Bouquet of Lies Part 12

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 sc.r.a.pe 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 Compet.i.tion License to partic.i.p.ate. 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 a.s.s." 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."

Thirteen.

LACEY SHOOK HER head when Darla said, "I've been trying to figure out why Mother would kill Father and I decided she can't be alive. It's her spirit. She wanted him with her."

Darla. The romantic. Even about murder, Lacey thought. They sat in the back of the Bentley on the way to their father's memorial service. Jake drove. Edward rode in the Cadillac, driven by Henry.

"You think Mother's spirit whacked father with a poker?"

"Reverend Irene says it's possible. She says Mother's spirit is so strong she even fooled her."

So Darla was still talking to her bogus spiritualist. Lacey caught Jake's eye in the mirror.

Darla crossed her arms and put a bite in her voice. "Oh, I see. The two of you have been talking. Don't ask me any more questions."

Lacey addressed Jake. "You'll sit with us."

"I'll sit in the back with my pop."

"He can sit with us too."

"He says it isn't proper."

"It is proper. Daddy liked him. He left him two hundred thousand dollars he liked him so much."

"I know. We'll be in the back."

The church was packed. Mostly with Harper's business a.s.sociates. Everyone stared at Darla and Lacey as they walked down the aisle.

So these are the daughters Harper never talked about. Yes, everyone. Have a good look.

She saw a friendly face when they pa.s.sed Courtney, who surrept.i.tiously wiggled her fingers to say h.e.l.lo.

Then she spotted Dan's uncle. Uncle Detective. According to TV shows, killers liked to stalk the memorials of their victims. No doubt Uncle D was hoping the perpetrator would give himself-or herself-away.

She didn't see Dan. Hadn't since their kiss in the kitchen. All week she'd been busy making arrangements and she'd had to cancel their official date. That hadn't bothered him at all. Without skipping a beat he said, "Probably best with my uncle investigating your case."

What? He arranged for that, the dope. So now they weren't supposed to see each other? Why?

A flattering 18 X 24 photo of Harper propped on an easel marked center stage. Surrounding it were more flowers than Lacey had ever seen outside of an arboretum.

She and Darla scooted into the front pew and sat a few feet away from Edward. He had been on his best behavior all week. He still drank. Like now. She could smell the whiskey. But when he spoke he was civil. He had even bid her good morning once or twice. Odd behavior for him.

As expected, Darla had kept to her room. The day after the murder she allowed Lacey to comfort her, mostly in long silences. But as the week wore on, she grew more independent. I'm not a baby. I don't need you. Even now, she wasn't being clingy. Lacey grabbed Darla's hand and Darla gave her a funny look.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

"I'm not," Lacey replied.

Darla allowed her to keep her hand.

The church radiated peace and tradition, with stained gla.s.s windows, a large organ, and an elaborate wooden pulpit. A huge gold cross adorned the back wall.

A vague memory of having been here before rose in Lacey's mind. She had attended services with Great Grandmama Harriet. Instead of sending her to Sunday school, Harriet preferred to keep Lacey with her. Then once Harriet died, no more church. Lacey made arrangements for Harper's service here because it was where Harriet's had been.

She glanced to her left and right. Three family members in attendance. Now that was sad. She had no distant cousins that she knew of. And no one had squirmed out of the woodwork to lay claim to part of the inheritance. Great Grandmama Harriet had started things off with crystal clarity. Except for Edward's yearly dollar stipend, her money, her property, everything she owned had gone to her great granddaughters and Harper. Upon Harper's death, it was all Darla and Lacey's. As far as Lacey knew, Edward never contested his mother's will. Probably because Harper supported him in style.

Quite naturally Lacey always a.s.sumed Edward would die first, and then Harper sometime in a far distant future she had never even fathomed. She had never given a second thought to what would happen with Harper's fortune. Never.

On Thursday they had met with Harper's lawyer, a man named Henderson, a man in a dark suit who was bald on top and had salt and pepper whiskers below. He called the meeting right away because he was going out of town and as the executor, he wanted to make certain everything was unambiguous. His client's wishes were to be carried out to the letter.

He gave the good news to Henry whose chin began to quiver in stunned silence while Edward's jaw churned in impatient flabbergast. "What about me?" Edward snapped.

"We'll get to you," Henderson said and turned to Lacey and Darla. "Harper divided most of what he owned between the two of you. I'll give everyone a copy of the will which spells out his a.s.sets. You'll be glad to know that Bouquet Industries carried an insurance policy to fund a purchase plan."

"What does that mean?" Edward asked.

"It means the company has the funds to purchase back the stock left to Lacey and Darla."

"And none to me?" Edward grumbled.

Henderson ignored him. "However, you should know this. It was not necessarily his wish that you sell. He did leave a majority of the stock to you, Lacey. In fact, he left only a few shares to Darla. His company has a capable team of executives who can run the operations nicely if you stay out of the way until such time as you, Lacey, are adequately prepared to take the helm."

"Take the helm? What are you talking about?"

"I'm sure this comes as a surprise. Your father had a great deal of faith in you."

Lacey's mouth opened.