Lilies That Fester by Janis Harrison Page A

agree or disagree. She lifted a shoulder, and then cradling her injured hand, followed the manager to the elevators.
    I looked up and down the hall. There were low-watt wall lights to guide guests to their rooms, but the bulbs wouldn’t have been bright enough to show a sliver of stainless steel. The
thought of someone taping a razor blade to the handle was as Delia had said—reprehensible.
    Somehow the use of that blade was as shocking as an outright attack. It ranked right up there with the sadistic pleasure of putting laxatives in brownies and thumbtacks on the seats of chairs. I gulped. Or a knife wedged in a cushion so the blade would slide from its casing and puncture an intended victim.
    My door. My room. My name tag. My chair. Knife. Razor blade.
    A shudder wracked my body. A gun to my head would have aroused the same reaction, except a gun carried an obvious threat. A razor blade was stock household supplies. My God, I shaved my legs with Carl’s old safety razor. I’d handled the pieces of steel since I was twelve years old, and treated them with respect because they sliced tender flesh.
    I searched the balcony, wondering if the person responsible was lurking about to see if his sick joke had brought results. No one was in sight, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t being watched. I went into my room and locked the door, putting the security chain on. For several minutes I stared around me, wondering if I was being unduly suspicious, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been the target. But why? Outside of irritating the contestants by not revealing the categories, I’d been minding my own business.
    Before going to bed, I packed all the paraphernalia back into my loaded handbag. I cleaned the bathroom and took a hot shower to help me sleep, but a good night’s rest was in short supply. By six-thirty the next morning, I was dressed in jeans, a rose-pink sweater, and sneakers. The McDuffys’ envelope waited on the bed.
    As I paced, I eyed it and worried about a number of things. After my breakfast with Gellie, I faced a tough day. First
order would be processing the flowers—stripping foliage from the stems that would be below the waterline in the buckets. Once the flowers had revived from their journey, they had to be separated into five groups since Delia was leaving the contest.
    This afternoon was the tour of Haversham Hall and Conservatory. I was looking forward to visiting the palatial grounds and glass greenhouse conservatory. Back home I was rejuvenating my own gardens, and I hoped to get some ideas I could whittle down to accommodate my newly acquired acreage.
    I checked the time again. It was five after seven. I unlocked my door and stepped into the hall. I saw no one, but something was lying on the carpet. It wasn’t until I touched it that I thought of fingerprints. It was an empty cartridge of what had once held Schick razor blades. I turned the case over and over in my hand. Where were the rest of the blades?
    I crept across the balcony and peeked over the edge to the lobby below. A few people milled about, but even from this height I could tell none fit the description Lois had given me of the McDuffys. I directed my attention to the café. Gellie was already at one of the tables.
    I turned the handle to go into my room and felt the sticky reminder of what had happened last night. I looked across the balcony to the opposite tier of rooms. What kind of sadistic mind would think of razor blades as a warning—a deterrent—a threat to keep me from doing what?
    I should check on Delia, but I didn’t want to tie up the line in case the McDuffys were trying to reach me. I dropped the cartridge in my purse, then stared at the McDuffys’ envelope. Where were they? It was almost a quarter after seven.
    I went to the phone, but my call to the McDuffys went
unanswered. Now what was I supposed to do? I was tempted to open the envelope, but