The Azalea Assault (3 page)

When Petunia brought in supper for the house guests at six, she gave Cam a ride home, and Cam got to work at her computer, composing the various press packet pieces. Cam had extensive files on area plants, some from her own education and interest, but more of them from the historic files she’d gotten from Joseph Sadler-Neff. It was more an organization project than writing from scratch, so she cut,
pasted, and proofed until she heard the rattling of the dumbwaiter. Some “treasure” was being lowered.

Two minutes later Annie came from Cam’s kitchen with a tray that held a bottle of wine and two tiki cups shaped like shrunken heads. Cam glanced at her computer screen clock and saw it was a little after nine. She’d not gotten to her own garden all day, but it was too late now.

“All work and no play makes Cam a dull girl.”

“Pooh! I’m a baseball widow, remember?” It was true. Her boyfriend, Rob, played baseball for a city league, which had recently begun practicing for the season. It meant he was busy at least three nights a week, and Cam used that as an excuse to work too much.

“I remember when you could out-party Theta Chi.”

Cam laughed. That had been many years ago. “You know I cheated, only pretending to drink half the time.”

“You hush. You’ll lose me my reputation as the evil twin.”

It was an old joke. They’d been best friends since seventh-grade science, when the study of genetics identified them as the only two girls in the class with indefinable hair color. “It’s not red enough to call red, not blonde enough to call blonde, but it certainly isn’t brown.” Annie had been the one to declare it the “uncolor,” and Cam had laughed and given her a thumbs-up. They had moved their desks together and become science partners and, within weeks, best friends. Of course, twin jokes aside, hair color was where similarities in appearance ended. Cam was tallish and slim, with straight, stylishly cut, shoulder-length hair. Annie was shorter and curvier, with a broad friendly face, unruly curls, and an instant huggability Cam sometimes envied.

“You know people have been permanently silenced for revealing smaller secrets,” Cam said, getting back to her cheating at the Theta Chi drinking games.

“You’re threatening murder? I’m stung!”

Cam eyed the cups. “Not murder, head shrinking. Unless… will you go to the RGS welcoming party tomorrow night?”

“You honestly think I’d fit in at that high-society thing?”

“Okay, don’t take this wrong, but I need some middlers. We’ve got the blue-blooded Garden Society, and then we have the helper types—the gardener and his son… Petunia…”

“You better not be saying I’m classier than Petunia, because that’s blasphemy! I got no class, Cam Harris, and if you say I do, I’ll come in here when you’re sleeping and shave your eyebrows!”

Cam broke into giggles; a single glass of wine was enough for her to fall under her best friend’s silliness spell. Annie was the daughter of a former senator, though he held title under a political party Annie swore she would never vote for. Annie had been fighting the “stigma” thrust upon her since middle school.

“I swear I’m not saying you’re classy. I honestly just need some help. They’re making me invite my dad.”

Annie nodded, finally getting the picture. Annie and Mr. Harris had a longtime understanding that was far more honest than what went on between father and daughter. Cam didn’t mind. She didn’t want to know. But she was glad someone she could count on was in the loop to help prevent anything unexpected.

“I suppose your eyebrows are safe for now.”

T
he next day was much the same, except that without the Garden Society meeting, the mood at the house felt significantly milder, like a subtle, sweet-scented garden, instead of the heady, drunken one of the day before. When Cam and the camera crew got to greenhouse three, “Summer,” and past the very excitable Barney, Evangeline’s Jack Russell terrier, they met Evangeline herself, holding a seated yoga pose underneath an ashoka tree.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Patrick,” Cam said as Barney jumped onto his mistress’s lap. “Should we come back?”

The woman disentangled herself and rose, snatching up the dog with fluid grace, her rather perfect figure apparent in her tight top and yoga pants.

“Not at all. I was done.” Her smile was serene. Obviously meditation was effective. “I’m sure all the spiritual properties of the ashoka are relevant to this article. Wouldn’t you think?”

Evangeline had moved close to Tom, who looked near to passing out. Hannah frowned irritably.

“I’m sure I covered it in the press packet,” Cam lied,
promising herself she’d add it soon, in case the woman checked. She may have been a beauty queen, but Evangeline Patrick was no dummy—she’d gone to Brown with her Miss Virginia scholarship. “Ultimately, it’s up to the editor.”

