The Azalea Assault (34 page)

“You’re already having problems with the ingrate—in fact you have to basically blackmail him into doing something to pay you back. Then, on the night before this all starts, you get a letter that he’s inherited a lot of money and
a sobbing phone call from the worthy niece about how her father was tricked into changing his will.”

“So she did do it,” Annie said.

“Stay with me. You learn he is also trying to scam money out of a friend, and you go to confront him.”

“And end up killing him,” Rob added.

“But then you panic. You call your lapdog, who comes to help with the body, but he’s seen—by Ian.”

Annie and Rob gasped. It was a detail they’d apparently missed through the margarita haze.

“So Joseph dumps the body, gets money to bribe Ian, Samantha feels guilty and pays him back, but then Joseph decides it’s his job to keep the focus off Samantha. He tries to accuse other people at first, then frame others because that isn’t enough—Rob, I bet he heard us at the party talking about Samantha and that’s why he tried to act like he’d been poisoned. But the fighting between Ian and Annie gave him the idea—he’d frame somebody solidly and kill the only witness all at once. It was a bonus that it would also frame the daughter of a man who’d caused him so much grief. Then Samantha would be safe. He finally even confessed for her.”

“Wow,” Rob said. “That’s devotion.”

“But why drug Samantha? What was that all about?” Annie asked.

“Maybe he expected some gratitude? That he would win her by saving her?” Cam suggested. “Maybe that was why that memory card was at her place, too—a present to prove his devotion.”

“But when it didn’t work,” Annie said, “ewwww.”

Jake chuckled.

Annie elbowed him since she had been the target of so much of Joseph’s nastiness.

“So what about Mr. Patrick?” Jake asked.

“Just what we guessed. He was tired of Jean-Jacques pestering Evangeline about money, so he was trying to bribe him to get rid of him once and for all. I bet he really was
trying to help Samantha by offering Jean-Jacques a different place to stay.”

“Pretty impressive,” Rob said.

“What will you do?” Cam asked Jake.

“Looks like we reopen the case, provided I can find some evidence to support these details, but I’m willing to bet you’re right—there were several places the story was inconsistent, and this theory answers most of them. Good work, Cam. The killer almost got away with it.”

Cam tried not to cringe. This turn of events might just mean she was out of a job.

T
welve guests had grown to thirty faster than Cam could say “pretentious pageant,” and she found herself in the awkwardly familiar spot of greeting guests in the Patricks’ foyer. Both times she’d done this before, people had died, no matter how much she didn’t want to think about that. Instead of guests wafting in with the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine as they had then, they now carried the sweet aroma of the gardenia that framed the Patricks’ front walk.

Evangeline and Neil Patrick were shuffling about in the dayroom upstairs where the reception would be, and Cam expected Lydia Fennewick, the pageant chair and a friend of Evangeline’s, to arrive from the guesthouse any minute.

The first other guests to arrive were Trish Tait and Jenny Andrews, volunteers who would be helping with the pageant. Cam was glad. They’d make excellent minglers as the more prestigious guests arrived. Both were socially skilled, attractive, and committed to pageant success. Cam sent them up the stairs to wait for the other guests.

Clancy Huggins, one of the judges and host of
Green Living
, arrived next with a pretty woman Cam didn’t know.

Mr. Huggins! Welcome! I’m Camellia Harris, the event coordinator.”

“Miss Harris, lovely to meet you in person. And this is my dear friend, Jessica Benchly.”

Cam had half expected to hear the name Jessica Rabbit, with the unrealistic proportions and beauty of the woman, though Jessica Benchly was dark haired, with large dark eyes. She hung onto Clancy’s arm casually. “Dear friend” could have been literal or a euphemism—there was no way to know.

“Wonderful to meet you, Ms. Benchly. We’re having cocktails up in the drawing room.” Cam gestured toward the stairs, then had to turn back to the door, as guests began to arrive in earnest: Nell Norton and her husband, Byron; Telly Stevens and his wife, Judith Towers-Stevens—the executive who’d insisted her husband judge; Annette DiFlor of Anna Banana’s Tween Fashions; Holden Hobbes; and several more.

Cam had a headache. She’d been a part of a lot of formal festivities, but this one seemed to have a higher ratio of important people, and fewer allies to help her when things went wrong. She wished her boyfriend, Rob, hadn’t had a dinner scheduled with his editor at the
Roanoke Tribune
, as it would have been nice if he could have been here for her. She felt like squealing when her dad and Annie finally arrived, though she knew Annie was only looking at this as a job. Her camera was draped over her neck to document the party.

After another half hour of greeting, Cam finally felt she was okay to join the guests upstairs.

Instead of air-conditioning the grand, garden-view drawing room, the Patricks had thrown open the wall of windows and glass doors and had half a dozen ceiling fans circulating the summer air. The delicious floral scent from the garden drifted in. Cam was glad the temperature was lower than
they’d expected the rest of the week, making this possible. It was warm, but worth it. This was a better angle to view the elaborate garden.

