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nel. Once Nashville s local forecast appeared on the
screen, she went into the bathroom, wiped her face with a
warm washcloth, and took three ibuprofen tablets. Quick
release, huh, Molly muttered said as she examined the
box. They d better be.
Pulling on a pair of jeans and her sweater set from last
night, Molly finished off her outfit with a pair of flip-flops,
which served as her slippers whenever she stayed at a ho
tel. Just a drop of milk, right? she asked Clara, seeking
confirmation.
Yes, thank you, pancake. And try to get the biggest
cups you can find for both of us. You re not exactly a morn
ing person, you know.
Molly had just opened the door when her mother added,
And stop by the front desk to complain about our cof
feepot, too! Maybe we ll get a few more drink tickets, she
called out hopefully.
Exhaling loudly in annoyance, Molly would love to
have slammed the door, but it eased gracefully closed on
silent hinges and she had to settle for repeatedly poking the
elevator s down button in order to release some of her irri
tation at being sent for coffee when she should still be hap
A Deadly Dealer 43
pily dreaming. When the elevator car arrived, it was empty.
Molly descended to the lobby floor and was surprised at
how quiet the enormous hotel seemed to be this morning.
There were several groups of people already breakfasting
at the Cascades, the restaurant overlooking the garden area
not to be confused with the rotating lounge, and dozens of
other guests bearing paper coffee cups were headed toward
the lobby and afterward, the exit. Still, the majority of the
Opryland s guests seemed to be asleep or relaxing com
fortably in their rooms.
As Molly wandered over stucco bridges and followed a
curving path adjacent to one of the gurgling streams, she
completely forgot which direction would lead her to the
Magnolia Lobby and the urns of free, fresh coffee. She no
ticed signs for the riverboat rides and realized that she had
strayed out of the garden area and into the setting called
the Delta. She was certain that she could find coffee for
sale within the rows of shops but she hadn t brought cash
or her room s key card with her, so she turned around and
headed in a different direction, hoping to spy a sign that
would direct her to either lobby. With almost 2,900 guest
rooms, Opryland boasted two full-service lobbies, and
Molly wished she could instantly materialize at the heart
of one of them.
Crossing from the Delta into the space known as the
Garden Conservatory, Molly paused in wonder. Lush trop
ical plants covered every square inch of ground while giant
palm trees grew toward the glass ceiling. Stooping to ad
mire a cluster of birds-of-paradise, Molly walked toward
the atrium, where she had a clear view of a half a dozen
footpaths and the miniature waterfalls flowing over stepped
rock faces. As she headed north, a large party including
several members traveling via wheelchair blocked her for
ward progress, so she veered off to the left, believing herself
to still be headed toward the Magnolia Lobby. Unbeknownst
to her, the path she was on turned gently west and then
44 J. B. Stanley
plunged downward to where the narrow stream was almost
completely obscured by vegetation. Coming to a halt before
a single garden bench, Molly sat down heavily and groaned.
She was lost.
I should have brought the map, she chastised herself.
Ma is going to kill me when I finally do show up with her
coffee.
Even though she should be feeling frantic over being lost
when she needed to get a jump on the day, it was just too
early in the morning to become seriously agitated. The quiet
garden setting was so calming that Molly longed to linger,
so she sat down on a wrought iron garden bench. She lis
tened to the sounds of water splashing as it echoed softly
around the rafters and watched in amazement as two birds
darted above her head, pieces of dried grass held captive in
their beaks. She wondered what the plant growing alongside
a grouping of Christmas cacti was called. It had wide green
leaves covered by brown patches resembling a tortoise s
shell and bore small white flowers on narrow stems.
Molly got up from her seat and crossed to the far side of
the path. She squatted in order to read the small plaque po
sitioned at the base of the unique plant. The sign informed
her that she was gazing at a Maranta (Leuconeura), whose
common names were prayer plant and rabbit s tracks. As
Molly stood erect, she noticed sunlight winking off a piece
of glass nestled in an empty space between two oversized
ferns growing behind the Maranta.
That looks like a margarita glass, Molly said aloud in
disgust. Who would litter in such a beautiful setting?
Stepping gingerly over the Christmas cactus with its
crimson blooms, she moved several feet forward into the
garden bed. Carefully, she picked her way among the ferns
until she was within reach of the glass. Several yards be
yond the ferns, the stream was mostly hidden by dwarf
palms and a tall gathering of elephant s ear, which was a
unique shade of purplish black. Molly retrieved the glass
A Deadly Dealer 45
and then looked about her with amazement. Standing in the
small oasis, she felt transported to a miniature rainforest. As
she slowly pivoted her body and took a few more careful
strides deeper into the bed, she noticed that the streambed
was wider in this part of the garden and that there were no
paths between where she stood and the hotel s interior
walls.
What the . . . ? Molly suddenly stared at a gap be
tween the elephant s ear. Her eyes fixed upon what ap
peared to be a black shoe, but what her mind could not
quite digest was the bit of leg covered by an argyle ankle
sock peeking out from between the waxy leaves of a large
tropic snow plant. She walked closer, peeling back the fans
of palm fronds that partially blocked her view of the
stream. Beyond the bristled surface of the palm s trunk and
the smooth boulder resting in its shade, Molly stopped
short.
There, on the ground, partially hidden by several other
varieties of tropical plants, a man was spread eagle upon
the ground. The right half of Tom Barnett s body was sub
merged in the stream and the water lapped lazily over the
brown chinos and green crewneck sweater that he had been
wearing the night before. Tom s face was turned away from
Molly, and the gentle stream flowed like a caress over his
motionless features.
Oh my god, Molly breathed and rushed forward.
Kneeling beside him, she knew that taking Tom s carotid
pulse was a useless gesture, for it was clear that his chest
was no longer rising and falling, and that fresh, oxygen-
rich blood hadn t brought color to Tom s cheeks for hours.
Molly felt his cold neck and then backed away, grateful
that the kind eyes of her mother s friend were closed.
Retreating from Tom s splayed arms, his pallid skin, and
his partially submerged face, Molly stumbled back toward
the bench. A dark-haired woman wearing a Gaylord Opry
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