The Azalea Assault (12 page)

Cam moved closer and lowered her voice, then explained what she’d heard, without mentioning Nick was the current favorite suspect. There was no reason for Petunia to get worked up if it didn’t end up going anywhere.

“I bet that damn Evangeline started this!”

Cam was startled, as Jake had only recently tried to connect Nick and Evangeline.

“What would Evangeline have to do with it?”

“They knew each other in Providence… worked together some. Shoot!”

“What is it?”

“We just don’t need this. It’s just her type of drama!”

“Okay, why are you being so cryptic?” Jake’s questions had at least made sense, Cam thought with growing frustration.

“Because I’m annoyed. Look, tomorrow is just a cold lunch. I can deliver early. Will you come home with me then? I can explain better there.”

Petunia’s behavior was mysterious and annoying, but Cam agreed at once. It sure sounded like there was a deeper story, and Petunia clearly wasn’t going to tell it here.

C
am felt off center that her sister had knowingly married an ex-con and not told her. What’s more, she thought, waiting until the next day to hear the full story might very well kill her. She was not made for this kind of sustained tension!

She sought Annie, who was leading Hannah and Tom back to the patio for a late lunch, Barney trailing happily behind.

“You trained the beast,” Cam said, indicating the dog.

“He’s my best friend, aren’t you, buddy?” Annie picked him up, and he wiggled and licked her face.

“How’d you do that? I thought he was a one-woman dog.”

“Trade secret.” Annie smirked.

Hannah shrugged, though Cam thought it was a “sworn to secrecy” shrug, rather than an unknowing one.

“Where’s Ian?”

“Hell if I care,” Annie said.

“He went for some aspirin. He’ll be over in a little bit,” Hannah added.

Cam steered them all toward the buffet table of taco fixings, with choices for either traditional tacos or taco salads with beef, chicken, or beans. She was full from her lunch with Jake, but the unanswered questions swimming in her head were making her nuts and she thought they’d be less likely to walk away from her if they were eating. She pulled back on Annie’s elbow.

“So what
was
that with Ian? You’ve never met him before, have you?”

“Of course I haven’t. He’s insane. But I’m starved, and because I was annoyed, I only gave permission for half an hour for lunch. Can we talk after I fill up?”

“Sure.” Cam yielded and let Annie fill her taco shell with lettuce, tomatoes, beans, and a wide variety of condiments Cam normally avoided, some of which she couldn’t even identify. Annie then seated herself with Hannah and Tom. She obviously preferred to avoid being grilled. It annoyed Cam for only a moment, though, before she shrugged it off.

“Cammi!” she heard as the doors to the patio slid open and closed.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Patrick.”

“And how’s everything going?”

“Seems to be well.” It was only a little white lie.

“Ms. Duffy has interviewed a few of us today and feels the mood might improve if we have another little party. I’m happy to host—tomorrow night?”

“Sure. Even just knowing it is planned should help.”

“I know your friend is busy with pictures, but Samantha says she makes the best brownies in town.”

“That’s true. They’re wonderful.”

“Do you think she could make some for the party?”

“I’ll see if she can fit them in.” Cam smiled. Heck, she’d borrow Annie’s recipe and bake them herself if it would turn this shoot around.

By the time she sat back down with Annie and the magazine crew, they were finishing; Ian was still nowhere in sight.

“Is it at all possible to make brownies for twenty for tomorrow night?”

“See, that’s what I love about you, Cam… give, give, give. Never asking for anything in return.”

“Annie, I’m sorry. Samantha specifically mentioned
your
brownies! It’s not my fault they’re so fabulous!”

Annie looked around, “You, me, Rob, Jake. We’ll bake them tonight—the special red wine variety.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“What time?”

“Eight, at the shop. You bring the wine.”

“You’re on!”

A
fter the camera crew left, Cam checked on Jane Duffy. The interviews were going relatively smoothly, but Jane reiterated the down mood she’d observed.

“I know it’s normal after what happened, but I would hate this to be the face that goes out to the public.”

“I totally agree, and we’re having another dinner party. We just can’t… call it a party. It would be really inappropriate.”

