Bouquet of Lies (13 page)

Darla felt like a school girl out of her league and took several gulps of water.

Sunday night meant this particular restaurant wasn’t crowded. Elegant, French and dimly lit, the place exuded romance. She and Randy were seated in an intimate corner.

Randy ordered both their dinners, completely at ease with the snooty
maître d'
. Darla giggled inside. How funny that people paid good money to be waited on by someone who acted like they were doing you a favor? The
maître d'
took the menus away.

Randy put his elbows on the table. He laced his fingers and rested his chin, eyes on her, sparkling and admiring. Her heart raced. She put the napkin in her lap and stared at it.

The waiter returned with a bottle of white wine and only one glass. Randy winked at her as the snooty man poured a splash.

“Fine,” Randy said after sampling. The waiter poured more and left. Randy grabbed Darla’s near-empty water glass, dumped what remained into his, and poured her some wine, two fingers high. “You seem nervous. This should help.”

Darla squeezed her lips together. There was no use protesting. Randy would overrule. And besides. She wanted a real drink. She wanted to feel like a grownup.

“To us,” Randy said.

“Us,” Darla responded.

“And a wonderful evening.” They clinked glasses. He smiled and swallowed.

So did she. The liquid went down smoothly. It warmed her and she felt relaxed almost immediately. “It’s good,” she said. Randy’s smile was generous and the way he looked at her made it seem like she was the only person in the room. “You make me feel special.” She took another sip.

“Good. Because you are special.”

She giggled and put her hand on her face. She felt warm. “So are you. Have you had a lot of girlfriends?”

Randy looked surprised, then he smiled. “Oh, one or two.”

“More than that.”

“Nope. What about you?”

“Me? A thousand.” He looked shocked and she laughed. “That’s if you count all the guys in the books I read. I fantasize a lot.” She put her fingers over her mouth. Had she really said that?

He grinned. “Well. Who doesn’t?” Then his expression grew softly serious. “It’s good to see you happy. Let’s not talk about old girlfriends. I’m with you now.”

She felt her heart leap into her throat. “I’m your girlfriend?”

“What do you think?” His eyes shown in the candlelight as he raised his wine glass.

Darla tried to lift her head and couldn’t. It was made of concrete, and inside a hammer smacked her skull. She opened her eyes and saw Randy dressed in a suit, straightening his tie. Where was she?

Ohhh, yeah. His apartment. His bedroom.

She closed her eyes, moaned, and curled up like a cat.

“I am so sorry,” Randy said, coming to her.

She put a hand to her forehead.

The bed sagged under his weight. “Here. I’ve got some Excedrin ready.”

She opened her eyes. He held a glass of water and a pill. She took both. “What happened?”

“I shouldn’t have given you wine.”

“Mmmm. Oh.” She swallowed the pill.

“You never drank before, did you?”

She shook her head delicately. “I’m seventeen.” She gave him back the water glass.

“I just thought, with a sister like Lacey, well. I’m an idiot. No more wine.”

“I remember now. I threw up.”

“Outside the restaurant. Nobody saw.”

“I spoiled the evening.”

“No. I spoiled the evening.” He put the glass on the nightstand. “The good news is, we get a do-over so I can be on my best behavior.”

She rubbed her hands down her body. She was fully dressed except for shoes. She looked at him shyly. He was perfect. Gorgeous and a gentleman. He was as wonderful as any guy in those books she read. Not only that, but the Reverend Irene approved. And her mother.

“You were on your best behavior.” She smiled shyly.

No more wine. When they made love for the first time she wanted to be fully aware. It would be heavenly. The most wonderful thing she ever experienced.

Her head pounded again, interrupting the romantic thoughts. She’d get back to them when she felt better.

Seventeen

AT NINE THIRTY in the morning, Lacey walked into the reception area of Stark’s office and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the buxom, tight-bloused receptionist seated behind a desk. Lacey half expected the big-haired brunette to whip out an emery board and start filing her nails, except her nails were an inch long and fake.

“Hi. I’m Marnie,” the sex-pot said in a breathy voice to the mirror she held up to her face. “I’m twenty-two and I’ve kissed a lot of frogs looking for my prince.” She giggled, waved her hand, and adjusted the tone of her voice. “Hi. I’m Marnie and I’m looking for true love.”

“Reality TV?” Lacey switched the heavy tote she was carrying to her left hand.

