A Deadly Bouquet by Janis Harrison Page A

said was true, but what if he was in River City for a different reason? What if he wasn’t retired from the DEA? What if he was feeding me another line?
    He’d bought the cottage. I still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that it would never be mine. But was the title of that piece of property more important than getting to know him?
    I could tell him to dry up and blow away, but I’d wanted the chance to get to know him better. Here he was, offering me that chance. I’d be a fool not to take it. Or was I a fool for considering it?
    Bailey said, “I can hear the wheels turning in your head. Are you willing to take a chance?”
    I was startled at his use of the very same word I’d been thinking. “I … uh … guess dinner wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
    His coppery eyes teased me. “Love your enthusiasm. I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”
    I glanced sideways at him. “You have an advantage. You’ve had time to think this all out, but I haven’t.” Something had been nagging at me since he’d started this conversation. Now seemed a good time to check the degree of his candor. “I saw you yesterday—in the old part of town. I called out, but you walked away. What’s the deal?”
    â€œNo mystery. I was taking a drive, looking over River City. I saw a crowd and stopped to see what was going on.”
    â€œHow long have you known Claire Alexander?”
    â€œIsn’t that the name of the woman who was murdered?” Bailey’s full lips turned down. “You’re trolling for something, but I’m not biting.”
    He pushed up off the steps and stared at me. “I’ll have dinner ready at six thirty. I can eat it alone or I can eat it with you. If you decide to come to the cottage, please leave your suspicions at the door. I’ve spent the last twenty-seven years screening every word I say. In my line of work, I had to be circumspect or it could mean my life or the life of my partner. I’m tired of it. Take me at face value, Bretta, or don’t take me at all. The choice is yours.”
    With that, Bailey walked off. As I watched him go, I was mad, then I was sad, and finally I was resigned. The next move was mine, but thank goodness I had the rest of the day to make my decision.
    *   *   *
    Sundays are usually laid back, unless I have to go to the flower shop to do sympathy work for a Monday funeral. In the newspaper’s area obituaries, I’d learned that Oliver’s graveside service was to be Tuesday morning at ten o’clock. That left today free to do as I wished. It could have been pleasant except for two things—my father and Sid Hancock.
    It was mid-morning when Sid arrived. I’d gone to the garden to give Eddie a message from his wife, Molly. She thought it was time for him to come home, but first she wanted him to order the flowers for his father’s casket. Eddie liked my idea of assorted foliages with just a few flowers. Once I’d seen him on his way, I went back into the house to find my father and Sid chatting in the library. Or rather Dad was chatting. Sid was doing a slow burn.
    â€œâ€”no such thing as a private investigator’s license in Missouri.” Dad delivered this bit of wisdom with a so-there attitude. “I’ll locate office space, have business cards printed, and it’s a done deal.”
    Sid heard my step in the doorway and swiveled around. “Well, if it isn’t Ms. P.I. herself. Is it your goal in life to send me to an early grave?”
    I smiled sweetly. “Right now my goal is food. DeeDee has refined her talent in the kitchen. How about scrambled eggs, sausage, and a biscuit topped with homemade strawberry preserves and a glob of butter?” I was in no mood to entertain Sid, but if his stomach was full, perhaps he’d be less inclined to be obnoxious.
    â€œTrying a new