The Azalea Assault (16 page)

“I’ll make sure they don’t quit looking, okay?”

Petunia sniffed. “Thank you.”

W
hen her dad picked her up to return to the Patricks’, Cam was busy brainstorming who might have really done it—sure, Nick’s past made him look suspicious, even without the police knowing Jean-Jacques got Nick sent to prison. But Samantha was a potential suspect, too. She may have been Jean-Jacques’s aunt, but clearly there was tension. Evangeline was another possibility, when Cam thought about it. Her presence on that CD with Nick posed several new questions and increased how entangled in this riddle she probably was, even if she hadn’t been on Jean-Jacques’s call list.

And then Ian was trying to pin everything on Annie. Annie couldn’t have done it any more than Nick. Cam kept coming back to the question of why Ian would want to make someone look guilty at all. Maybe Ian was the person with something to hide. Hannah had said he was acting strangely.

Targeting Ian for investigation wasn’t necessarily the most logical choice, but it was definitely the most appealing, so Cam decided to devote her afternoon to that option. Ian had been on location, he’d argued with Jean-Jacques, and he was the worst kind of jerk. It would be a pleasure to pin a murder on him.

“Y
ou look like you feel better, sunshine.”

“Maybe. I think I have a suspect besides Nick.”

“Well that would be good. Care to share?”

“Not just yet. I have some questions to ask, but it seems like a good fit.” She ignored the part of her that knew she was trying to trick herself into this.

“Well, that makes me happy, too.”

She smiled. Whatever mischief her dad caused was always unintentional. His heart was in the right place.

“We’re still on with Annie tonight, right?” she asked.

“Of course we are. If Jane wants a nightcap, she’ll just have to wait for me.”

“And you’re worth waiting for.”

“So are you, sunshine. So are you.”

M
r. Harris helped Cam unload the first round of dishes they would need for supper, but then seemed distressed about time, so Cam sent him off to find Jane Duffy. He needed to deliver her to her hotel before he helped Petunia.

The purple sky had again begun depositing large raindrops over everything, but this round was cooler. The summer heat had come early this year, so the cooler air was welcome. She ran into Mr. Patrick as she deposited the last of the warming trays in the kitchen.

“Mr. Patrick, since we’re inside tonight, where would be best to set up for supper?”

“Oh, let’s do it up in the drawing room. The view of the storm ought to be grand!”

Cam couldn’t help smiling. She loved the show of a thunderstorm, too, and an enthusiastic little old man was darned cute. Dragging pans, trays, and food up the stairs would be worth it, though she’d have to figure out a special favor for Rob, who would be stuck helping her. He would be picking up all the food after work, which was no small task.

“Do you know where the magazine crew is?”

“I think they’re back at greenhouse three. Joseph said they were there a while ago, and that your friend Annie was upset because they’d neglected to tell her about several things.”

“They… meaning Ian?”

Mr. Patrick looked uncomfortable. “Joseph might have mentioned her yelling at Ian. She thought he skipped telling her on purpose, or that was what Joseph overheard at lunch—after you left again.” His expression tried for baffled disbelief, but he overdid it. Cam thought he wasn’t actually surprised.

“Knowing Ian, he did.”

“Is he a problem?” Mr. Patrick looked startled—again, not quite believable. Cam could only pretend she believed him, and acted as if he were sincere.

“He seems to resent Annie. We’re almost done, though, and the pictures I’ve seen so far have been amazing.”

“Well that’s good. Not a total loss.”

“Not at all. When the feature comes out, the trouble will be in the past, and all this will be great publicity.”

“Oh, I trust you on publicity, Cammi. You’re very good at that!”

Cam stopped midcringe and smiled, trying to clear the phoniness out of it. “Thank you, Mr. Patrick.”

T
here was only an hour left before the photography work for the day would be officially done, and another hour after that before supper would arrive and it would be time for Cam to take over, so for now she decided to find the crew.

She asked Giselle for an umbrella and was shown to a large supply of them. Since she’d be in the same clothes all evening, she chose one that seemed excessive—a golf umbrella, if she put a name on it. It was in the maroon and orange of Virginia Tech, and it kept all but her ankles dry as she made her way to greenhouse three, “Summer.”