“I’m the photo editor,” Ian added, thrusting his jaw forward.

Evangeline took his arm and led him closer to the little tree Cam knew was Indian, not American, and certainly not native to Virginia—she wasn’t even sure it would grow here if not for the summer greenhouse. Ian’s gullibility irritated her, but she had plenty of time to set him straight without offending Evangeline.

After that, they continued their route through the greenhouses and gardens, though they seemed to have picked up a canine obstacle. They’d registered on Barney’s radar. He’d been fine the day before, but today each time they found him, he growled and blocked their path until Cam managed to calm him. At their final greenhouse, Evangeline once again intercepted them.

“Barney! Shame on you! Here, boy!” She tossed a bone she’d picked up on the walkway. Cam glanced around and realized there were bones in half a dozen places within her vision. Distraction was apparently relied upon often with the little dog. To test this theory, she picked up the nearest bone and tossed it. Barney dropped the bone in his mouth and chased the new one.

T
he crew broke up before five because there was a reception just a few hours later at Samantha Hollister’s home, the crowning glory of which was its English garden. The reception promised to set the magazine feature off to a fabulous start. Cam thought Samantha hoped to raise doubts in the minds of the camera crew as to the location they’d chosen, but she didn’t think that would be possible after two days of hard work at La Fontaine, so Cam concentrated on just making sure all had a wonderful evening.

C
am had her boyfriend, Rob, drop her off at Samantha’s at six o’clock. He would then change, pick up her father and Annie, and return at seven with the other guests.

Petunia and her husband, Nick—the primary chef at Spoons—were already in the kitchen when Cam arrived. Nick and Petunia had been married almost three years. About a year into their marriage, Nick had helped Petunia achieve her longtime dream of opening a restaurant. Spoons specialized in gourmet “one-pot” meals. The restaurant had seating for only about forty people, but the large kitchen allowed them plenty of room to cater, which was their primary source of income.

Petunia had always been a collector of strays: dogs, cats, and people. Nick was no exception. He had a lot of tattoos, including one that looked like barbed wire around his neck, and he talked like a gangster, according to Cam’s imagination, anyway—he was certainly a Yank. She’d never been to New Jersey, but if she closed her eyes when Nick talked, she could picture a dozen gangster movies she’d seen. In his favor, he treated Petunia like a treasure, something of a novelty in Petunia’s experience, so Cam had warmed to him quickly, tattoos and all. She’d been the maid of honor at their wedding.

Nick kissed Cam’s cheek when she entered. “Hey, sis, you ready for this shindig?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Glad to have allies in the kitchen.”

“We’re glad you send us some fancy business now and then—good for our reputation.” He grinned.

“Of course I do. Y’all throw an elegant table.”

Nick gave his single bark that was as much laugh as anyone ever got out of him. He always looked sort of sheepish when he received a compliment.

At that moment, Evangeline barged in. “Jack! I thought I heard you. Nice to see you.” She clutched Nick’s bicep as she passed. “Anyone have a towel?”

Cam handed Evangeline a towel, and the woman left again.

“Jack?” Cam asked quietly.

Nick shrugged as if he’d rather not get into it.

“Who’d you rob to get that?” Petunia finally turned to Cam, after putting the finishing touches on a fancy lasagna and sliding it into the oven. Her studied lack of expression told Cam she was agitated. She pointed at Cam’s dress, her tone strange.

“I didn’t have to rob anyone. It’s rented, if you must know.”

“They rent dresses?” Petunia’s face registered disbelief.

“They do, and for a hundred dollars, I get to wear a five-hundred-dollar dress I’d only wear once, so wouldn’t be worth buying.”

“Heck, if I even had a one-hundred-dollar dress you’d never get me out of it again.”

“Oh, I’d get you out of it,” Nick muttered from the corner. That was more like the Nick Cam knew, and she winked at him.

“You behave!” Petunia snapped him with a kitchen towel, but she was laughing, the tension dissipating completely. “Rob coming?”

“Yeah, he’s picking up Annie and Daddy. They’ll be here at seven.”

“Couldn’t convince Dad this wasn’t his thing?”

“I didn’t try. That photo editor seemed set on some shots of Dad with that trellis and wisteria at the Patricks’. I thought maybe a mint julep or two might work a little magic convincing him to pose.”

“That’s true. Did we bring mint, Nick?”

