Murder at the Azalea Festival (4 page)

When no one replied, she said, "Not much."

She arched her back and fanned a bee away with her hand.

"But they look so pretty," Jillian said. "So . . . antebellum."

"Antebellum, antiquated," Mindy complained. "My mother pushed me into being a belle when I was a teenager. Thank goodness I got too old for it."

"But being a belle is your family's tradition," Melanie said. "Why, I remember seeing your mother riding on a float in the parade when I was a little girl. She was the prettiest thing you ever saw in that gorgeous pink ballgown."

"That was my grandmother's dress. Mama wore it and I wore it too. Grandmama was one of the first belles, back in the fifties," she added.

Despite her complaints, Mindy seemed to take pride in her family's close association with the festival which began as a dream for Dr. Houston Moore in 1948.

"Well, it's a sweet tradition," Jillian said.

"My family has been in society since the war," Mindy boasted.

Jillian's expression turned puzzled. "World War II?"

Mindy rolled her eyes, sighing audibly. "No, the War Between the States. Don't you know anything?"

Jillian uttered a soft oh and flushed deeply. It had to be a stressful day for her, yet she was the soul of courtesy. Early that morning, she'd boarded the Henrietta III at the State Port, ferried upriver to the waterfront for her coronation ceremony at Riverfront Park. She was probably tired of smiling and waving and making nice, yet she rallied on, every word that left her lips was pleasant.

Unlike rude Mindy. How she'd ever landed the starring role on Dolphin's Cove was beyond me.

Reclaiming her dignity, Jillian said to Melanie, "The organizers of this festival do a superb job."

"Our mama used to be a volunteer when we were little," Melanie replied. "She took us to all the events."

I looked from Mindy to Tiffany, both actresses on Dolphin's Cove. Mindy was the exact opposite of Tiffany. Her yellow blonde straight hair was pulled up in a pony tail. Tiffany's dark hair tended to frizz the way mine did. Mindy's eyes were china blue; Tiffany's chocolate brown. Tiffany seemed to have been born with a sunny disposition; Mindy was sulky, and tended to whine.

Mindy gave Jillian an appraising look, then said, "Can I try on the crown?"

"What?" Jillian asked, taken aback. The rest of us gasped.

Mindy pouted. "Well, in all the years I served at these festivals, I never did get to wear the crown. I'd like to see how it looks on me."

Jillian laughed lightly. "I hope I'm not breaking any rules, but here, take it."

She reached up and lifted the crown off her head. It was covered with Austrian crystals. Gingerly, she handed it to Mindy.

Must be heavy, I thought.

We all watched, breathless, as Mindy "crowned" herself.

"Quick, someone, hand me a mirror," she squealed.

Melanie dug in the purse beside her chair and passed a mirror to Mindy. Catching my eye, she arched an eyebrow. I'd hear about this later.

"You look beautiful," Jillian said sweetly.

Around us, heads turned and conversation stopped.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Tiffany commented.

"Oh, pooh, you are such a little goody two-shoes," Mindy told Tiffany.

Tiffany's mouth opened, but she bit back a retort. Instead she announced to Melanie and Jillian, "Ashley's going to restore Moon Gate for Gus and me."

"How nice," Jillian said.

"Good choice," Melanie commented. To Jillian, she said, "Ashley and her associate Jon are the best restorers around."

Mindy said nothing, just cast a critical gaze over the crumbling mansion. Her look was sour, like milk that had sat out in the sun and curdled.

"My daddy used to say he was going to buy Moon Gate for me," she said, "but he never did. Now that I've got money of my own, I just might buy it myself."

"Moon Gate is not for sale," Tiffany said firmly. There was a sharp edge to her voice I'd never heard before.

Good for her, I thought. She's got backbone.

Larry arrived with a tray of refreshments. Tiffany and I moved aside so he could set the tray down on a wicker table. He handed out tall, frosty glasses of iced tea. Each glass was garnished with a sprig of mint.

