Lilies That Fester Read Online Free Page A

mattress was as thin as paper. Robbee had remarked that funeral homes rarely get complaints. I’d investigated the bottom of the stainless-steel box and found a metal grid supporting the flimsy pad. The space beneath the framework made a perfect place to hide my notes, but it wouldn’t work for this envelope. It had to be here in my room.
    After a moment’s deliberation, I dropped the package behind the armoire, where it caught on a ledge and blended with the woodwork. I’d have to get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it, but I’d done as requested.
    Now what was I to do? It was too early to get ready for the introductory dinner, an event I thought unnecessary. Those involved knew enough about each other to turn the gathering into a no-holds-barred bashing. Since I might be at the center of a major controversy concerning the design categories, I decided to make myself scarce until the appointed hour, but I could call Gellie.
    I had reached for the phone when someone knocked on my door. I opened it with a flourish, thinking it might be the McDuffys.
    In the hall was Effie, the secretary of the Show-Me Floral Association. I looked down into her rheumy blue eyes and smiled. A spry seventy-one, though her shoulders were stooped from fifty years of floral designing, she still maintains a forty-hour workweek at her flower shop.
    â€œAre you busy, dear?” she asked, then smoothed her orchid dress, which picked up the lavender highlights of her hair. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

    â€œYou could never be that,” I assured her. “I was going to call Gellie’s room to see if she’d like to get together for a chat.”
    â€œThen she’s arrived?” When I nodded, Effie sighed. “Well, thank goodness. Car trouble on an interstate is horrible. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom. Everyone in a rush, but no one willing to stop and help.” Her chin came up. “Did I tell you about the woman who almost bashed my car yesterday when I arrived at the hotel?”
    I nodded. I’d heard the story several times, and with each rendition, Effie had gotten upset all over again. Hoping to ward off a rise in her blood pressure, I gestured to the leatherbound binder in her hands. “Are you on a fact-finding mission?”
    â€œI’m about ‘facted’ out, if there is such a word.”
    I heard a note of fatigue in her voice and studied her with concern. I’d always had a soft spot for little old ladies, which probably stemmed from a cruel fate that had snatched my own grandparents away before I’d gotten to know them. When I saw the tired droop to Effie’s stooped shoulders, I asked, “Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?”
    Effie grimaced. “After I make the place cards for tonight’s dinner party, I might take a nap. I have a headache from my meeting with Tyrone.” She peered up at me. “Do you know the Greek origin of the name ‘Tyrone’?”
    This was just one of the reasons I loved Effie. I couldn’t always track which path her mind was taking, but the journey was usually interesting. “I haven’t a clue,” I answered.
    Effie dabbed her watery eyes with a lace-edged hankie she pulled from her dress sleeve. “I find names fascinating, especially once I get to know the owner. Each generation has a trend, but most names have a historical foundation.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I can’t decide if fate decrees us a
name because our personality has been defined before we’re born, or if we subconsciously try to live up to the moniker we were blessed with at birth.”
    Airily, she waved the hand holding the hankie. “No matter. Last year, after Tyrone was elected president of the Show-Me Floral Association, I looked up his name in a book I’m partial to and found that Tyrone means ‘ruler.’ Most apropos considering his high-handed tactics at being involved in