The Begonia Bribe (19 page)

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I had some trouble finding a ride.” She didn’t confess to stopping by the clinic with Benny. She wasn’t sure if Annie would tease her or scold her, but she wasn’t in the mood for either.

“So pictures or trash about Barry first?”

“Pictures. I’ve already got a little trash to work with, so let’s work with what we don’t know.”

Annie gave her a strange look. She knew something was up but didn’t press Cam about it, for which Cam thought she had the time rather than Annie’s sense of decency to thank. Annie pulled up a file of pictures on her computer and then clicked on one. She must have been searching and found the spot they needed before Cam got home.

“See, this is where Kyle Lance started his last song of that first set. I have a few of him, and that blue lighting is reflected on the audience.”

“Okay.”

“And back here—the song before, the audience is in white light—remember that obnoxious starlight thing?”

Cam did. The song was sappy, and there’d been white-on-white disco lighting, which had threatened to give her a headache. “Yeah.”

“So what we’re looking for is audience differences between the white pics and the blue ones, right?”

“Sounds right to me, when you put it like that. I guess that’s why we pay you the big bucks.”

“Yeah, still waiting for
that
check.”

Cam sat next to Annie as her best friend tried to identify audience shots of the same places, one white and one blue, so the pictures could be compared, one spot at a time.

It was tedious, but finally Cam spotted it.

“There! Can we get closer? Someone’s leaving; looks like a man.”

Annie selected the area and enlarged it.

“It looks like
the
man, you mean. Headed in the right direction, even.”

“And Dylan said the man had been arguing with Olivia Quinn but then he kissed her.”

“Man, what a jerk! Wait. When did Dylan say that?”

Cam ignored Annie. “We need to warn Mindy.”

“Oh, that’ll go over well. But I wouldn’t wish that whack-job on anyone. Even Mindy,” Annie said.

“You’re too generous,” Cam said. “So what did you
find
on him?”

“Restraining order—situation sounds a little like what happened to Evangeline, and then this . . .”

Annie hit a tab and a blog popped up.

“What is this?”

“Not proof positive, but I cross-referenced Barry, real estate, cheating, and various swear words on the blog search engine. This one looked good, so I checked out the author profile. She’s in Lynchburg. She claims to have been drawn in and duped, first sexually, then for an investment, by a real estate bigwig named Barry who has since been transferred to Roanoke.”

“Yeah, awfully high on coincidence, but a blog . . . people can say almost anything, can’t they?”

“Well . . . they can . . . but maybe we could contact her.”

“Some stranger? Online?”

“Oh, come on, Cam. Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t tell me you’ve never emailed a stranger before.”

Cam frowned. She had. Quite often, but always in a professional context. This just seemed sleazy.

“What do we say?”

“The truth! That the sleaze is trying to get back with his wife, and we are friends . . .
you’re
friends with her anyway, and are concerned. You’re looking for information to convince her not to get back together.”

“Okay?” Cam agreed in theory, but the whole thing still felt sordid.

Annie tutted and pushed the computer at Cam. “You’re the P.R. person. Think of it like convincing someone to contribute to a cause.”

Cam narrowed her eyes. Annie fetched her a glass of wine, made her take a drink, and then repeated herself. Cam finally managed to get the words out.

Burned by a Real,

I stumbled across your blog and think I know the identity of this horrible man. He is technically married to a friend of mine, and has recently made inroads toward reconciliation. As her friend, I’d like to warn her about the kind of man he really is. I know you can’t say publicly, but hoped you might give me a few more details so I can prove to her she should stay away.

The Barry in question is 40, dark-haired, about 6’2”, and has two daughters, seven and ten, who would be heartbroken if there was a reconciliation and then more bad behavior.

Could you please let me know if it sounds like the same man, and if it does, share some details to dissuade his wife? I’d be very grateful.

Cam Harris

“Daughters are a nice touch,” Annie said when she read it. “I would have left them out, but thinking about it, you probably tripled her chance of responding.”

“Now who’s sucking up?” Cam asked.

“I
do not
suck up. I’m a truth-teller, my friend. So take your compliment like a man.”

Cam snorted and pressed Send. “Now what?”

