Murder at the Azalea Festival (17 page)

Oh, Melanie, you sure do like living on the edge.

"Nick said he'd try to make it," I told Cameron. "Is he here?"

"Hasn't put in an appearance yet, Ashley. And I'm minding the door, so I should know."

The doorbell chimed. "See what I mean," he said with a grin. "Excuse me."

Where was Melanie? I started into the dining room when Mickey Ballantine intercepted me.

"Hello again, Miss Wilkes."

"Call me Ashley," I said. "I was just on my way to find Melanie."

He gave me his hand. "If you'll call me Mickey. I think Melanie is in the kitchen with the caterer. I trust there were no problems associated with your unfortunate accident."

I shrugged. Did he know about the brick that had been thrown through my window, or about the threatening note? How often did Melanie see him? And what might she have told him about me?

"Just a dented tail gate. The car's old, it's not worth fixing," I said casually.

Mickey had on another of his black-on-black ensembles. "Well, if you ever decide you want to have it repaired, I've got a repair shop can fix it up good as new for you."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Ba . . . Mickey. But I thought you were in the nightclub business."

"I got my fingers in lots of pies, Ashley. Diversified, that's the way to succeed these days."

"Yes," I replied, remembering that the officer who had written up the report on Melanie's stolen Jaguar said something about a chop-shop. I also recalled that Heather Thorp and Brook Cole thought Mickey was attractive. Not to me. Reptilian was the description that came to my mind.

Mickey looked away from me, across the room. His expression conveyed consuming interest. I turned and saw Melanie striding toward us.

"Nice party," Mickey told her.

"Thanks, Mickey." Melanie purred just like Spunky. No wonder they adored each other. "Has Cam taken care of you? Does your drink need refreshing?"

He lifted his half full glass. "I'm fine, Melanie. You're looking beautiful tonight."

She did look spectacular in an off-white dress, strapless and short, with gold high-heeled strappy sandals.

"Could I see you for a moment in the kitchen?" she said to me, her tone for her one-and-only sister totally devoid of syrup.

"Sure," I said and followed her through the noisy crowd into the kitchen.

I hadn't thought about whom she might hire to cater the party but I really wasn't surprised to see Elaine there. Melanie and Elaine had gone to high school together, had been in home-room together, Melanie told me, and if Melanie likes you, she likes you, and is loyal and affectionate. And Melanie likes Elaine.

Elaine stopped filling mushroom caps and said, "Hi, Ashley."

"Elaine, I'm so sorry about Larry," I said.

"The flowers you sent were appreciated, Ashley."

"Elaine and I want to talk to you about something important," Melanie explained. "But not here. Back in my bedroom."

I followed the two of them down the carpeted hallway and into the master bedroom suite with Spunky trailing behind us. Melanie's bedroom could have been a set for a Thirties' movie, everything white and satiny, with pale blonde art deco furniture. Spunky jumped into the center of the bed.

Even though whatever they had to discuss with me had to do with Elaine, Melanie couldn't repress her disappointment that Clay Aiken was late. "If he doesn't show, I'll be so humiliated I'll never be able to show my face in this town again."

Elaine sank down onto the foot of the Hollywood bed next to her and patted her shoulder. "He'll be here. It's still early."

"Elaine, how are you getting along?" I asked.

She dropped her head. "I get through the days okay, Ashley. My work keeps me busy. But the nights, forget it. I haven't slept in two nights. I don't know which is worse, thinking he committed suicide, or knowing someone killed him. But why?" she asked, her soft round face twisted with grief, and something more, outrage.

Melanie wrapped her arm around Elaine. "The police will get whoever did this. Ashley's dating the best homicide detective we have on the Wilmington force; he'll get Larry's killer."

She looked at me over Elaine's bent head. "And that's why we want to talk to you, shug. Elaine has a favor to ask you. Go ahead, honey bunch, tell Ashley what you told me."

Elaine hesitated a moment.

"It's okay, Elaine, you can trust Ashley. She can keep a secret. She'd better if she wants to stay my sister."

Elaine sized me up thoughtfully. I dragged a chair away from Melanie's dressing table and pulled it up close to them.

"Okay," she sighed. "I'm going to tell you something but I don't want what I say to leave this room. Do you agree?"

I looked from Melanie to Elaine. "Sure," I said. "What is it?"

"Look, Ashley, this is delicate." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "I know you don't like smoking in your house, Melanie, but I've gotta have this."

Melanie arched her eyebrows. "Sure," she said, and got up, rummaged around in the dressing table drawer and produced an ashtray.

After Elaine inhaled deeply, and I squinted through the smoke, she said, "Ashley, I found a lot of money. Cash. Hidden in an old suitcase in Larry's closet. I was going through his things, selecting a suit for him to be buried in, and wondering if I'd ever have the heart to give his things to Goodwill, so I pulled down this old suitcase for his shoes and stuff, thinking if I never got it back that'd be okay."

She took another puff on the cigarette, and Melanie fanned the air in front of her face.

"It's funny the things you think about at a time like this."

"Not so funny," I said. "I remember the trivial stuff we got involved with when Daddy died. Remember, Mel. We couldn't decide if it was disrespectful to leave the Christmas tree up, and you, I, and Mama had a long discussion about it. Finally, we just left it up because we didn't have the energy to take it down. So I know what you mean, Elaine. When is the funeral, by the way?"

"Tomorrow. Oh, I know, people'll criticize me for being here tonight, but what do I care? What did they ever do for me?"

"That's the spirit," Melanie said. "Now tell Ashley about the money, and what you want her to do about it."

"Me? Do about . . .”

