Bouquet of Lies (9 page)

Moving ahead she entered the foyer. She saw her mother slip inside the library and close the door.

Darla crossed to the library. The library. The room in the house she hated most. She closed her eyes for a moment, and with a deep breath cautiously opened the door.

The lights were out, but a crackling fire softly illuminated the room, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the wall. She saw no one.

“Mother?” Darla took a step. “Mom?”

No answer.

She moved to the couch that paralleled the fireplace and saw her father lying on the carpet. He was on his back, eyes open, blood oozing from his head. A poker lay beside him.

Darla let loose with a scream. She backed away and bumped into someone. Turning slowly, she came face to face with the blonde. She screamed again and the room began to spin until she saw nothing at all.

Eleven

IT HAD BEEN two hours since the body . . .

The body . . . Harper. Her father. Daddy. He’s a body now.

The waterworks began again. Lacey had no idea she had that many tears stored in her head. Her father was dead. Daddy was no more. How could that be?

Seated at the dining room table, she leaned over, put elbows to knees, and buried her face in her hands. Most of the party guests had been dismissed. Darla was asleep in her room. The family’s physician had come and given her a sedative. The rest of the people the detective still wanted to talk to were sitting or standing in the dining room now. Like in the movies. Only instead of the end where the killer was about to be revealed, the questions were just getting started.

The library was a crime scene now. Off limits with yellow tape across the door.
Murder?
Who would want to murder Daddy?

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Someone spoke to her.

“What? What?” she asked.

“Do you need a sedative, too?”

She looked up. Dan stood behind her. His words showed concern, but not the expression on his face. Cop face. Grim. A mask. Why was he still here? Surely he was no suspect. He had never even met Harper.

Must be because he was a cop and had taken charge once the . . . once her father had been found. Yeah, that’s right. Dan had flashed his badge, shooed everyone out of the library and told all the guests not to leave.

Lacey shook her head.

“You sure?” Dan asked.

“It’s all an act,” Edward’s voice snarled. “She never cared about my son.”

His words whirled inside her skull and banged against her forehead. She ached and had no energy to fight with Edward.

“Is that true?” The detective in charge addressed her. He was big. Fiftyish. Maybe sixty. If her face didn’t give him the answer, then he must think her worthy of an Academy Award. Every time she wiped her tears, mascara came with it. She had to look like a raccoon.

“Think what you want. But don’t think anything Edward says is true.”

Dan’s hands pressed her shoulders, steadying her.

“Oh, she didn’t kill him,” Edward snapped. “Talk to that grease monkey who threatened me. Threatened Harper, now that I think about it.”

The detective turned to Edward. “What grease monkey?”

“The mouthy one who brought the car back. The Bentley.”

“He must mean Jake.” Lacey wiped another tear with a tissue. “He’s our chauffeur’s son. He’s just here for the summer.”

“That’s the chauffer’s kid?” Edward jerked his head.

“He’s not a kid anymore, Ed. Try to keep up.” If she had any oomph she would have laughed at the perplexed frown on his face.

“Was he at the party?” the detective asked.

“Yes. But he didn’t kill Daddy.” She faced Edward and put as much energy into a glare as she could. “If he were to kill anyone it would be you.” Dan’s fingers squeezed her shoulder.
Wrong thing to say.
“Scratch that.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jake Koldare. He lives over the garage. But I’m telling you. He had no problem with my dad.”

“We’ll talk to him.” The detective wrote down the name.

Fine. Talk to him. Waste time
, she thought. “Look. Before they took her upstairs, Darla told me she saw a woman in the room.”

“Aaaugh!” Edward banged the tip of his cane on the floor. “She’s crazy. You know that.”

“She’s not crazy!” An adrenaline rush boosted Lacey’s resolve.
That’s better
, she thought. “Darla said a blonde led her to the library.”

“A blonde or her mother?” Randy’s voice. He sat away from the table obscured from her view. He’d been asked to stay? Of course. He was possibly the last to see Harper alive. They’d had a meeting. They had moved from the office to the library because the party was too loud.

“What do you mean?” asked the detective.

“I heard Darla scream. I was the first to get to her.”

“How is it you got to her first?” The detective studied him.

“I was chatting with Darla at the party. I left her to go to the restroom. When I came back she was gone and I decided to go home. It’s just fortunate I was walking through the foyer or I wouldn’t have heard her scream. The point is she was mumbling, ‘Mother. Mother. Mother was here.’”   

