Murder at the Azalea Festival (20 page)

At the edge of the lagoon, the tall grasses rustled. Something slithered within them. Something large by the sound of the noise it made and the vibration I felt as it slipped into the water.

Oh no, dear God, the alligator! Its powerful tail hit the water with a splash, creating a wave that rippled out to me. The alligator was coming and I couldn't swim away from it.

I flipped my hands and feet frantically, the awkward motion propelling me in the opposite direction, but not nearly fast enough. The alligator was submerged in the water. All I could see of it were the horny protrusions above its eyes--eyes that were fixed on me and that did not blink, eyes that were gaining on me.

If that alligator mistook me for prey, it might eat me. And motionless as I was, it might very well suppose I was a dead animal.

Suddenly I realized this was happening just as Gus had intended it to happen: a hungry alligator, a motionless victim. He'd done it before. Those bodies that had washed up at Fort Fisher had been his victims, just as I was now. He'd drugged those men, dragged them down the hill to the lagoon, and the alligator had done the rest. Gus was a monster!

Up on the hill, in front of the house, the firefighters were dragging hoses from the tank truck. People raced about, shouting, their arms waving.

Where was Gus? Would he tell them that Jon was trapped inside the burning house? That I was floating helplessly in the lagoon with a hungry alligator?

And then I thought I saw Jon; his silhouette was so familiar to me I should know it anywhere. But were my eyes playing tricks on me? Was it really him? He was talking to another man. Nick. My Nick.

I tried to shout but all that came out was a whimper. The cry caused the alligator to pause and stare warily as it tried to decide if I was a threat or fair game. It drifted motionless toward me, only its eyes and nostrils exposed, the bumpy protrusions above its eyes aimed at me like sights down a gun barrel.

Live oaks and magnolias, hedges and flowering shrubs were obstacles between me and the house, and unless they were really looking, no one would see me down here. Still, I saw with relief that two men were hurriedly approaching, racing down through the terraced gardens, crossing the Chinese bridge to the lower end of the lagoon. Nick and Jon. Somehow they had figured out where I was. Or maybe Gus had told them.

"Hang on, Ashley!" Nick called.

"We're coming!" Jon shouted.

Nick plunged into the lagoon, waded out toward me.

Nick, I cried silently. Hurry, Nick.

The alligator whipped its tail and pushed its enormous snout in my direction. It was swimming swiftly now, racing with Nick to reach me first.

Nick sloughed through the water, reached out and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me toward the shore.

The alligator struck, powerful jaws snapping at my feet. In a flash I realized how those three unidentified young men had lost their hands and feet.

I willed myself out of its reach, willed Nick to move faster, but some vegetation must has ensnared his foot because he stopped, kicking at something in the water. Sprays gushed up as he thrashed. This seemed to excite the alligator for it aimed its snout toward Nick and swiftly closed the distance.

I couldn't bear to look. I heard Jon's shouts, then felt and heard water splashing as he waded forward to help Nick. Shots rang out, two in succession. When I opened my eyes, the alligator was thrashing its tail. With its powerful jaws pointed skyward, it rolled over on its side, and the water closed over it.

Nick holstered his pistol, then he and Jon grabbed an arm each. They raced from the water, floating me between them. When we reached the shore, Nick lifted me easily in his arms and carried me up the terraced pathways.

"It's all right, Ashley," he said soothingly. "You're safe. Don't cry, sweetheart."

I felt tears in my eyes and on my cheeks, and a pins-and-needle prickling of my skin. The drug was wearing off; my limbs were coming back to life.

The house was blazing like an inferno when we reached the top of the hill. Firefighters motioned us back. Although they trained their hoses on the house, their expressions said they had given up. There was no hope of saving it. All that old, dry wood was burning as rapidly as a pine forest after a drought.

Jon got a blanket from one of the firefighters and wrapped it around me. I opened my mouth to speak and found that I was now able. "Gus? Where's Gus?"

