily’s normally fair complexion suddenly matched the color of the dozen red roses she was holding in her left hand.
“No, of course not,” I assured her. “It’s just that it occurred to us that everyone who was in close contact with Bubba’s boutonniere suffered some degree of impairment. Me, included.”
“And me, as well,” Sheila added.
“You look to me as though you both are still motoring along quite splendidly under your own power,” Lily replied. Gone was the polite, low-key manner she’d exhibited in the past. Her amicable personality had flown out the window like a mad cockatoo that had escaped its cage.
Sheila apparently thought it’d be better if she tried to reason with the incensed woman, instead of me. She was wrong.
“Listen, lady,” Sheila began, “my friend is not accusing you of anything. We’re just trying to determine if the boutonniere accidentally came in contact with something, such as a hazardous chemical, or a toxic substance that’s used in the creation of floral arrangements.”
“Are you two insane? The boy obviously suffered a heat stroke. I’m sure Raven, and you two, were affected by the brutal heat, as well. Raven told me she was sweating like a horse competing in the Kentucky Derby while she performed CPR on the young man. It’s no small wonder Bubba passed out. Who in their right mind dresses the groomsmen in black for an outdoor wedding on one of the hottest days of the year?”
“Well, um―” I began, but stopped abruptly. How could I argue with Lily’s valid point? I’d made the exact same one in my debate about the tuxedos with Wendy.
“Now get the hell out of my shop!” Lily’s striking turquoise eyes bugged out as she pointed toward the front door. When neither of us budged, she hollered, “Both of you!”
“Yes, it was stifling hot. We aren’t arguing that fact. But it’s become abundantly clear it wasn’t just the heat. Something in that boutonniere affected Bubba,” Sheila replied. Her voice of reason was becoming increasingly accusatory. “We’re just asking you if―”
“I said get out! Now!” As she screamed at us, Lily simultaneously picked up a large flower vase from the counter that had been intended for the dozen roses she’d angrily thrown to the ground. I didn’t know if she simply meant to intimidate us―which incidentally did the trick splendidly as far as I was concerned—or if she planned to use it as a weapon against us. She held it over her head as if she were wielding a Louisville slugger rather than a lead-glass crystal vase.
“Let’s get out of here before this whack-job adds us to her list of victims!” I grabbed Sheila’s arm and practically dragged her to the door. I’m pretty sure she’d considered the idea of standing her ground and daring the woman to throw the vase. Knowing Sheila had always been a gifted athlete, my money would have been on her in the event of a floral shop brawl. But, I chose not to take the chance. I’d promised Stone and Randy we wouldn’t do anything foolish, and provoking an irate woman yielding a potentially lethal flower vase probably fell into that category.
Having no evidence at all that Lily was guilty of negligence, and having promised Stone I wouldn’t accuse her of anything, I shouldn’t have made such a ruthless allegation. But it felt good to say it, especially after the way she’d reacted to our inquiry. Still, why had she reacted so defensively?
Out on the sidewalk, Sheila said, “She certainly acted like she had something to hide, didn’t she?”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” We walked to the car in silence and strapped ourselves in. “Let’s think about what our next step might―”
“Oh, crap!” Sheila exclaimed. Her outburst alarmed me. She frantically pawed through the overnight bag she called a purse.
“What’s wrong?”
“I must have set my phone down inside the shop. As much as I hate to say this, we have to go back in there to get it.”
“We?”
&
nbsp; Sheila knew I was kidding and flashed me an ornery smile. As we unbuckled our seat belts, we looked up and saw Lily step from the floral shop and lock the front door. She rushed around the side of the building and, within seconds, pulled out of the parking lot in a silver SUV.
“Should we follow her?” I asked.
“No! At least, not until I get my phone back. You know I can’t survive ten minutes without it.”
Sheila wasn’t kidding. She was exactly the type of phone-addicted person Stone had been griping about the previous day. I was often surprised her phone hadn’t rooted into the flesh of her right hand.
“And how do you propose we retrieve your phone without breaking and entering? The chief of police would like nothing better than to throw my behind into a jail cell. Again! Didn’t like it the first time, and ain’t gonna like it any better the second. I’m not convinced your phone’s not buried in the rubble inside your purse.”
“I’m telling you it’s not in there. I looked already.” Sheila’s response sounded defensive.
I took my own phone out of my fanny pack and dialed Sheila’s number. Just then, the sound of a duck quacking came from inside the glove box of my car. I recognized the ring tone.
With a sheepish grin, Sheila removed her phone from the small compartment. “See? I told you it wasn’t in my purse.”
I looked at my friend and laughed. “You quack me up, girl.”
“What’s the hold-up? We’re going to lose her if you don’t step on it.”
Twenty-Eight
We began to follow Lily, trailing far enough behind so as not to draw her attention. Half an hour later, Sheila muttered, “I hope she hasn’t set off on a trip to the Ozarks. The men are going to get concerned if we haven’t returned home by sundown.”
“If she hasn’t stopped somewhere in the next ten minutes, I’ll turn around and head home.” I’d been having the same thoughts as Sheila.
Marriage and Mayhem (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 7) Page 17