“I bet Samantha has fresh mint in an herb garden,” Cam said. “In fact, I’d be surprised if she doesn’t have a plot somewhere specifically devoted to cocktail condiments. I’ll ask her.”

Cam left the kitchen and found their hostess, who led her to the herb garden. The two collected mint and some Italian
parsley to garnish the lasagna. Samantha envisioned herself as a local celebrity—platinum coif, bejeweled fingers, and all. Cam would never have ruined that illusion for her. She also saw herself as a mentor for Cam, pushing high manners and tastes that, in Cam’s opinion, were a little too extravagant to be truly classy. Samantha had exaggerated arm gestures, designer dresses, and an intimate familiarity when talking about the local politicians, but she was always gracious, a perfect hostess.

She also had an amazing garden, which Cam was seeing for the first time. The grounds were subtly choreographed, leading a wanderer through gorgeous curves of flowers, all set to look as if they had happened by accident, which of course was a great deal more work than something that looked planned.

Cam knew, though, they’d have only forty minutes or so of daylight after the guests arrived, so after extensive compliments, she suggested cocktails and appetizers in the garden and then supper inside. “We’ll avoid the bugs that way. The scent from your jasmine should still be lovely through the screen.”

“You’re right, of course.” Samantha wasn’t the type of woman to give away when she was disappointed, but Cam thought she was.

Samantha directed a few hired hands to shuffle tables, and Petunia and Nick began arranging snack trays as two of the brutish helpers wheeled the bar outside.

Cam assisted with the appetizers, and as she came out of the house carrying a warmer of little meatballs, Samantha stopped her. “Do you mind if Petunia keeps bar? Only I’m…” Samantha trailed off, but it wasn’t Cam’s first encounter with snobbery where Nick was concerned.

Fortunately, Nick preferred the kitchen, so Cam could honestly say, “That’s already the plan,” and force a smile.

A short while later, the Roanoke Garden Society members and guests began arriving. The influx set Cam into hostess mode, and she brought people drinks and made sure
they were comfortable. When Rob, Annie, and her father, Nelson, arrived, she began formal introductions.

“The trellis builder,” Ian exclaimed excitedly when he heard Cam’s father was among them. He came forward to shake Nelson’s hand, the first smile Cam had seen on him. She wanted to laugh at her father’s confused expression.

“The trellis at the Patricks’, Daddy.” Cam hadn’t gotten around to warning him why his presence had been requested. She’d intended to get over to his house that afternoon and do a little work in her mother’s garden. It was a regular habit: Cam gardening and her father chatting and bringing her sweet tea. Times like those were when she usually made requests of her father. Having her mom’s spirit so close seemed to make him more agreeable. Today, however, had just been too busy.

Several people were looking their way now.

“Well, yes… I did several trellises, though that one in particular is the best, I think, because that wisteria was such a grand thing to work with. But I’m just a carpenter. It was my wife who wanted me to get into all that flowery stuff.”

“That flowery stuff” was how her dad looked at all of this, but somehow he said it with enough charm that everyone seemed enchanted rather than offended. “My wife even insisted we name our children after flowers, Camellia and Petunia.” He shook his head, laughing, as if it were an insane indulgence he’d granted. Cam noticed Samantha smiling giddily like a schoolgirl.

Cam managed to keep from rolling her eyes and went into the kitchen. “I can’t take him anywhere.”

Petunia gave a sympathetic nod. “Who’s in love with him now?” She hadn’t even had to ask.

“Samantha.”

At every event he attended, her father collected a new admirer or two.

“Oh, that’s all we need,” Petunia muttered under her breath.

Cam frowned but knew she couldn’t speak too loudly for
fear of being overheard. “For your information, Dad could do a lot worse. She’s a nice lady.”

It wasn’t that she heard wedding bells exactly. Cam didn’t think Samantha was her father’s type, but there were times her sister’s reverse snobbery drove her nuts. Her father could obviously do worse than a beautiful, rich widow. In Petunia’s mind, however, anyone with wealth, education, or breeding was unworthy, and the only people who deserved Petunia’s admiration and sympathy were pity cases who had led hard lives or made bad mistakes. Petunia just nodded back at Cam sadly, as if Cam were the deluded one. Cam looked to Nick for help, but he had immersed himself in grating Parmesan for the salad.