A Deadly Bouquet (21 page)

Once Eddie had left, Chief Kelley turned to me. “What does this endangered milkweed have to do with your theory?”

“It fits, but I'm not sure where. Someone said something to me about extinct, but I can't remember who or the context of the conversation.”

“Well, if you remember, give me a call. In the meantime, I'm sending a photographer over to get a shot of this painting.”

“What for?”

“I don't have time to search back to nineteen sixty-six for a might-have-been tragedy. I'll cut to the chase and run the picture in the newspaper. If that girl is local, someone might recognize her if the painting is accurate. It'll be like a composite drawing. Something about the girl might give us a lead.” The chief motioned toward the door. “Let's go,” she said. “I have work to do, too.”

I gazed up at the painting. If Chief Kelley followed through with her plan, River City residents would soon stare into that angelic face. It didn't seem right for her to be on public display. And yet, here she was on the ceiling of a beauty shop. But only Claire's clientele had seen her. Once her picture was printed in the newspaper, she'd be fair game for any and all observations.

*   *   *

Half an hour later, I was seated at Bailey's bedside, trying to explain what was bothering me. “It's just a painting,” I said, picking up his hand. “But something about it has caught my heart. She looks so defenseless. I feel as if I should protect, not exploit, her, but that's exactly what will happen. Once her photo hits the paper, there will be speculation. If she's recognized, her whole life will be opened up. I hope her memory can take the scrutiny.”

Massaging each of his fingers, I said, “I've never told anyone this, but after Carl died, I'd hear his voice in my head.” My cheeks felt hot. “Don't think I've lost my mind. Carl and I were close. When he was alive, I knew what he was going to say before he said it.”

My throat tightened so I could barely speak. “Once he was gone, I was lonely. It was as if a part of me had died, too. Most of the time I went about my life as usual, but other times, especially if I was alone, I'd lose it.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. In order to wipe it away, I tried to pull my hand out of Bailey's, but his grasp was tight. I leaned closer. “You can hear me, can't you?”

His fingers tightened around my hand.

“Are you playing possum so you can be privy to all my tawdry secrets?”

No answering pressure.

I chuckled. “Ah. You already know them, right?”

His fingers moved.

I should have hunted up a nurse or a doctor, but for a moment I wanted to keep Bailey's improvement to myself. “I wish you could talk to me. In the last two years when I needed insight into a problem, Carl would speak to me, but I haven't heard his voice for weeks.”

I sat up straight. “I haven't heard Carl's voice since I met you in Branson. Do you think there's a connection?”

His fingers moved against mine.

“Oh, Bailey.” I moaned quietly as it registered how deeply I cared for him. “I think I'm falling in love with you. I love the way you hold me. The way you touch me. The way you kiss me. But I loved my husband. Can you love two people at the same time?”

His fingers moved.

“What's wrong with me? It's only been two years since Carl's death. That doesn't seem like enough of a trade-off for twenty-four years of marriage. Shouldn't I still be grieving?”

I tugged my hand out of his and stumbled to my feet. “I have to go.”

I left the hospital in a rush, hoping to leave my confusing thoughts behind. But they hung around like an unwanted guest, invading my space. I was amazed at how easily I'd fallen in love with Bailey. We'd had a few conversations. We'd shared a kiss, a touch.

“How could I substitute Bailey for Carl?” I asked aloud.

“Babe, he's there. I'm not.”

The unexpected sound of Carl's voice made me jump. I jerked the steering wheel and ran off the pavement. Horns blared. I quickly gained control. “Carl?” I whispered. “I'm scared.”

“No wonder. Driving like that would terrify anyone.”

“Don't be silly. This is serious.”

“What you feel for Bailey doesn't take away from your love for me. I might be gone, but I'm not forgotten. I'll always be in your heart, Babe.”

Perhaps it was my imagination, but instant warmth enveloped me. It was as if I'd been gathered close by a pair of loving arms and given a hug.

I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Stay with me, Carl,” I said quietly. “I'm going detecting, but my questioning technique needs work. I've had good results in the past, but this time everything I do seems purely amateur. I'm not getting much when it comes to hard facts.”