“I was thinking bed, but if you have a line of Chippendale dancers in your closet, you might convince me to stay awhile.”

“No dancers.”

“Then I say we call it a night. Maybe this woman will respond by morning.”

Cam had to admit the idea of sleep appealed to her. She’d had far too little for a week. She hoped she might even sleep in.

U
nfortunately, Cam had trouble sleeping. She thought with the pageant over, it should have been easy—her stress was finally gone. But the blogger troubled her, and she had strange dreams. When the sun peeked under her curtains, she gave up and got out of bed. Since she was up anyway, she decided to check her email.

Nothing. She put on a pair of Crocs with her pajama shorts and tank top and went out to do a little early-morning weeding to clear her head. It occurred to her she did this too often, as the task took less than an hour, but then she came in and showered and checked her email again.

It felt early, but it was actually almost nine. If the woman got up early, she might have responded.

Cam logged on and was pleased to see there was in fact an email from ‘Burned.’

Dear Cam,

I can’t be specific. I happen to be a public figure of sorts and need to keep my identity private—the foolishness I displayed would ruin my reputation.

It does sound like the same Barry. In fact, recently I had to endure watching him trying to win his wife, so I know what you say is true.

As for details to help you convince your friend, I spent a weekend with him two years ago when he was meant to be at a real estate conference in Arlington. He also took me on a hot-air balloon ride once at Virginia Beach. Accommodations at the time were comped—he was trying to get me to buy a beach house . . . he called it our love nest.

I got the impression, after the fact, of course, that he frequently used sex to sell real estate. I guess I wouldn’t have objected, had he been more honest about it.

Burned

Cam put on coffee and tried to digest the information.

Mindy was probably still in town, if the signs of reconciliation could be trusted. Cam thought that she and the girls were probably staying at Barry’s, since they’d checked out of the Travelodge when the risk of Olivia had first come up. That made it very hard to contact Mindy without alerting Barry.

She pressed speed dial for Annie so she could share the news.

“Are you freaking serious? I have one day to sleep in and you call me at . . .” She paused, probably looking at a clock or her phone. “Nine-fifteen?”

“That woman responded.”

“Big whoop.”

“And I need help figuring out what to do.”

“You are so helpless. Is coffee made?”

“Just about.”

“Cream?”

“What do you think?” The two debated cream versus skim milk frequently.

Annie gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll bring the cream.”

It was only five minutes before she heard Annie stomping down the stairs rather too heavily. She wore slippers, boxer shorts, and a T-shirt that Cam thought belonged to Jake. She set a carton of half-and-half on the table as she sat. Annie’s expectant look demanded coffee, so Cam obliged.

“Nice outfit,” Cam said.

“Yeah, I went for maximum embarrassment. I put on Jake’s clothes, then when he wakes up, he’ll have to put on mine.”

“Oh, geez. Jake’s there?”

“Where else would Jake be? Rob’s place?”

“Oh, stop it. We just were so late. I didn’t think . . .”

“That I had a cuddle-muffin up there waiting for me? Cam, open-door policy. I got up there last night and there he was.”

“Okay, then I don’t feel quite so guilty. At least you got lucky.”

“Not so much. He was asleep already. But had it been winter, I suppose the body heat might have been a bonus.”

Cam laughed, then she turned her computer to Annie, who doctored her coffee first, then read. Cam waited, sipping her own coffee.

“‘Had to watch him wooing his wife’? You don’t suppose she was
here
, do you?”

That hadn’t occurred to Cam, but if Mindy was to be believed, it had to be the case. “Either here, or he tried to reconcile before. But that’s not what Mindy said. Do you think we should ask her?”

“No. I don’t think we go to Mindy until our arsenal is full. I think we talk to
him
.”

“About?”

“What Dylan saw. What I saw. Jake’s not scheduled to work today. Maybe I can get him to go.”

“Oh, yeah. That will fly,” Cam said.

Annie squinted for a minute. “You’re right. Jake won’t work. Just remember the rules: public place—don’t give too much away . . . record it.”

“You’re coming, too, aren’t you?”

“Probably, but I’m not changing until you have something set up. You might not be able to get him to meet with you, and I might get to go back to bed. Do you have his cell?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. He called me, remember?”

