Lilies That Fester Read Online Free Page B

every aspect of his board’s duties. Bernice is with him now. Allison has been summoned to appear at five.”
    I didn’t know what Effie was talking about as to “historical foundation” and “fate decrees,” but I identified the names “Bernice and Allison” and tried not to scowl. As treasurer of the association, Bernice’s job is to make sure all the conference committees don’t go over budget. To hear her talk, we’re a bunch of willy-nilly spenders, and she’s the only one who knows how to balance a checkbook.
    Allison Thorpe is the association’s vice president. In our hometown of River City, Missouri, Allison and I own rival flower shops. Our tedious relationship is like the back roads that wind their way through the Ozarks—pitted and pocked as a lotus pod.
    I’d already accepted the job of coordinating the design contest when I learned Allison would be working on the conference, too. I’d been dubious, but so far we’d stuck to our individual responsibilities, having little personal contact.
    â€œTyrone hasn’t asked me any questions,” I said, studying Effie’s wrinkled face. “Is that good?”
    She winked charmingly. “You’re doing an excellent job coordinating the designers’ competition, dear. Even the ‘ruler’ couldn’t fault your talents.”
    â€œI wasn’t angling for a compliment, but I didn’t realize
Tyrone was watching everything so closely. He’s spent most of the time in his room.”
    Effie beckoned with a gnarled finger, and then led the way over to the railing. “It wasn’t by chance that Tyrone was assigned the suite that looks directly down on the entrance into the conference area. Make no mistake, he knows what’s going on.”
    I turned my attention to the second floor. As if on cue, the subject of our conversation appeared in the doorway of his room. Tyrone had an uncanny resemblance to Clark Gable—slim, debonair, neatly trimmed dark mustache. As I watched, he ran a finger over his upper lip, then tipped his head to look directly at me.
    His sensuous gesture sent an unexpected jolt of heat across my skin. I was caught off guard since I didn’t particularly like the man. First the stranger in the lobby and now Tyrone. What was wrong with me? Was I headed for some kind of health crisis?
    Effie tapped my arm and nodded to the terrace lounge. She indicated two women sipping drinks. “I had three reasons for stopping by, dear. Delia and Miriam are two of them. They could be contributing more to our conference, but they’re too busy figuring out a way to make you reveal the categories.”
    I studied the design contestants. I didn’t know Delia particularly well, but to my way of thinking, she was hanging on to her youth by the tips of her fake red fingernails. In her late forties, she worked diligently to appear thirty—skintight blue jeans, bare midriff, spiked heels, and hair bleached so often it was as brittle and frizzy as a dandelion gone to seed.
    Miriam and I went back years, but only in a casual way. At fifty-six, her translucent complexion is that of a natural redhead, her husky voice an even blend of confidence and arrogance.
I get along with her, but only if I stand my ground. Her overbearing manner has a way of chafing tender areas.
    â€œYou said you had three reasons for coming by. What’s the third?”
    Effie rose on the tips of her sensible shoes and leaned over the banister. “He’s seated over by the bar.”
    I grabbed her dress tail. “Good lord, Effie. Don’t do that. What if you got dizzy?”
    â€œI’d make a very small splat, dear.”
    At my insistence, she moved away from the railing. Once we were safely at the door to my room, she said, “Since you won’t look, I have to tell you that Darren is drinking rather heavily.”
    â€œHe’s an artist.