The three of us looked around, searching the crowd of firefighters and police officers.

"There!" I shouted. "There he is."

He was near the house, the brightness of the flames illuminating him clearly. The look on his face was stunned, disbelieving.

"Ashley!" Tiffany's voice was desperate as she came bounding toward us. "So it's true. I heard it on the news. I couldn't believe my ears." She looked at me. "You're all wet." She turned and cast her eyes about wildly, frantically. "Gus? Where's Gus? He's not . . .”

Then she saw him. "Gus," she called and started toward him. Jon grabbed her arm and drew her back.

We watched as one of the fireman approached Gus, reached out a hand to lead him to safety. But Gus brushed the hand aside, turned to the man and said something.

And then as we watched in horror, he bolted forward, raced up the steps between the tall Corinthian columns, leapt through the burning door into the flames.

Tiffany screamed. "Gus . . . oh, no!"

"Tiffany," I cried, throwing my arms around her and drawing her near, wanting to keep her close and safe.

There was a muffled roar as the roof collapsed, and the firefighters pushed us back even further away from the house. "It's all over folks," one said, but still they trained their hoses on the flames.

The skeleton of the house was pulling apart, walls tumbling inward, the second floor collapsing in a fiery blaze, crushing everything under it. Only the brick chimneys remained standing.

Tiffany looked into my face. "Oh, no . . . oh, no. He loved Caesar's house and Caesar's legends more than anything. He was . . . he was obsessed."

31

"How did you get out of that burning house?" I asked Jon.

In the wee small hours of the morning, we were settled comfortably in my library--Nick, Jon, Tiffany and I. Tiffany, homeless for the time being, was spending the night in my guest room.

I poured brandy for all of us, and enjoyed its warmth as it slid down my throat. Although I'd changed into dry clothes, the memory of floating in the lagoon at the mercy of that alligator sent shivers through me.

In answer to my question, Jon replied, "I couldn't believe it when Gus locked me in the master bedroom. Then he started hammering and I realize now he was nailing boards across the door. But then I had no idea what was up to. When I smelled smoke, I knew I had to get out of the house. Okay, so remember the small door in the bathroom that led into the chase?"

I nodded by head. Tiffany knew of it, of course, but quickly I described the function of a utility chase to Nick.

"Well, I couldn't phone for help because, if you recall, I left my mobile phone out in the Jeep, recharging the battery.” Jon continued, "So I climbed down the chase; most of the rungs were intact. When I reached the bottom, I found the outside door locked. I had to kick it out. Good thing I'm in shape."

"Oh," I gasped, "your new camera."

He grinned. "Hung it around my neck. That baby's safe. Anyway, so I got out of the house. First thing I did was run to my Jeep to call 911, then I called Nick direct. Then I started searching for you. I didn't know where Gus had gone or what he was up to, and I'm glad we didn't cross paths. I just wanted to find you, kiddo. But just in case I did run into him, I took the precaution of removing the tire iron from the Jeep and carrying it with me for protection."

Nick said, "Diane and I were on our way out there when Jon reached me. We had an arrest warrant for Gus. The lab identified him as the man in pictures with Mindy that someone sent to Diane anonymously. And our background check on him raised some serious questions about the true source of his income. A lowlife punk was spilling his guts about drug trafficking up the Cape Fear to the Talliere dock.

"In addition, we found Gus's fingerprints in Larry McDuff's garage. Remember how we'd requested everyone at the garden party to let us take fingerprints. Well, Gus was one of those who complied.

"Ashley, I called your cell phone repeatedly, trying to warn you to stay away from Moon Gate and Gus."

"Oh, Jon, Ashley," Tiffany wailed, "I'm so sorry for what happened. You could have been killed."

"It wasn't your fault," Jon said, moving closer to her on the sofa and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Aha, I thought, so that's the lay of the land these days. Jon and Tiffany. Well, why not? They were both terrific people; both deserved to be happy.