"Shhh," Melanie said, a finger to her lips. "Go ahead, Elaine."

"Well, I dragged down this old suitcase, and when I opened it up, it was stuffed with money. I swear, Ashley, I almost fainted."

She dragged on the cigarette again. "I counted it. Almost two hundred thousand dollars. Where'd Larry get that kind of money? And why was he hiding it?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what to say, Elaine."

"Well, obviously, it has something to do with why he was killed," Melanie said.

"I think so too," Elaine said, stabbing out the cigarette in the ashtray. Thank you Lord for small favors.

"If you think that, you should turn the money over to the police," I said.

"That's just what we want to talk to you about, shug. You see, Elaine needs that money."

"I do, Ashley. I'm just making it in this business. My costs are going up and with Larry gone, I'll have to hire an assistant. But, here's the thing. If I turn the money over to the police, will they give it back to me? After they solve the crime, I mean."

"Well . . ."

Melanie broke in. "That's what we want you to find out, shug. We want you to pose a hypothetical question to Nick. Tell him you were just wondering what happens to found cash. Does it get returned to the person who found it? Get him all lovey dovey and then spring it on him; he'll tell you and not even remember that he did."

"But if the cash was part of a crime . . ." I began. "If Larry got it through illegal means, then it would have to be returned to the real owner."

"Larry would never do anything illegal!" Elaine said vehemently. "He wasn't that kind of person."

"I'd like to help, Elaine, honestly I would, but I just don't think I could fool Nick that way. Besides I don't think it would work. He's sharp; he'll see right through me."

"Are you refusing to help poor Elaine?" Melanie declared, mad as the dickens.

I looked at her helplessly. "I can't, Mel. I just can't. Look, you haven't thought this through. Either of you. You've just said you think that money had something to do with Larry being killed, so, Elaine, you could be in danger if you keep it. You need to turn that money over to the police. Get rid of it."

They looked at each other. "We don't really know it's the reason Larry was killed," Melanie said. "But, Elaine, we sure don't want you put at risk."

"Oh, jeez. I don't know what to do," Elaine cried.

I got up. "Well, let me know if you want me to tell Nick about it, pave the way for you."

"Ashley Wilkes, you are not to say a word about this to anyone, do you hear me?"

"Didn't I promise not to? Honestly, Melanie, you'd think I was a person who can't keep her word."

"Well, see that you do. Elaine and I have got to figure this out.

"Maybe," she said, turning to Elaine, "we could get someone to keep an eye on you till the case is solved. I'm sure Mickey would know someone reliable."

Mickey again, I thought, as I left them with their heads together, plotting. Foolishness, was what I thought about it.

The first person I bumped into when I fled into the dining room was Nick. "Sweetheart, I've been looking all over for you. Aiken's just pulling up outside in one of those party buses like you wouldn't believe. You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, feeling like he knew exactly what the three of us had been plotting.

We spent most of the party on the sofa, holding hands, just being quiet. It gave me time to think. Larry had left a large sum of cash. And Mindy was being blackmailed. Didn't take a genius to put that together. I gave Nick a surreptitious look. I certainly hoped Elaine would turn the money over to the police. If I could put it together, so would they.

And how extraordinary: Larry's funeral and Mindy's funeral on the same day.

When it was time to leave for the drive downtown to Thalian Hall, I drove my car and Nick followed me in his.

We held hands through the concert which was so good I felt like signing on to become one of Clay's "Claymates," but quickly dismissed that idea when Nick said he was following me home and spending the night. Nick was the only one I wanted to "mate" with.

As we turned the corner into Nun Street, it was déjà vu all over again, a blue and white Wilmington PD cruiser parked in front of my house, my burglar alarm shattering the peace of the neighborhood. Only a few heads peered out of windows and I assumed that like me my neighbors were returning from the concert.

Nick assumed his cop's mantle as we marched up onto my porch, greeting the officers curtly by name, taking charge.

"Kitchen door's been broken in, Nick," an officer said. "Someone took a crowbar to the lock. Whoever did it is gone. Get her to turn that noisy thing off."

I unlocked the front door with my key and turned off the howling alarm system.

"What good is this thing?" I demanded, feeling frustrated with hot tears forming. "It doesn't prevent break-ins."

"He'd only have a few minutes, so if he knew exactly what he was after, he'd find it and be gone. We don't have wings, you know. It takes a few minutes to get a squad car here."

Nick was frustrated too. "Let's take a look and see what's missing."

We found the damage in the library. My desk had been ransacked, drawers pulled out, the contents tossed on the floor.

"My laptop is gone!" I cried.

Nick gave me a searching look. "Why would someone steal your laptop? What do you have on it?"

Guilt made me break out in a sweat, yet I did my best to look innocent. How I hated lying to Nick. "Just business stuff," I said, but I knew someone was after the compact disk with the pictures of Mindy, and the blurred image of the man.

Nick's fear made him angry. "Someone thinks you know something about Mindy's murder."

He grabbed me by the shoulders and made me look him squarely in the eye. "Do you know something, Ashley?"

To lie to him again would kill me. So I did exactly what I felt like doing--I wept.

He pulled my head onto his shoulder and wrapped his arms around me. "Don't cry, baby. You know I can't stand to see you cry. I'm going to get this guy and nail his hide to the courthouse door."

27

Late Friday afternoon, after Willie and the crews left Moon Gate for a weekend off, Jon and I were on our way to our makeshift porch office to review next week's projects, and to go over materials lists. Passing through the sitting room, we found Gus glued to the television set. From the look on his face and the excitement in the TV reporter's voice, something earth-shaking had happened.

"What is it?" I asked anxiously. "Not another terrorist attack?"