All around us, beverages were being eagerly consumed for the afternoon had turned hot with the sun beating down and moist air wafting off the Cape Fear.

We each took a glass of iced tea and thanked him.

"Enjoy," he said, hoisting the tray onto his shoulder and moving toward the next group.

Jillian sipped deeply. "My, that's good. I was parched."

Mindy took a sip, frowned, then set her glass down on the table with a thunk. "That tea's got sugar in it. I avoid sugar."

Melanie, who had drained half of her beverage in one swallow, gulped and said, "You're so wise. A teaspoon of sugar goes straight to my hips."

That was a lie. No matter what Melanie eats or drinks, she never gains an ounce.

Tiffany picked up Mindy's glass. "I'll take this back to the tent and bring you fresh unsweetened tea. Or do you want Sweet'n'Low?"

"No artificial sweeteners. Don't you know they cause cancer?"

Tiffany headed toward the tent, her long skirt floating over the grass. She was vivacious and friendly, and in my opinion would make a better star of Dolphin's Cove than Mindy.

Melanie was trying to sell Jillian a beach house. She described an "absolutely gorgeous, perfect-for-entertaining house" on Wrightsville Beach, as Jillian nodded her bare head.

"And if you ever decide to buy something grander, Mindy," Melanie said, "Now's the time. The mortgage rate has bottomed out; it's a buyer's market."

Melanie had sold Mindy a lovely house at Landfall when Mindy started to earn major bucks and had decided it was time to move out of her parents' Forest Hills home.

But Mindy didn't reply, was staring into the distance with narrowed eyes. I followed her gaze into the tent as the curdled-milk expression crossed her face again. Jimmy Ryder, her co-star, stood at one of the buffet tables, deep in conversation with Tiffany. Heather Thorp and Brook Cole, the two other females in the cast, stood off to one side, heads together, eyeing Jimmy and Tiffany.

I wondered if one of the festival officials would come running over and demand that Jillian's crown be restored to her queenly head. Mindy showed no sign of giving it up. I caught sight of Jon button-holing the city councilman who looked like he wanted to bolt, and gave him a little wave.

Tiffany had left Jimmy and was now mingling with her guests.

Mindy grumbled, "What's keeping that girl?" as if referring to a servant. "I'm dying of thirst."

Inside the tent the guests were lined up at the buffet tables, filling plates with Elaine's specialties. I recognized cast members of Dolphin's Cove, festival officials, and the mayor.

Eventually, Tiffany returned, bearing a small tray with a tall glass of iced tea. Graciously, she handed the glass and a napkin to Mindy with a smile. "Not a drop of sugar. Elaine guarantees it."

The glass was garnished with the obligatory mint sprig.

Mindy took the glass without so much as a thank-you, and with one hand holding the crown in place, tilted her head back and gulped it down. She made a face, complaining, "My, that's bitter. I don't why everyone raves about Elaine's culinary skills. Why, she almost gave me ptomaine once."

I wondered why Mindy treated Tiffany, and everyone, so shamefully. And now she was badmouthing Elaine. Granted Mindy was a star, but surely her society mother and grandmother had taught her better manners.

Disgusted with her attitude, I turned my back on her and said to Tiffany, "I'd like to do a complete inventory of the furniture that's left, and the paintings, then send the stuff out to refinishers while we've got the house torn up. I want to incorporate the original antiques in our . . ."

Interrupted by a strange gurgling sound, I turned to see the glass fall from Mindy's hand. She was clutching her stomach and gasping for air as the gurgling sound bubbled up from her throat. Jerky spasms convulsed her body, then she went rigid.

I rushed to her side and knelt down beside her.

Melanie jumped up and yelled, "A doctor! We need a doctor! Someone call an ambulance!"

We all looked helplessly down on an unconscious Mindy. The jeweled crown lay upside down in the grass next to the overturned glass and Mindy's purse.