“And this makes her crazy? Why?” The detective swiveled his head from Edward to Lacey.

“Mother’s dead,” Lacey said flatly. “Dead. Dead. Dead. Like Daddy.” The tears flowed again.

“What do you think happened?” Dan asked Lacey, seated across from her at the kitchen table.

She still wore that sexy costume, a blanket wrapped around her for warmth. Her chair was pushed back and a scrawny cat purred on her lap. He glanced at the feline. All was right with the world as far as the cat was concerned. Milk in the tummy. A hand stroking its back. No attachment to a lost parent.

At four in the morning everyone else had either gone home or gone to bed. He knew what it was to lose someone important in your life. He knew about death. Some people might want to be alone, but not Lacey. He knew that much about her.

“I think this is a dream,” Lacey said. “I’ll wake up and nothing will have happened.” She took a sip of the tea she’d laced with cherry brandy. He didn’t try to take it away from her. Alcohol was okay right now. Whatever she needed to get through this.

“And your sister? You say there’s no way she . . .”

“Don’t even go there. She’s not strong enough or mean enough or . . . She’s defenseless. And she truly believes Mother is alive.”

“You don’t?”

Lacey shook her head rhythmically, slowly. The brandy had relaxed her. “She must have seen a party guest and made the leap. I don’t know what this is going to do to her. And Edward will try to use it against her. But she’s not going in the hospital this time. I won’t let it happen. I’m going to be here for her.”

During the questioning in the dining room it had come out how unreliable anything Darla said was. It had come out that she’d been committed to a hospital for trying to commit suicide. Certainly he wanted Lacey’s sister to be okay, but it was Lacey he was worried about. Lacey, with her carefree spirit that now seemed lost. Lacey with her thick, gold-brown hair and flirtatious grin. Lacey with the body that curved in all the right places and obviously attracted all kinds of men. He’d observed them at the party. None were immune to her. And apparently, neither was he.

“What about you? Who’s going to be here for you?”

She looked at him with her viridian green eyes. They were swollen and pink.

I’m here for you
, he wanted to say. But he held his tongue.

Lacey looked down at the cat. “Kitty will. And I’ll be back to my real self in no time.”

That’s right. Be strong. Act like you can handle anything.
He knew the drill. It was expected when you were a soldier. And when Sally died he’d put on the same act.

He moved to the chair next to Lacey and sat. “I think this is your real self. All that happy-go-lucky stuff is a front.”

She shook her head. “Why does it have to be one or the other? My father was just murdered.”

He leaned back. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You loved him.”

She took a sip of tea and sighed. “I didn’t even know him.”

Her voice was thin. She was fighting tears again, he could tell. He wanted to take her in his arms and make everything all right, but he stayed put and simply said, “No?”

She shrugged. “He was great when I was little. I thought of him as a king. I guess all little girls do. The princess syndrome or something. Then after Darla came along, everything changed.”

She took another sip.

Rely on me. Not that drink
.

She shifted in the chair and the cat jumped to the floor. The tabby found a corner and curled up.

“Maybe you just felt rejected? Kids do that when there’s a new baby.”

“No.” She stretched her legs and arched her back as she pulled her hair away from her face. The blanket fell to the floor. Her breasts pressed provocatively against the bodice of the magician’s assistant costume and he had to force himself to look elsewhere. “I was never jealous of Darla. It’s hot in here.”

The drink was getting to her. He should go. She had her brandied tea. She could sleep now. She didn’t need him.

She went on with her story. “Daddy ignored us both the same. At least I got three good years which is more than Darla got. Sweet, sweet toddlerhood. I remember only a few things. Little things. Like him reading to me. Slipping me into a sweater. And I remember baking cookies with him. Him. Baking cookies.” She smiled. “Imagine that. I burned my finger.” She held up her right index finger. “And he ran it under the faucet and told me I could eat all the cookies I wanted. I did, too.”

Dan’s eyes went to her shoulder. Now he understood the cookie-sheet tattoo. He looked at her legs stretched before him. Then his gaze went to her breasts pressing to be released and lingered there. His insides felt like they’d caught fire. He stood up and scooted the chair under the table. “Sleep’s the best thing right now.” He clutched the back of the chair as if it were a lifeline and looked at her. “This is probably a good time to tell you. The detective on the case is my uncle. I called him instead of 911. He’s the best. I figured he could get himself assigned to the investigation.”