“So call him.”

Cam had to psych herself up. She wasn’t a big fan of confrontation. She stepped out her back door and breathed in the rose fragrance. It reminded her of her mom, which always helped. Finally, she pressed the numbers into the phone.

“Yeah?” Barry whispered, giving away that he wasn’t alone.

“I take it you have Mindy and the girls there. I need to talk to you—I think you’ll want to hear me out.”

“Why would I?”

“We have photographic evidence that it may have been you who rigged the lights to fall on Dylan Markham.”

“Who? Why would I hurt a guy I don’t know?”

“That’s what we want to know. Will you meet me or not?”

“No.”

“Then my next step is to call Mindy and share some information from a blogger called ‘Burned by a Real’ . . . She gives pretty good detail of a brief affair.” Cam went on to describe some of those details.

“Fine! I’ll come!” He stopped Cam before she could finish, in her mind confirming the connection. He named a downtown diner and said he’d meet Cam there.

“Okay . . . Aesy’s,” Cam said. “I’ll be there.”

“Hey, I know their morning cook,” Annie said after Cam hung up. “He comes in for muffins before they open—early. I’ll go in the back way and back you up . . . take pictures.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Yes it is. I know what kind of trouble you get up to. Rob ever leave a wire here?”

“Wire?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “So someone else can listen? Jake has one. I’ll be right back.”

Instead of going upstairs, Annie looked either way, then pulled keys from somewhere and went out to Jake’s police car. She rummaged for a minute, then came back with a handful of gadgets.

“Get there first. Sit near the kitchen. If you are within twenty feet, I can hear with no wiring.”

“Then we need to hurry.”

“Pants me!”

“What?”

“Shorts, sweats—give me something to put on.”

Cam grabbed a lightweight pair of capris and tossed them at Annie, pulling a sundress over her own tank top and shorts. The two took off.

* * *

C
am was glad for how close to downtown they lived and how negligent Annie was about the speed limit. They parked behind the diner, Annie’s downtown entrepreneur pass allowing them to park in a spot not open to the public. They actually entered through the back.

In the kitchen Annie did the talking. Ronny, the head chef, called over one of the waitresses, who nodded a lot and then seated Cam at a table near the kitchen. As Cam followed the waitress, she saw Annie tuck a chair against a wall, out of the way of activity, and out of sight from the main restaurant.

Barry was already seated, but the waitress went over and explained to him that his party was waiting at another table. He looked confused but followed her back to Cam’s table.

“You seem to be the bane of my existence, Miss Harris.”

“And you, mine. Maybe you could clear some things up and then we can leave each other alone . . . if you’re not rotting in jail, I mean.”

“I don’t know what delusions you have, but I know there is no reason I’d rot in jail.”

“Then explain this.” Cam pulled out a cheap camera that nevertheless managed to play the memory card from Annie’s pictures. It was a duplicate. Cam was glad Annie was used to such things and was paranoid about backing up her files.

“I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“You, leaving your seat toward the side of the stage, just as somebody was booby-trapping the lighting to fall on Dylan Markham.”

“I have no idea who Dylan is.”

He’d said that once before, but she still didn’t believe him.

“Lighting guy? He saw you argue with, and then kiss, Officer Olivia Quinn.”

“I was letting her down easy,” Barry said. “That’s why I went back—to say good-bye.”

“Nice, prolonged good-bye kiss?”

“She asked for a kiss good-bye! I was leaving her! I felt bad.”

“I’ll be sure and explain that to Mindy.”

“No! She couldn’t understand.”

“She’s not alone there. Kissing the woman who framed your wife can’t possibly be popular.”

“But she didn’t do it.”

“You aren’t the first idiot to believe your mistress, but I thought you’d switched teams.”

“No. I’m serious. I believe her—I talked to the maid who had falsely accused her—and I let Olivia talk to her!” Barry said.

“You can’t get real answers when you let a cop intimidate a witness!”

“Then get that cop friend of yours to check. Olivia didn’t do it. She’s being set up, too.”

“Give me a break.”

“I’m serious. Have that cop friend talk to the hotel worker.”

“And she’s innocent like you’re innocent. Man, you two deserve each other.”

