Bouquet of Lies (15 page)

Nineteen

LACEY AND JAKE sat at the kitchen table eating cereal in the apartment above the long garage. Henry was away, driving Edward to the men’s club.

Lacey stared at the few remaining circles of toasted oats she had left to eat and then eyed Jake. “How long will Henry stay on the job do you think?”

Jake glanced at her, but didn’t answer.

“I mean. Since Harper left him a bit of money. There are probably things—”

“He won’t quit.” Jake swallowed some pulpy orange juice. “What else is he going to do?”

“Travel. Go hunting, fishing, ride the rails. Whatever retired men do.”

“He likes cars. He likes taking care of them and driving them.”

“He can buy his own.”

“He might buy a Corvette and a beater to restore. But he won’t quit. He likes you and Darla.”

Lacey smiled and took her last bite of Cheerios. “Your dad’s worked here a long time.”

“Yeah. A long time.” Jake finished eating and put down his spoon.

“What do you think he knows about the family? My family.”

“He’s tightlipped. I wouldn’t have a clue. All done?”

She pushed her bowl away and he took it along with his to the sink.

“The two of you came here after Darla was born so he never met my mother.”

Jake looked at her. “You suddenly have a deep-seated interest in hearing about your mother?”

“Not suddenly, not really. Anyway, you find that strange?”

He shrugged. “I guess not.”

“It isn’t just her I want to know about. Your father might have information because Harper talked out of school when Henry drove him somewhere or because Edward drinks too much and drunks get sloppy.”

“What is it you think there is to learn?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be wondering.”

Jake chuckled and shoved the dishes in the dishwasher. “Yeah. That’s the thing about wondering. Let’s go.” He tossed a helmet her way and she caught it.

They headed for the door.

“How was Darla’s date last night with Mr. I-Think-I’m-Fabulous? Or have you talked to her? Is she still asleep?”

“Still asleep.” Lacey put the helmet on so he wouldn’t see her purse her lips. She didn’t want to tell him that Darla didn’t come home last night, for the second night in a row.

They rode to the hotel and when Lacey hopped off the bike, Jack did as well. He frowned at the Hotel Pamela; clearly, he didn’t like the looks of it either. “This is where we’re going?”

“This is where
I’m
going,” Lacey corrected. “You stay with the bike.”

He took a breath and cocked his head. “Okay. This is your pony show. But if you’re in there too long, I’m coming after you.”

Lacey grinned.

“What?” His brow dipped.

“You’re being protective and I thought you reserved that side of you for Darla.”

“You could always stand up for yourself, Miss Priss. You’ve got twenty minutes.”

Lacey stared at the hotel. People lived in this place. If they survived the stench—the air
had
to be as putrid as the place looked—she could endure a third of an hour. “Twenty minutes. If she’s here I’ll . . .” Her voice trailed.

“She who?” Jake cocked his head.

Lacey hadn’t explained and didn’t really want to yet. “I’ll let you know.” She jogged across the street before he could ask more questions.

The lobby had all the makings of a B movie, forties film noir—a filthy office behind security bars and bullet-proof glass, manned by an even more offensive-looking concierge. Fat, sporting a stained tank top that didn’t fully cover his big belly, the man watched a small TV with his feet propped up on a messy desk. One hand rested atop a bottle of Budweiser, pushing it into his midsection.

Lacey detected the odor of alcohol and sweat as she stepped to the counter where a small cutout allowed for the passing of keys and money. She rubbed her throat to get her voice working. “Excuse me,” she squeaked, and then she said it again, louder this time to make certain he heard. He glanced at her and went back to the TV. Ire overcame nerves and she spoke louder. “I said excuse me.”

“I ain’t got TiVo. Keep your pants on.”

Lacey took another gander at her surroundings. “You don’t have to worry about that.” She waited half a second. “I’m looking for someone.”

“They ain’t here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t keep track’a nobody. Not even my wife.”

He was married? Lacey wondered what the Mrs. was like. She took out the photo of Tiffany and plastered it against the glass. “Could you please take a look and tell me if she’s here?”

He glanced from his chair. “Nope.”

“Come on. Get your exercise for the day.”

That got his attention and he lowered a brow. “Was that a crack?”

“If it’ll get you out of that chair.”

He waved her off. There was only one solution. She took two twenties from her wallet and slid them through the cutout. Yesterday and today were getting expensive.

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.