“I don't believe that. I trained you. You just aren't putting everything you know in the right order. Think it through, Babe.”

I turned into the high school parking lot. “I'll do that later. Right now I want to talk to the botany teacher. Maybe he or she can fill me in on the extinction of the Mead's milkweed plant.”

“And if you're lucky the teacher will be a fossil who'll remember Claire and her cohorts from their younger days.”

“That would be too much to hope for, Carl,” I said as I walked through the school's front door. And it was.

Miles Stanford was seated at his desk when I knocked on his classroom door. He motioned for me to come in. In the first few minutes of our conversation I learned this past year had been his virgin voyage into academic employment. He was fresh-faced and self-conscious of a huge pimple on his chin. He kept a hand over it as we made polite chitchat.

I'd only given him my name, so maybe he mistook me for an interested parent. With an enthusiasm that exhausted me, he outlined his plans for the upcoming school year.

“As I teach my students about plants, their structure, growth, and classification, I'm learning right alongside them. Not the botanical information, but how to get under their skins.” He rubbed the pimple and winced. “Each class, each student, is a personal challenge. I spent too much time this year on botanical names. I won't do that next year.”

He used his free hand to flip a stack of papers. “I have here a syllabus that will interest even the most unresponsive kid. I want to raise moral consciousness about the world around us. If I have my way, no one will leave my room without having gained something that will make this planet a better place to live.”

Was I supposed to applaud? I was tempted. It sounded like a portion of a speech he might have delivered—or was he practicing on me?

I smiled politely. “The reason I'm here is to get information on an extinct plant. The Mead's milkweed.”

“Really? That's interesting. It's been on the endangered list for years. Is this the local club's new project?”

“What local club?”

“The Missouri Save the Wildflowers Association. You need to speak with Kasey Vickers. She's the chapter's president.”

“I know Kasey. I might give her a call, but since I'm here, do you mind telling me about the plant?”

“There's nothing particularly impressive about it. It flourished in most of Missouri, but erosion, herbicides, and overgrazing threatened its existence. Baling hay in September would've allowed the Mead's milkweed time to disperse its seeds. Manipulating the land could've saved the species, but then human intervention was originally the plant's downfall.”

“Is it valuable?”

“Only from an ecological point of view.”

“Did it grow around here?”

“Yes. Mead's milkweed is native to dry prairies and igneous glades of the Ozarks.”

“Igneous?”

“Formed by volcanic action.” He grinned. “I don't suppose you want a lesson in geology, so suffice it to say that from the molten slag, rocks solidified and over time were covered with a thin topsoil. Mead's milkweed found a home. Here, let me show you.”

He walked to a laminated map of Spencer County that hung on the wall. “See this area?” He pointed to the southwest corner of the map. “If your group is planning a field trip, I'd start here. The rock formations and the open prairie are prime locations. I doubt that you'll find the plant, though stranger things have happened.”

I leaned closer, squinting at the tiny printing. My heart thudded with excitement. The tract of land he indicated was east of Lydia's house on Catalpa Road.

Stranger things, indeed.

Chapter Eighteen

I wanted to zip on out to Catalpa Road and do some looking around, but I wasn't dressed for hiking through igneous glades and grassy prairies. I went home to change out of my dress and hose.

There was no sign of my father, but DeeDee was in the kitchen. The food channel blared from the television in the corner of the room. Lined up on the table were bottles of rum, whiskey, and vodka.

“Hey-ho,” I said, eyeing the liquor. “What have we here? A party for one?”

DeeDee whirled around. “I-I didn't h-hear you come in.”

I adjusted the sound on the TV. “I'm not surprised. What are you doing?”

She nodded to the television. “Earlier this m-morning th-there was this program about f-flaming f-foods. It was f-fantastic.” She moved away from the counter, and I saw three saucers. Each contained six sugar cubes piled in neat triangles. “I t-tried wine, but the f-flame wasn't b-blue. I went to the l-liquor s-store and bought a variety so I c-can experiment.”