Several people pulled out cell phones and dialed 911. Tiffany ran inside the house and returned with a blanket which she tucked around Mindy's stone-still body.

We stood about, not knowing what to do, shocked, whispering. "It was a bee," Melanie declared. "There was a swarm of them. I think one stung her. She must be allergic."

I reached down and lifted Mindy's purse. "Maybe she's got one of those antivenin kits in here." I opened the purse but there wasn't much in it. Lipstick, a couple of twenties, and a key ring.

"No antivenin kit," I said.

But by then we heard the ambulance's siren, growing louder and louder.

5

Driving with Melanie is not for the faint of heart.

"Slow down," I yelled, bracing my foot against the floorboard as if to stop the car with a non-existent brake. "You're going to get us killed." But Melanie's green satin pump only pressed more firmly on the accelerator.

"We've got to keep up with the ambulance," she replied.

Melanie always drives fast. She could beat Kyle Petty in a NASCAR race if she had a mind to. She'd given up her Lexus SUV, complaining that she could get more speed out of a camel in the desert. The sleek new Jaguar XKR convertible she'd replaced the SUV with was finished in Jupiter Red with a black convertible top. Inside, the cabin was wood and leather. All very plush, very expensive, very real.

We tore up Carolina Beach Road after the ambulance, on our way to New Hanover Regional Medical Center.

Nearing an intersection, Melanie bent into the steering wheel and leaned on the horn, intent on making it through, whether the light was with us or not.

"That was a red light!" I screeched.

"We're with an emergency vehicle. They have to stop for us," she declared with assurance.

"We're . . . ? Oh, I give up. Just be careful. Why are we doing this anyway? It's not like Mindy's a friend."

Melanie gave me a look, mouth turned down.

"Watch the road!" I shouted as we just barely missed side-swiping an old Caddy. Those things are built like tanks.

"You know, you can be so callous sometimes," Melanie complained. "Aren't you the least little bit concerned about poor Mindy's fate? Why, we were right there when it happened. The doctors might need to know what we saw."

"I didn't see anything," I said, then reacted predictably with a sharp pang of guilt. Melanie knows how to push my buttons, and she'd scored a direct hit. I didn't like Mindy, and although I tried to conceal my feelings, Melanie can always see through me.

"Cam had the presence of mind to call Janet and Nem Chesterton, Mindy's parents; they'll be there when we arrive. Nem's one of the show's investors."

Cameron Jordan, the president of Gem Star Pictures, was responsible for the overnight sensation, Dolphin's Cove. After L.A. and New York, Wilmington ranks third in the nation for the production of movies--and television shows, like the long running Matlock series, which was produced and filmed here as well.

"Poor dears," Melanie continued. "Imagine, seeing your only daughter being wheeled in on a gurney."

"Well, because of Nem Chesterton, Wilmington will be a war zone this fall. He announced this morning that he's running for mayor in the next mayoralty election."

"And you object to that because . . . ?” Melanie asked in the infuriating older-sister condescending tone she sometimes uses with me.

"M--e--l," I cried indignantly as if the answer was obvious. "There can't be a more divisive candidate than Nem Chesterton. With him running things, I pity the fate of the historic district. Surely, he hasn't got a chance."

"You never know," she said. "There are many who share his views."

"Oh? And are you one of them?"

Nehemiah Chesterton was a rich and powerful attorney-slash-developer who claimed to be descended from one of Wilmington's founding families.

"You know how I feel, Ashley. I adore the historic district. Some of my best sales involve those old houses. Young people and retirees like to buy them and fix them up. And where would the movie industry be if they couldn't come here and film our historic district, as well as our coastal areas?"

She continued, "And Nem Chesterton will be good for business. Why do the two have to be mutually exclusive?"

"I don't know why," I confessed. "They just are. The 'pro-business' interests always want to condemn old structures, raze them, and build parking decks."

"Well, we do have a parking problem downtown," Melanie said in a reasonable voice that only frustrated me more.