Lilies That Fester by Janis Harrison Page A

I’d had some major setbacks. I was a junk-food junky and tried to steer clear of goodies that would trigger my appetite. The taste of a forbidden food sliding over my palate was enough to send me into an eating frenzy, especially if I was under pressure.
    â€œâ€”and now Bretta will fill us in on the design categories,” finished Tyrone.
    I’d only been preoccupied for a moment. Had I missed something? I whispered to Robbee, “Did he say anything about the board agreeing with me?”
    â€œNope.”
    I swung my head around to glare at Tyrone, who stared at me with exalted eloquence. Pulling in a lung full of oxygen, I slowly released it in a ladylike sigh. Nodding and smiling graciously, I came to my feet. “Thank you, Tyrone, for this opportunity. Working with you on this conference has been a valuable lesson. You are the quintessential modern-day president.”
I lowered my gaze on him so he wouldn’t miss my implication.
    Slowly I enunciated each word. “I’m the contest coordinator. I was given free rein to conduct this competition as I saw fit. I have no guidelines since this is the first such contest held by our association, but I do have experience. I have attended other floral contests. Like it or lump it, ladies and gentlemen, the categories will remain a secret.”
    I sank to the chair when my knees gave out. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure everyone could hear it in the silence that followed my statement. Across the table, Gellie smacked her bony hands together. “You go, Bretta. Stick to your guns. Let the chips fall where they may.”
    Zach cleared his throat, and eyes ricocheted from Gellie to his handsome face. I’d noticed that he sat forward in his chair as if it didn’t have a back. That’s probably what came of exercising come hell or high water or while at a florist convention. I was hunched over like a toad and quickly made an effort to sit up straight.
    â€œFrankly, I don’t see the hassle,” said Zach. “We’re professionals. We do this for a living. What difference does it make as to the categories? I’m looking forward to the challenge.” He delivered a smile in my direction, then rocked back, satisfied that he’d had his say in the matter.
    I nodded thank you, then saw a funny look come over his face. He gasped and leaped to his feet, turning over the chair in his haste. He acted as if he had an itch, twisting and clawing at his backside.
    â€œHelp me,” he shouted. “Something is stuck in … my—”
    He turned toward Darren, who wrapped his hand with a linen napkin. I saw him give a hard yank, then hold up a blood-smeared knife.

    â€œWell, I’ll be damned,” said Darren. “How did that get in your chair?”
    Zach’s handsome face was etched with lines of pain. “More importantly, I want to know how it got in my ass. What fool would leave an open knife in a chair?”
    â€œAn old fool,” said Effie tearfully, rising unsteadily. She wobbled around the table and took the napkin-wrapped knife from Darren. With hands trembling, she explained, “My grandnephew had it specially made for me. My old fingers can’t work a regular florist knife. This one has a spring-loaded blade. When a bit of pressure is applied to the casing, the blade slides out ready for use.”
    Robbee said, “Holy cow! Granny’s packing a switchblade. Who’d have thought it.”
    Effie turned to him. “I suppose you could call it that, but it isn’t one of those gangster-type weapons. As you can see the blade is only three inches long, but I’ve … uh … honed it to a surgical sharpness.”
    Zach snorted. “Damned right. That blade sliced my ass like a piece of steak. I’m lucky it went through my coattail and trousers before embedding itself in my butt. If Bretta had sat here, she might’ve had a serious