"I know that but I feel responsible," Tiffany said, brushing away tears with her fingertips. "He was my family. If it weren't for me you'd never have met him. I'm the one who got you involved with Moon Gate. But I swear, I didn't suspect a thing."

"Of course you didn't," Jon said soothingly. "Nobody blames you, Tiffany." He reached for a box of tissues and put it in her lap.

Tiffany blew her nose and blotted her cheeks. "I know you don't, but I blame myself. I always knew that Gus was different--so intense, so obsessed with the past, with dwelling on past wrongs. He couldn't let go of old grievances. Yet, I refused to see just how troubled he'd become. He's the only relative I had and I wanted a brother so badly."

I could understand her feelings. I knew how I felt about Melanie.

"So," Tiffany continued, "I turned a blind eye to the scary aspects of his personality. I was into denial. Besides, he'd always been sweet to me, ever since I was little girl. And he adored my mother. She was wonderful to him, and replaced his own. Now he's gone too. It's so hard to believe that he killed Mindy and set it up so that the blame would fall on me."

"He was obsessed, as you say, Tiffany," Nick affirmed.

"You said his fingerprints were in Larry's garage," I reminded Nick. "Are you saying Gus killed Larry too?"

"We believe Gus killed him and tried to make it look like a suicide. It looks like Larry had been blackmailing Mindy. We seized her computer. Her financial records were on it and we discovered that she'd been withdrawing $20,000 in cash each month. What could she possibly have done with that much cash except give it to a blackmailer? Then yesterday, Elaine McDuff came in to see Diane and brought us a bag of cash. Plus someone mailed a compact disk to Diane from a phony address."

I drew in my breath and held it.

"There were photos of Mindy nude on the disk, and we think that somehow McDuff got hold of it, or that he was the person who took the photos--something. Probably, he was blackmailing Mindy over them. Pictures like that would damage her television career and her father's chances of becoming mayor. And on the CD there was a blurry photo of a man."

"Who do you think sent the CD?" I asked.

Nick replied, "My guess is the disk was found by Elaine McDuff. She wasn't sure what it meant, but knowing Mindy was murdered, she felt she had to reveal it, so she mailed it to Diane. Although Elaine denies any knowledge of a disk or of photographs."

I let my breath out.

"So assuming that McDuff was a blackmailer, it wasn't much of a stretch to assume he had tried to blackmail Gus too. There wouldn't be any more money from Mindy, remember; that well had dried up. Elaine swears she never made the tea for Mindy. She said that you, Tiffany, asked her to . . ."

"Oh, yes, I did," Tiffany said.

". . . but that she got distracted by all there was to do and forgot. By the way, how did you know which glass of tea to take to Mindy?"

Tiffany looked thoughtful. "Gus pointed it out to me. It was near him, set apart from the food, on its own little silver tray. He was standing at that end of the table, and he said Elaine had put it there for me."

Nick nodded. "Gus put it there, then stood nearby to make sure no one else inadvertently picked it up. I suspect Larry McDuff saw him set the glass on the table, maybe even saw him bring it from the house. Probably Gus handled it with a napkin or a tissue--his prints were not on the glass--and that made McDuff suspicious."

"Then when it was announced that Mindy had been poisoned," I interrupted, "Larry put two and two together and they added up to $20,000 a month."

"But Gus wasn't going to let anyone blackmail him," Jon said.

"No, he wouldn't have," Tiffany agreed. "He was much too headstrong."

She started to cry again. "If I hadn't seen him do it with my own eyes, I'd never believe he was capable of running into a burning house."

I reached out to her and patted her arm.

"No one thought he'd do such a thing," Nick said. "Certainly not the fireman he was talking to. That man is experiencing a lot of guilt too.

"I have a question for you, Tiffany," Nick continued.

She swallowed hard and said, "What is it?"

"Heather Thorp and Brook Cole swore they overheard you threatening to kill Mindy. Was that true? Because if it wasn't, I'm going to see that those two are prosecuted."