“I hope your mother doesn't hear about your purchase. She'll have your suitcase packed before we can say Harvey Wallbanger.”

“Who is h-he?”

“It's the name of a very potent drink.” I walked to the counter. “What are you flaming besides sugar cubes?”

She took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “I'm checking to s-see which liquor works best. A b-blue flame is the most elegant when making a presentation. I can add the liquor to b-bananas, grapefruit, anything I want.”

I made a face. “Roasted grapefruit. That sounds divine.”

DeeDee giggled. “I've got more imagination than that. I'm d-doing Cherries Flambé served over low-fat vanilla ice cream. I f-found some s-silver goblets in the attic. At our n-next d-dinner party, I'll lower the l-lights and—” She flung out her hands. “Ta-da. You'll be impressed at the s-sight.”

I touched her shoulder. “I'm already impressed that you drove your car to the liquor store and bought the stuff. How did that go?”

“Great. I p-picked out what I w-wanted and took the bottles to the cashier. She asked to s-see my ID.”

I laughed. “Cool. That hasn't happened to me in years.”

“Do you have t-time to watch me compare which liquor p-produces the p-prettiest f-flame?”

“No. I'll leave you alone. Just don't hurt yourself or set fire to the kitchen.”

DeeDee pointed to a small fire extinguisher. “I w-went to the hardware s-store, too. Martha says to be p-prepared.”

Martha Stewart. I rolled my eyes. At the flower shop, customers were always quoting her. I was tired of hearing the name, but DeeDee was one of Martha's faithful followers. I kept my comment to myself, but DeeDee saw my expression.

“Sh-she has great ideas. Tomorrow she's g-going to show how to s-sculpt a block of ice into a bear using a piece of nylon fishing line and a chain saw.”

Chain saw? Yikes!

I quickly left the kitchen and went upstairs to change clothes. I was proud of DeeDee. A few weeks ago I couldn't get her out of the house. Now she was going to a liquor store and buying booze.

I grimaced. Not exactly what I might have wanted, but at least she was showing a degree of independence. I couldn't fault that. Maybe I should look into enrolling her in a gourmet cooking class. It would broaden her horizons beyond the television, and she'd have a chance to meet people who shared her interest.

Dressed in blue jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, I went downstairs and peeked into the kitchen. DeeDee was carefully spooning rum over a pile of sugar cubes. The fire extinguisher was close at hand, but so was a box of wooden matches. I cringed, but didn't say anything. She wasn't a child, but she was a bit naive. Could I walk out the door and leave her alone? If she was to gain maturity I had to hope for the best and let her learn.

I started to step away, but she reached for the matches. I had to know that she was all right. I waited. She struck the match and applied the flame to the mound of sugar. I heard a soft
poof,
and the cubes burned blue.

“Hot damn,” said DeeDee, her stutter gone. “I did it.” She turned, caught sight of me, and grinned. “I'm fine, Bretta. Watch this.” She picked up an aluminum lid and put it over the saucer, smothering the flames. “See? I'm prepared.”

*   *   *

I drove into River City, stopping in at the flower shop to see if I was needed. I found my father seated on a stool. He was entertaining Lew and Lois with a story from my childhood. All were enthralled, and my entrance from the alley went unnoticed. I stood in the doorway and listened to my father.

“—made Bretta crazy because that mother cat had hidden her kittens. Bretta was about five, maybe six, and I'd told her she couldn't go up in the hayloft, but that didn't stop her. As soon as my back was turned, she was up that ladder, poking among the hay bales. If I'd told her an old black snake made his home up there, she'd never have gone.”

“Bretta doesn't have a high regard for snakes,” said Lew.

Lois chimed in. “She had a narrow escape with one not long ago.”

My father nodded. “I read about it in the paper. Anyway, she climbed up there looking for those kittens.”

I knew what was coming, and so did the others. I shivered as I remembered the sly rustle of movement over the hay. I had leaned down, expecting to see bundles of silky fur. Instead, I'd come nose to nose with that old snake.