Once the door was closed behind her, shutting out the elements, she could hear the fussing. She also started sweating, as the building was kept at about eighty-four degrees and a sprinkler system misted everything four times a day, a detail she’d just pulled into her press packets. Between the rain and the greenhouse, everything felt unpleasantly moist.

She set the umbrella against the wall, breathed deeply, and then made her way toward the shouting.

“Are you two still at it?” she asked once within earshot of the crew.

Annie turned and shook her head, conveying a “not my fault” message Cam was familiar with. Unfortunately, it was a gesture that often went with an action that actually was Annie’s fault. Annie’s issues with rules meant she had often challenged them, so what she
really
meant by “not my fault” was “only did it because it had to be done.” Cam suspected somehow, similar rules applied here.

She nodded and moved on. “I wondered if I could borrow Hannah for a little bit.”

“Are you sure Ian wouldn’t be more helpful?” Annie said, eyebrows raised, a phony smile pasted.

Cam found it hard not to laugh but was sure it was even harder for Annie not to laugh at her response.

“Positive.” She nodded again, this time with her straightest possible face.

Hannah looked to Tom, who nodded, then Annie and Tom got back to work while Ian scowled and criticized in the periphery.

Cam headed back out, sharing her large umbrella with Hannah as they braved their way back to the house.

The current downpour was intense enough that Hannah didn’t talk, but when they were under cover of the porch she asked, “So what are we doing?”

Cam tried to think of a good cover story, but failing that, decided to take the straightforward route. “I have some questions. I thought maybe if you helped me set up for supper, I could ask them.”

“You’re questioning me?”

“Not exactly… okay, sort of… but only because I think, of your group, you are the observant, reliable one.”

Hannah nodded. “I suppose that’s true. I mean… Tom’s reliable, but he doesn’t notice much, other than visual stuff—then he notices a lot.” Hannah looked uncomfortable at first, as if she’d betrayed Tom, but then appeared content with the assessment. Cam remembered her own twenty-two-year-old self and thought Hannah was proud at being thought reliable but nervous about what it might mean.

“So what did the police ask, since it wasn’t about the body?” Hannah’s confused expression caused Cam to elaborate. “When they were investigating the murder.”

“Where we were?”

In spite of the questioning tone, Cam smiled and went on. “And y’all were sleeping?”

“Of course we were.”

“Which is hard to prove.”

“Well…”

“What?”

“Not for Tom and me. We were…” She blushed deeply.

“Together? Hannah, no shame in that. I can tell the two of you care about each other.”

“You can?”

“Of course I can.” It was more obvious from Hannah than Tom, but there was no reason to get technical.

Hannah seemed to relax. “So anyway, I know he didn’t leave, and he knows I didn’t.”

“But neither of you knows about Ian?”

“Well… not specifically. He wasn’t with us, of course. But we didn’t hear anything.”

“And would you say you were… real tired or sleeping lightly?”

Hannah fidgeted a moment, as if struggling for the rightanswer. Finally she said,

“I suppose by nearly morning, totally zonked.”

“Okay.” Cam pretended that settled it, though she marked
it in her mind as evidence of innocence for two, but not the third—not by any means, especially if the two had been up most of the night in extracurricular activities. They were probably down for the count. “And this morning… what did you mean about Ian acting strange?”

“I didn’t… I mean… I think it’s because of Annie. He’s just really jumpy.”

Ian made both Annie and her irritable, so it was fair they returned the favor; still, she hoped his jumpy behavior was evidence of guilt and that she’d find more of it. She went on to ask a little about each of the
Garden Delights
team.

Hannah had worked with Tom from the start, about nine months, but she hadn’t known Ian for long, and had never traveled with him, so she couldn’t say whether his current behavior was normal for him.

“It’s not very professional. He wouldn’t have a respected position at a prestigious magazine if he flew off the handle so easily all the time.”

Cam internally agreed, though she was not above thinking Ian might just be a jerk who normally hid it better. “That first night at the party—when Jean-Jacques and Ian argued—do you have any idea what that might have been about?”

“Just a clash of egos as far as anything we saw. Tom asked Ian later and he claimed he’d never met the guy before, so it wasn’t some old argument.”