Marnie lowered the mirror. Her smile faded and she gave Lacey the once-over. “May I help you?”

Lacey gave her the once-over back. “Tell your boss that Edward Bouquet’s granddaughter is here to see the blackmailer.”

Marnie picked up the phone. “There’s a female here. She wants to talk to you.”

That’s interesting
.
Confirming his Modus Operandi
.

Marnie listened and answered, “Somebody’s granddaughter.” She listened again and hung up. “He’s not in.”

Lacey moved to Stark’s door as Marnie watched without protest. She opened it and caught sight of the back of Stark as he swung a tennis racket with no ball. Lacey turned to the wannabe reality star and wrinkled her nose with a phony smile. “Thanks. You’ve been super.” She went in.

The office was classy. Sleek furniture. Real plants and a large bank of windows with an expansive twelfth-story view of Los Angeles.

“Blackmail must be lucrative.” Lacey closed the door.

Stark turned. Now that she wasn’t seeing him from fifteen feet away, she determined he was probably forty, had a great tan and white teeth in a wide mouth that was too big for his face.

“Blackmail?” He raised his hand, threw high an invisible ball and smacked it directly at Lacey.

Lacey raised her hand and caught it. “I’m ready for anything you can deliver.”

Stark smirked. “That I’d like to see.” He put down the racket and moved to the black leather chair behind his desk and sat. “Okay, Ms. Bouquet . . . Lacey.”

“So you know me.” She stepped toward him.

“I’m an investigator. I investigate.” He motioned for her to take a seat. She took it. “What can I do for you?”

“Tell me what you’ve got on Edward.”

“What I’ve got? You have things a bit mixed up. Your father hired me to do a job. I did it. I want to get paid.”

“I’ll pay you. Tell me what it is.”

He looked her up and down and she felt her stomach lurch for the door. Something about this maggot made her want to heave. Flirting was out of the question.

“That’s an interesting offer. You haven’t heard my price.”

“One-hundred-thousand. I heard.”

“Two-hundred-thousand.”

“You told Edward one-hundred.”

“The price just went up.”

“You’ll never see a Washington from Edward. He doesn’t have money.”

“Oh, he has his ways.”

Lacey wondered what that meant. Maybe Edward had something stashed away. He did have a Rolex or two or three he could pawn.

The maggot leered at her boobs. “I’m sure you have your ways too. We could work out some sort of payment plan.”

Her skin crawled. This required action. She moved to his side of the desk, sat on it, and pulled him toward her with his tie. He reached for her breast and she grabbed his hand before it arrived.

“Listen, Maggot. There will be no payment plan. I’ve come with cash. I figured you might try to screw me.” She flinched. “Scratch that. Extract more money and I’ve brought more. One-hundred-twenty-five.” She nodded toward the tote on the floor and his eyes followed. She shoved him back and retrieved the bag, then slapped a couple of bundles of money on the desk. “Ten thousand. Twenty thousand.” Her hand went in the bag for more and stopped.

He looked at her. He looked at the money. He looked at her. “Well, I can’t tell you everything.”

She slapped another bundle down and he let out a short sigh.

“I can tell you one thing.”

“The price just went down.”

“Nope. I accept your offer. One-hundred and twenty-five.”

Her brain went into calculation mode. Why wouldn’t he tell her everything? Because he intended to still get money out of Edward? Maybe the stuff he wouldn’t tell her was more damaging. Something she might tell the police and then he would never get money from Edward.

She stared at Stark. His expression was solid. He wasn’t going to budge. “Fine.”

Stark moved to the tote and emptied the rest of the cash. After a quick count, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door to a walk-in closet. She heard the sound of a metal drawer opening. Heard it shut. When he returned he had a couple of photographs in his hand. “Why not make the best of things, I always say.” He grinned.

She frowned and took the photos. One showed a group of people waiting at a bus stop. “What’s this? What am I looking at?”

Stark pointed at a woman amid the crowd. “Her.”

Lacey took a closer look. “Her who?”

Stark grabbed the photos and had her look at the second one. The same woman was exiting a fleabag hotel, only in this one her image was prominent and clear. She appeared to be in her early forties, had sallow skin and medium-length bleached-blond hair. She wore a tight, knee-length skirt and low-cut tank. Lacey looked up. “Okay. So?”

“Your father paid me to find her.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t say why and I didn’t ask.”

“But you know.”

He smirked. “This is what you get for your money. A name and an address unless you want to bargain for more.”