“Oh, yes—I agree with that, but these people need a little fun!”

Cam wasn’t sure “fun” was appropriate, either, but she agreed with the assessment that without an intervention, the Garden Society was a darned gloomy set of people, incapable of putting on a public front that would sell, whether it was seeking membership or donation money.

Instead of finding her photographer, who at the very least had full information to keep going, Cam spent the afternoon with Evangeline, planning a menu.

Evangeline rattled off the list of what they’d served and what they hadn’t in the last few days. Cam tried to steer toward items Spoons served.

“I’m sorry, Cam. I love Spoons’ food, but we’ve sort of exhausted them, haven’t we? And think how rude it would be to add on so much extra work last minute. I was thinking… well, in order to be good Southern hosts, we should have a good old-fashioned Southern barbeque—barbequed pork with North Carolina barbeque sauce, beans, corn muffins, corn on the cob—a real feast, Southern-style. I know the weather isn’t cooperating, but we could have it catered.”

Cam sat down to make calls.

Two hours later she slammed the phone down, exasperated.

“Nobody!”

And nobody was right. Not a single person heard her cry of frustration that nobody was available to cater a big Southern barbeque the next night. Evangeline had gone on to domestic or recreational matters out of earshot, and Cam suspected the servants were avoiding her. Nobody took on extra drama voluntarily, and Cam was sure that was what this looked like in their eyes. This photo shoot had brought nothing but extra drama.

But it was fine. She’d always been able to fall back on her scrappy practicality, no matter how elegant some event was supposed to be. Here, elegant didn’t quite fit anyway—the more personal it seemed, the better.

Her first step was to make a series of relatively large takeout orders at different places not far from each other for the next afternoon. No one restaurant had the capacity to do it alone, but all of them could do some portion of it, so she split up what they’d need. One place had no trouble at all with the large order for barbeque, but they didn’t sell sides as takeout because they needed them for the “full suppers” that they sold in-house. Another sold beans and slaw sides, and a third sold trays of cornbread. She also made a note to herself to have yet another difficult conversation with Petunia. She might not need Petunia to cook, but she’d need a number of her warming pans if this was to “appear” catered.

Finally, at nearly four, she set out to find the photography crew again.

“R
emind me to buy that man a tiara,” Annie muttered when Cam asked where Ian was.

“He said he had some things to look into.” Hannah trembled, unhappy with being messenger, particularly for a coworker who was acting so inappropriately.

The crew was progressing through the list of outdoor locations well, so Cam, uncomfortable babysitting the crew
when Ian was being such a pill, helped for just half an hour before claiming she needed to catch Petunia when she delivered supper. Before heading back to the house, however, she decided to reconfirm the evening’s plans with Annie.

“We still on for brownies tonight?” she asked Annie.

“You know we are,” Annie answered without halting her photography, so Cam felt at least her friend was on her game, regardless of how anyone else framed it.

B
ack on the patio of La Fontaine, Cam tried to organize the lunch dishes so they were easy for Petunia to retrieve. Softening the blow was in her best interest. She also considered it might not
be
a blow. Petunia and Nick had been busting their butts for several days now. Maybe they’d welcome the break, or rather the lack of an additional burden. She tried to convince herself that was the case, even if she never began to believe it.

“Y
ou want to what?”

Cam couldn’t believe how she’d deluded herself—not that she actually had. It had been wishful thinking to expect that her sister would willingly offer her equipment to serve someone else’s food. Petunia appeared to be steaming, though the steam was actually from the tray of chicken cordon bleu behind her. It was still a powerful illusion.

“I’m sorry, ’Tunia. We’ve served all your styles now and just thought something different was a good idea—and this is… well, what people expect when they come to the South.”

“We? That’s it! This was that Evangeline’s idea, wasn’t it?”

Cam couldn’t contain her sputter, so Petunia knew the truth. Cam tried to mention late notice and unfairness, but Petunia was having none of it. Nick stood silently, knowing better than to get between bickering sisters.

“Right through here, Officer.”

Cam, Petunia, and Nick all turned together. Neil Patrick guided an unfamiliar police officer out onto the patio.

“Are you Jonathan Nicholas Conroy?”