Rob came through the house then, dripping slightly.

“Cam, how do you want me to get the food in without drowning it?”

“I’ll ask Mr. Patrick if maybe you can pull into the garage.”

He gave a thumbs-up and left, assuming it would be handled, so Cam pointed out to Hannah which tables would need to be cleared for the food, then excused herself to find one of the Patricks.

She found Evangeline first, and Evangeline happily opened the middle bay of the garage. It was a newer addition tastefully added to the side of the house, so it didn’t draw from the historic ambiance. All the bays held cars, but
the middle car was a sports car, small enough that it allowed Rob to back most of the way in behind it, though the nose of the Jeep was still being pummeled by rain.

Cam and Rob unloaded the takeout onto a cart Evangeline had parked just inside the house. Cam decided it was time to brave her theory.

“You’ve heard Ian is saying Annie did this?”

Rob looked grim. “Jake is barking up that tree, too, at the moment.”

“You’re kidding! Just because he’s a two-timing—”

“He’s not—it was his sister and nephew who Annie saw him with, and Annie’s reaction was pretty darned bizarre… dumping garbage at his house?”

“One bag,” Cam said defensively, though she knew he was right. It was a strange thing to do.

Sister.
That made sense, actually. And it also made Annie look pretty bad, even if the damage wasn’t permanent. She clearly hadn’t let Jake explain.

“You’re sure?”

“That it’s his sister? He showed me a picture from when they were kids. I believe him.”

“But now he thinks Annie—”

“Is a nut. Look, I won’t let him go that route for long, because I know Annie. She went off half-cocked—a temporary nut, not a permanent nut. I get it. So he wants to think about it for a while. Seems fair, but I’ll pull him back.”

She loved him for that. An earlier boyfriend had been jealous of all her friends, but Rob really liked Annie. His loyalty was important.

“Why didn’t you major in psychology?”

“I minored in it, in case you forgot.”

“Right.”

She had forgotten his minor, and almost forgotten her point, but as they finally moved the loaded cart inside, she remembered.

“Anyway, I think Ian is trying so hard to make it look like Annie did it, because it’s really him. He’s been acting
suspicious.” It was an exaggeration, but she felt it was warranted.

“Hey, I’ve got something else.” Rob got closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You might like this, too—not as well as Ian as killer, but at least it isn’t Nick or Annie.”

Cam raised an eyebrow. This sounded like it might be a good news, bad news thing. “What?”

“Jake got a copy of Jean-Jacques’s financial stuff—he was supposed to inherit a bunch of money—hadn’t come yet, but listen, the executor on the money is Samantha.”

“Samantha already has a bunch of money—she wouldn’t kill him over money.”

“Cam, having money isn’t an indication somebody doesn’t want more—or maybe she just felt he didn’t deserve it.”

“Samantha isn’t like that—she’s not judgmental like that.”

“Think about Jean-Jacques.”

“He was her family! She wouldn’t kill her family for something petty like that.”

“Fine, we’re back to Nick then.”

“We are not back to Nick!” Cam felt her face grow hot. Part of her regretted asking Rob to come.

“Do you two need any help?” The interruption startled Cam, and she nearly ran into a wall with the cart. She hadn’t noticed until now how much their voices had risen.

Joseph stood in front of them expectantly. She hoped he hadn’t heard the specifics of their conversation; she did not care so much if he’d heard her accusations about Ian, but the whispers against Samantha were another story. That would be bad. Samantha would learn of it, and Cam hated that thought.

“Oh, no thank you—we have it,” she said.

“Rob, would you like a drink when you’re done? Neil asked me to host the early arrivals, as he’s still getting ready.”

“I’d love a beer, if it’s no trouble.”

“A beer it is. I will bring it up to the drawing room.”

Rob looked at Cam, wide-eyed. She shrugged, trying to convince herself it didn’t matter, and at the moment, she was more annoyed at Rob than worried about what Joseph might have overheard. Besides, there was no helping it now—hopefully he wouldn’t tell anyone, but if he did, he did.

“I didn’t see the brownies,” Cam pointed out as Joseph left them in the corridor.