She gazed back with a half-smile and nodded. “Okay.” She raised a limp hand for him to help her up. He took it and pulled. She stumbled toward him and he caught her. Had she done that on purpose? Maybe. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. Her body was against his and it felt good. His arms went around her. One hand moved to the small of her back. He pressed her to him and a thirst he hadn’t felt in a very long time urged him into action. He pressed his lips to hers and closed his eyes. Her arms went around him in a strong embrace. He tasted the cherry brandy she’d been drinking. He felt her heart beat as his heart raced.

Stop!
What are you doing?

He pulled back. He shouldn’t have kissed her. That was wrong. She was vulnerable. She wasn’t his girl.

Her eyes searched his.

“I should go,” he said.

“Why?” She looked bewildered.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her again. It took all the strength he had to let go. “Get some rest. Try not to drink anymore.”

Then without another word he went out the back door and got in the Prius he’d driven to the party. He would watch the house until the sun came up.

Twelve

DAYS LATER, LACEY’S kiss still lingered in Dan’s mind. Even at work. The number of tickets he issued suffered. He would be sitting on his motorcycle thinking about her and it wouldn’t even register that a speeder had raced by.

He walked into his house and headed straight for the bedroom. As he changed out of his uniform, he couldn’t get Lacey out of his head. So beautiful. Caring. Hurting. Her lips, soft. Their kiss sweet, with passion brewing just below the surface. She intrigued him. He felt drawn to her. He loved Sally. She had been his best friend forever. But he couldn’t deny this attraction to Lacey. She excited him in a way that was completely new.

His brow dipped. How could that be? Wasn’t it some sort of betrayal to Sally? He hated the idea.

Thank goodness he’d stopped before his emotions had run any higher. Lacey was going through a traumatic time. People sought comfort in all kinds of ways when they were stressed. That kiss could have led to more and their relationship . . .

Relationship? Who said they were in a relationship? He was supposed to take her on a date so the lie he’d told his aunt and uncle wouldn’t be a lie. That was it!

Really? What about the Roxy? And dinner at your house? You went to her party.

Those weren’t official dates. They never made it to the restaurant in Malibu. She cancelled. Her father’s funeral arrangements and affairs took a lot of time.

You didn’t cancel, she did. And you were disappointed. What does that say about a fake date?

He hadn’t let on.

Right. You pretended it didn’t matter. How do you suppose that made her feel?

He sat down on the bed, sighed, and continued to wrestle with his thoughts as he pulled on socks and a pair of Puma casuals.

She can’t really care. She lives in a different world with more men beating down her door than any woman I’ve ever known.

Like you’ve known so many.

There had been enough. He had dated girls in high school.

Girls? Two. But mostly Sally.

And when Sally and I broke up for those couple of years after high school, there were several.

Three.

Enough to know Sally was the one I loved.

Sally’s gone.

He finished and went to his bureau. He brushed his hair while looking at himself in the mirror.

She might be gone, but that didn’t mean Lacey was her replacement. Just because he was attracted to her. He had to be realistic. What would a girl like Lacey really want with a blue-collar cop? He wasn’t a good-time Joe.

You think too much.

No. I’m being levelheaded.

He put down the hairbrush. It had been a long day. He had helped at the scene of two accidents, both the result of someone in a hurry. Thank God, there were only minor injuries.

He saw Lacey in his mind again and shoved the image away.

Enough!
He wouldn’t see her any more. At least not socially. His uncle had her case. He shouldn’t see her while he was investigating.

What?

It’s for the best.

It’s an excuse.

It’s what I told her.

You think she didn’t see through that baloney pretext for staying away?

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to sit around the house thinking of Lacey all night. Not like he’d done the night before and the night before that and the night . . .

He grabbed the phone and called a friend.

“Murray. I’m not here. You know what to do at the tone.”

“Hey. It’s Dan and it’s Thursday night. I know it’s been a while, but I thought I’d take a spin out to Irwindale. Yeah, I’ve still got the Prius.”

He could hear Murray laugh even though he wasn’t there.

“Maybe you’d like to race it down the track and see how fast
you
can make it go. Anyway, I know you’ll be there. Look for me.”

It had been a year since he’d raced. Even before Sally’s death he had kind of given it up. He’d sold his muscle car because she’d wanted him to. They’d bought the Prius to stretch dollars at the pump and help the environment. Sally drove a Prius as well. Hers was, or had been, Blizzard Pearl. His, Winter Gray Metallic.