Lacey gave him a sour look. “What’s the name?”

“Tiffany Class.”

“That’s her real name?”

“That’s what she goes by. Could be a play on words.”

“Ya think?”

It was a lousy neighborhood and Lacey really didn’t think it wise to leave her Spyder unattended. From the driver’s seat, she stared at the Hotel Pamela across the street, the fleabag in the photo. Built in the thirties, it had no obvious upgrades. If Texas Chainsaw hadn’t lived on a farm, he might have liked this place. Tiffany was either inside or roaming somewhere doing her thing.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Lacey drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

People passed by and she wasn’t keen on how they ogled the car. She’d been there for two hours. It was time to go. She would have to come back using some other mode of transportation. Also, she wanted to be home when Edward returned from his four o’clock with the maggot.

Lacey stretched out on the library couch, the one that wasn’t spotted with blood, and placed the photos she got from Stark face down on her stomach. She had stared at them long enough. The verdict was in and no amount of staring at photos was going to talk her out of it.

If only Stark had told her more. He knew more, she was convinced of it. One-hundred thousand sure didn’t go far these days. Inflation was a bitch.

She sighed and turned her head to stare at the dark red stain on the rug. “Well, Daddy. Did you see your killer? Was Mom really here?” Her eyes followed the footprints that went every which way. Too bad Darla’s psychic was a phony. It would be nice to get some answers. Where were the cops when you needed them?

She suddenly felt lonely and in need of a friend. Courtney was always good for commiseration and a laugh. She called her on the cell and gave a quickie update of the day.

“It’s morbid to hang out in that room. Tell me again, why haven’t you called in the cleaners?”

“I don’t know. I keep thinking if I stare at it hard enough I’ll see something.”

“That the police missed? With all their CSI gadgetry?”

“On TV they care. In real life, not so much. There’re lots of murders to solve and I haven’t heard anything.”

“Not even from Dan-the-Man?”

“Not a peep.”

“Because he’s all about the ethics?”

“I don’t know what he’s about. He confuses me. I try not to think about him. I’m protecting my heart.”

“Uh-oh. Serious heart stuff. Sounds like a job for Mighty Friend.” Courtney liked old cartoons. “Dan-the-Man and I should talk.”

“Here she comes to save the day!”

“I mean it. Give me his number.”

Lacey chuckled. “And what are you going to say?”

“I don’t know. Something like, ‘You break’a her heart, I break’a your neck.’ How does that sound?”

“Like a plan. A bad plan, but a plan. And my heart is fine. I really like him, more than I’ve liked anybody in a long time. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I know nothing about him. Except he’s too principled for his own good. Or maybe my own good.”

“There’s something to be said about immorality.”

“Depravity. Wantonness. Tearing one’s clothes off and having at it.” She saw Dan in her mind’s eye, so staid and rock solid and sexy and moral. She could make fun, but she liked that moral streak in him.

“Yeah,” said Courtney. “The more I think about it, the more I think you’re better off without him. You’re too different.”

Courtney’s tone was light, but the words sort of stung. If Dan was all about ethics and they were too different, what did that say about her? That she was like Maggot? The thought sent a shiver through her soul.
Give me an exorcism. Quick!
It was time to stop discussing the ravishing Officer O’Donnell.

“So I’m staring at bloody footprints and waiting for Edward,” Lacey said.

“And changing the subject.”

“And changing the subject. I’ve stared at the photos Maggot gave me until I’m blue in the face.”

“Nice color. You should take the stage in Vegas.”

“It’s Mom.”

“Lacey, I know you and Darla come from the same gene pool, but don’t go off the deep end on me.”

“I’m convinced.”

“Why would your father and grandfather say she was dead if she isn’t?”

“I don’t know. But I bet Maggot does. If I could screw up my immorality and make a payment plan, he’d tell me. But there’s something to be said for principles.”

“Even if he weren’t disgusting?”

“Even then.”

“Maybe you and Dan-the-Man are alike.”

Lacey smiled. Then she frowned. “You should see the neighborhood where she lives. It’s to die in. Literally.”

“I’ll pass.”

“So you won’t give me a ride, even if I change my tune and tell you it’s like Bel Air?”

“Lie to me? Where are your ethics? I think it’s time to call in the cops.”

“Nope. Not yet. I need to check it out. What if it’s not her? You think they’d clue me in? And if it is, she could run and I’d never get to interrogate.”

“Valid points.”