As she stood in one of the French doorways that led to the balcony, Clancy Huggins and Jessica Benchly climbed the balcony stairs from strolling the garden. Cam had been right that the mosaic effect of the garden below was that of an iris. There was a vast array of purple blazing star, iris, and gladiolus, shot through with yellow foxglove and white calla lilies. Nearest the fountain at the center was a delightful cluster of sunflowers, perfect for the stamen at the center of the flower. The bit of conversation she heard from Clancy and Jessica was about the specific strains of oleander and the variety of lilies Clancy admired, while Jessica favored the hibiscus.

As they passed her, Cam heard an ominous feminine growl from inside. “What is
she
doing here?” Cam looked for the source. Judith Towers-Stevens glared at Clancy and Jessica, then stormed away from her husband and caught Nell Norton’s hand, changing faces like a chameleon as she began to ask recommendations for keeping a floral garden through August, which could be challenging in the Virginia heat.

Cam felt guilty for her relief that Judith Towers-Stevens could take care of herself, as a look to another French door and the hungry look of Telly Stevens explained why she was so angry. Her husband definitely lusted after his fellow judge’s date. She wished she could smack him upside the head, but it wasn’t like they didn’t know about his personality. And it was Judith’s fault Telly was involved—she’d insisted.

Cam tried to evaluate if there were other problems, though a romantic triangle among judges was problem enough.

She looked at her watch for comfort but didn’t find it. She wandered over to Annie with her new concern. “It’s not like Petunia to be late.” Petunia and Nick, Cam’s sister and
brother-in-law, ran a small restaurant, and Cam liked to hire them whenever RGS had catering needs, so they were expected at any minute.

Annie looked at her own watch and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, technically, they aren’t late, but pushing it, and Petunia is usually a little early.”

She walked out onto the stairway landing and realized the Spoons van was sitting on the street waiting for one of the guests to park so Nick could pull past and get close to the house. When the car had finally cleared, he pulled up near the front door. Cam ran down to greet them.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Petunia sneered.

Cam started to help, but Annie pushed past. “Let me do it first. She won’t refuse me,” she whispered.

It was true. Petunia liked Annie a lot, in spite of Annie being Cam’s best friend and the daughter of a former state senator, a position Petunia’s reverse-snob tendencies would normally shun. It was largely because they both were a bit snarky, though Annie’s snark held significantly more humor than Petunia’s, in Cam’s opinion. But Annie also shared Petunia’s reverse classism.

Cam waited until Annie had grabbed a box without being yelled at before she joined. Petunia still glared, but didn’t stop Cam from taking a tray.

“Dining room!” Cam called. She hoped they’d find it. The parties Spoons had catered at the Patricks’ before had been outside or upstairs. When Cam arrived, she was relieved to see Petunia opening wine bottles and Nick heading back outside for the last bowls of fettuccine.

The table looked lovely. Cam had rarely seen a table that could comfortably seat thirty, mostly because most dining rooms couldn’t hold one, but this one had extra room. It was set elegantly with the Patricks’ fine china and crystal glassware.

“Are you two staying?”

Petunia shook her head decisively. “You’ll get the pans,
won’t you, Cam?” Petunia blinked innocently. Cam found her sarcasm annoying.

“We’ll be back in about ninety minutes,” Nick said, taking his wife by the elbow. “We need to get the dessert, which is ice cream.” Cam knew it was for the best if they left anyway.

“Sheesh. Petunia’s crabbier than usual, isn’t she?” Annie said.

“No kidding,” Cam agreed. For Annie to say it, it had to be pretty obvious.

Cam started to follow Petunia to see if there was a real problem, but was intercepted by a very late Jimmy Meares—probably the parker who had been in Nick’s way. Jimmy Meares was Kyle Lance’s manager. Kyle was the tween pop star who had agreed to help with the pageant, and Cam thought it was cheeky of Jimmy to show up without Kyle, but she led him upstairs. She waited about ten minutes before she called the guests down to supper as Annie took pictures to document the gathering.

I
n the dining room Cam suggested seating as people came in. She hoped to avoid the judge issues, so she sat Clancy Huggins and Telly Stevens at opposite ends on the same side of the table. She tried to alternate sponsors, pageant staff and media, hoping it would encourage camaraderie and took the last empty chair for herself, between Barbara Mackay, the third judge, and Jimmy Meares.

“He did
not
just spike his tea.” Evangeline’s voice was quiet, but she looked scandalized. Cam thought only she, Neil, and Barbara Mackay heard, but all of them turned to see Telly Stevens pouring from a silver flask into his goblet of sweet tea.

Evangeline made a point of pouring wine. It wasn’t as if they were asking people to teetotal. There’d been cocktails upstairs, and Cam wondered why Mr. Stevens hadn’t just brought a drink down if he preferred bourbon over wine.