Life was so ironic. She’d worried about his safety at the drags and . . .

He didn’t finish the thought. He grabbed his keys. Racing was fun when done responsibly. Street racing was a recipe for disaster. He had helped scrape more than one body off the pavement after one of those unlawful gatherings. That’s why he always volunteered to speak at high schools and community events, in uniform, about the dangers of street racing. Speed belonged on the track.

It took about thirty minutes to get to Irwindale. He drove to the entrance for racers, paid the fee and signed a waiver. The 1/8 mile drag strip was open to all types of racing and street-legal vehicles: full bodied cars, roadsters, dune buggies, jeeps, trucks, quad runners or motorcycles. No dragsters. Drivers needed a valid driver’s license or NHRA Competition License to participate. And, of course, the proper headgear.

He waited a couple of minutes for a tech to inspect his vehicle. The Prius met all the safety standards, and the tech wrote a number on the rear driver’s side window.

A Prius wasn’t exactly fast, but he would have fun trying to better his own time with each run down the track.

Right away, he spotted Murray’s souped-up Impala in the line waiting to race. Dan would have to wait for his number to be called before he got in line.

He watched Murray enter lane one. A yellow Pontiac Trans Am entered lane two. The motors roared and crackled as the rear tires spun and burned in the water box, smoke billowing. With tread now sticky for traction off the starting line, the cars moved ahead fifty feet to await the light. It signaled and they sped off. The cars hung close for a while, but then Murray’s Impala pulled away.

Dan heard his number called over the radio. He put on his helmet and joined the back of the waiting line. When his turn came, he entered lane one. A Mustang GT rolled into lane two.

The Mustang’s motor revved and its tires burned rubber. Dan also heated his tires in the water box. They moved ahead to the starting line. The light changed and the wheels rolled.

The sign at the finish line flashed their numbers. The Mustang GT crossed at 7.57 seconds, Dan at 11.82. Well. It wasn’t
that
crowded. He’d get in at least another three runs to better his time.

He returned to the parking lot and spotted sandy-haired Murray, all six-foot-two of him, talking with a short, dark-haired guy Dan didn’t know.

“Saw you blow smoke up that Mustang’s ass.” Murray chuckled and high-fived Dan. “Glad you called. Good to see you. This is Pete.”

Dan shook hands with Pete.

“Let you take the Impala down the track if I can take yours.” Murray’s grin was wide.

“Ehh. I don’t think you could handle it,” Dan said.

“You got that right.” Murray turned to Pete. “Dan had a great Camaro. Fast. Whew! Had a blown small block 350. Of course, it wasn’t as sweet as the Impala.”

“I recall I beat you three or four times.”

“I don’t remember that.”

This time Dan laughed. “I do, and that’s what counts.”

“What happened to it?” Pete asked.

Murray looked at Dan. He knew Dan had sold the car because of Sally. He was a pal and didn’t say anything. “I just got it in my head to sell it,” Dan explained.

“Looks like you’re sorry now,” Pete said.

“A little bit.”

“You in the market for something else?” Murray asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dan shrugged.

“Hey, you’re here racing.” Murray slapped him on the shoulder. “Pete’s got to sell one of his.”

“Yeah. Insurance. Gas. The cost of four racers is getting a little steep.”

“Four?” Dan said.

“He brought the one that’s for sale if you want to take a look.” Murray pointed. “It’s over there.”

Dan turned around and saw a green Dodge Challenger SRT8. “Wow.”

They walked to the car.

“Race it,” Pete said. “You win, you buy it.”

“I’m out of practice,” Dan said, his eyes drinking in the Challenger.

“Ahh. Sounds like you’re interested.” Pete smiled.

“Time to get back in the game,” Murray told Dan.

“What’s under the hood?”

“Four-seventy horse. Six point four liter Hemi V-8.”

“Stock?”

“Stock.”

“Can’t beat the Impala,” Dan said.

“Neither can the Prius.” Murray thumbed at Dan’s car.

Everyone laughed.

It was a nice vehicle. And it had full body, dual racing stripes. Hadn’t Lacey mentioned something about racing stripes? He nodded. She had. He was so enthralled with the car he didn’t even berate himself for allowing her to slip into his thoughts.

He rubbed his face. “Think I’ll take you up on that offer to race.”

“Go for it,” Pete said.

“But I’m not really in the market for a car.”

“Uh, huh. Uh, huh,” Murray said. “You’re a goner.”