Petunia gasped. Nick squinted and then nodded.

“You have the right to remain silent…”

The next few minutes melted together. Petunia shrieked, and Cam caught her as she sank to the ground, fighting off Cam’s efforts to help her. Nick, strangely, was trying to comfort his wife by saying it was okay because he hadn’t done anything, though it didn’t look to Cam like he actually believed in the justice system for which he was advocating. He looked scared, which unnerved her and seemed to unhinge Petunia.

Garden Society members began peeking outside, and Cam sprang into the house, pleading with the police officer behind her to take Nick around the side. She didn’t care so much about the Garden Society at the moment but was very concerned for Nick’s humiliation, and by default, Petunia’s.

Cam talked the arriving Garden Society members into the library and managed to track down Giselle to bring in wine.

“Was that the killer?” Joseph asked hopefully.

“I really doubt it,” Cam answered. She managed to stop herself from glaring but knew she didn’t have a poker face when she felt strongly. She could lie well only by convincing herself of a degree of truth, and at the moment she was too upset to convince herself of anything.

“Why, Cam?” Samantha asked.

“Because I know him. He’s not a killer.”

“But they wouldn’t arrest him if he wasn’t,” Neil Patrick said. “I can’t believe we’ve had the killer catering!”

“No, Cam’s right.” Evangeline had stepped forward, taking her husband’s arm. She looked everyone in the eye, speaking slowly. “He’s a kind, gentle man. He wouldn’t hurt anybody—not like this anyway.”

Confused but recognizing an ally, Cam asked Evangeline
to keep everyone there until the spectacle was over. Evangeline was strangely cooperative, and though Cam vowed to find out why later, feeling instinctively suspicious of the rumored friendship between Nick and Evangeline, for the moment, she was extremely grateful.

She rushed back out to the patio and around the corner of the backyard, where Petunia clung to a handcuffed Nick.

“Sis, are you okay?” Nick asked her. “They can’t have anything solid. I didn’t do it. And it’s not like I haven’t seen the inside of a jail before.”

Cam was sure Nick thought he was saying comforting things, but she could see it wasn’t working on Petunia. She wanted to ask him why he’d been in jail, but the police officer urged Nick up the side of the house toward his car. Cam had to hold Petunia back as she cried and tried to keep hold of Nick.

“’Tunia, stop! Look at me! We’ll make sure they know Nick didn’t do it, okay? I’ll help you; I swear it. No matter what it takes.”

Petunia focused on her for the first time since the police had shown up. She squinted and looked a little angry, staring into Cam’s eyes with a slightly mad sheen.

“Swear it?”

“I swear it! I love Nick, and I love how he treats you. I’ll figure out who really did it if that’s what it takes.”

“Swear on Dogwood Village?”

Dogwood Village was a magical place they’d made up when they were little—always beautiful, and the good guys always won. The boundaries had actually been defined by the rows of roses in their backyard, but each spring a fabulous dogwood bloomed and put everything else to shame.

“I swear on Dogwood Village.”

Petunia collapsed into her chest, muttering about Evangeline and how she’d framed Nick. Cam doubted that was the case but knew this wasn’t the time to say so.

Cam excused herself from supper with the camera crew
and Garden Society board to help get Petunia home, as she thought Petunia might be too upset to drive. She called Rob but got his voice mail, then remembered he was having burgers with Jake for supper, something Annie had grumbled about when Cam had last seen her. The case gave the two men a lot to talk about. Cam figured, though, she would see both of them later at Sweet Surprise. She helped Petunia into her town house condominium in a newer subdivision of Roanoke and suggested Petunia might need company until it was bedtime.

Petunia pulled out a bottle of tequila and a lime and slammed them on the table, claiming she had company, but Cam wasn’t sure that was the best idea.

“Don’t you think you need to be top-notch tomorrow? In case Nick needs you?”

Petunia looked annoyed, but the raised brows were opening enough for Cam to see she was at least half listening.

“One shot of tequila for the misery, okay?” Cam conceded. “Maybe a glass or two of wine while you watch a romantic comedy to distract you, then bed?”

“It’s six o’clock.”