“Cam, I know I’m a cad. And I’ll be the luckiest man on the planet if Mindy forgives me. But I didn’t hurt what’s-his-name. And I
was
saying good-bye to Olivia.”

“Okay, so tell me about the sexual harassment suit in Lynchburg—the one you left town for.”

“Geez. You
are
a snoop.”

“A snoop with Mindy on speed dial.”

Barry gave a small shiver, which Cam took to mean he was squirming, so she went on.

“And the blogger? She’s under the impression that your real estate sales appeal includes a Barry boink as standard.”

“Another woman jealous I wouldn’t leave my wife for her. I
told
you I had trouble resisting bimbos.”

“Then why on Earth would
anyone
think you might change?”

The waitress brought coffee and asked for their orders. Cam laid a five on the table and left. She didn’t care if Barry ordered or not. She knew she wouldn’t get any more out of him, at least not with his neck still intact.

* * *

W
hen Cam and Annie got back to their split house, Jake was sitting on the front steps with a cup of coffee. There was a small stack of weeds on the sidewalk and Cam wondered just how bored he’d been.

“Dare I ask?” he said.

“Cam had some questions. I was just providing backup,” Annie said, kissing Jake.

“With police equipment?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, you were gardening. It was trade-jobs day,” Cam said. Jake ignored her.

“You know what trouble she gets herself into.” Annie blinked.

“And
my
underwear?” Jake added.

Cam smirked as Jake pulled Annie into a hug.

“You’re incorrigible,” he said.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” Annie said.

“I suppose that’s true,” Jake admitted. “So what did you learn?”

“Well, Barry left his seat just before the lights fell last night. But he swears he was telling Olivia Quinn good-bye. Dylan witnessed a kiss—a good-bye kiss, Barry says. And Barry insists Officer Quinn is being framed in the framing,” Cam said.

“He does, does he?”

“We don’t believe him,” Cam said. “But he thinks some third party is framing Quinn.”

“Who would do that?” Jake said.

“It seems like the only person who knows for sure is that maid.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “I can certainly bring her in for more questioning.”

Cam thought Jake looked strangely at peace with this development. Annie sat by him and looped an arm through his. “You did hear we’re not saying we believe Barry—just that it’s worth asking?”

Jake removed her arm. “And you’re saying the two of you feel up to police work without a police officer?”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Annie stuck her lip out. It was such an obvious pout that Cam knew Annie was joking, but Jake either missed the teasing or enjoyed it.

“Then don’t run off questioning witnesses with my equipment . . . and my underwear . . . without at least letting me know first.”

Annie looked guilty, but Cam wasn’t feeling it. Jake had failed to follow through too many times for her to feel bad for getting an answer or two. Still, she was relieved when Annie convinced Jake to let them watch the questioning of the maid.

* * *

I
t didn’t take long for Jake to round her up. Her address was on file as a witness, and she apparently had Sundays off. They asked her to come to the station and she did, in her Sunday best, annoyed to be disturbed on her free day.

Jake began with the idea of an alternate witness with a different story, the fact that the woman could lose her job over the testimony—but only if the alternative was true, not it if was false—then slipped in the accessory to murder charge if the original testimony was proven untrue and had helped the killer get away.

“Killer? I thought it was just about love! Love and money,” she admitted. “The woman paid me a great deal.”

“Which woman?”

“I don’t know her. I only saw her once.”

“This woman?” Jake held up a picture of Officer Quinn.

“No—she was the one I was to blame.”

“What did the other woman look like?”

“Tall. Dark. Very curvy . . . the good kind of curvy.”

Jake opened the folder to another page. “This woman?”

“Yes! That’s her!”

“And she paid you to blame this other one?” He turned the page back to the picture of Olivia Quinn.

The woman nodded happily, apparently relieved they’d figured it out. Unfortunately, Cam just felt more confused.

* * *

“J
essica Benchly is our briber. I’m not convinced she’s our murderer, though,” Jake said when the woman had left.

“Well, of course not,” Annie said. “She’s got huge . . . tracts of land . . .”

Cam snorted in spite of the situation. Jake didn’t seem to grasp the reference, or at least didn’t have their same appreciation of Monty Python or innuendo.