Cam stifled a snort and ignored the jab. It was just Annie being a pill. “Between the print and web circulation, yes.”
Annie had bitten the inside of her cheek and was looking at each of them suspiciously. Cam could see she was torn, and loved this part.
“You could do a couple arty ones, in addition to the regular fabulous ones you do,” Cam offered.
Annie frowned more deeply. Cam knew her best friend well enough to know she was irritated she was yielding. She didn’t want to want to, but she did want to. The temptation of a huge audience was too much.
“And so this shoot involves what?”
“Three days, probably thirty locations within the Patricks’ gardens, but you know better than I do how many shots that means.”
“All outdoor?”
“Outdoors and the greenhouses.”
Annie nodded, calculating lighting, then scrunched her face. Cam knew Annie was about to bring up the magazine crew led by the giant bonehead, so she diverted.
“And you can get Daddy better than anybody else.”
“Your dad?”
“He built the trellis, remember?”
Recognition crossed Annie’s face and she scowled. Cam thought she had her.
“The terms are generous,” Cam said. “Jean-Jacques cost a fortune, so I’m sure you’d clear more in three days than you do in three weeks at the bakery.”
“Fine. Because I like your dad. Not because I like you, because at the moment I’m mad at you!”
The waitress had just brought the pitcher of amber beer, its hoppy odor wafting at them as she set it down. Annie poured a pint, drinking half in one long draught, then covered her mouth and burped.
She giggled. “Sorry. I was distraught for a minute there.”
“You’re better now?” Jake asked cautiously.
“I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Here you are investigating a murder, and I’m upset because someone wants to pay me to take pictures.”
“Yes, well… I signed on for my job,” Jake said.
“Traitor,” Cam mumbled.
Rob and Jake laughed.
“Okay, fine. We’ve all had a good laugh,” Annie spurted, but her humor was back. “So who dunnit? You’ve solved it, right?”
“Hardly.”
“Well hurry! Cam’s job hangs in the balance!”
Cam looked at Annie, knowing this was the first phase of revenge.
“So what have we learned?” Cam asked diplomatically.
“Two sets of prints on the weapon, neither a match with our files, but the ones we took today aren’t in the system yet.”
“Well, then they can’t be Nick’s, can they?” Cam said.
“Rob put his hand on hers, but it was patronizing, so she pulled hers away.
Jake just ignored her and went on. “Nothing on the victim but wallet and keys to a car registered to… wait, I shouldn’t tell you this…” Jake stopped himself.
“Why not?”
“It’s part of the investigation.”
Annie scooted around, nearly on top of Jake. Cam was pretty sure her hand was on his thigh.
“Please.” She batted her eyelashes.
It was a teasing flirt, not an outrageous come-on, but Jake still seemed moved.
“Fine. You’ll hear tomorrow anyway. It was a car registered to Samantha Hollister.”
This only seemed to be news to Annie, who, when she saw Cam and Rob nod together, frowned at having been left out of the loop.
“Some friends you are,” she muttered. Jake went on. Cam thought it was to distract Annie.
“My interview with Ms. Hollister isn’t until tomorrow morning, so I have no idea what it means,” Jake said, his head lowered uncomfortably.
“Did they ever narrow the time of death any further?” Cam asked.
“Between six thirty and seven thirty, according to the coroner.”
“Holy crap! He was being murdered while I was picking up my pan?” Annie asked.
“You were there this morning?” Jake asked.
“Yes. I’d left my best pan and had a lot to do today, so I needed it. I picked it up around six forty. I could tell something was weird. When Giselle opened the door, she looked ready to kiss me.”
Jake frowned, and Cam thought a subject change was in order.
“Did he fall out that window?”
“Cam, I don’t think—…”
“Come on, Jake.”
“If he did, he was dead already. There wasn’t any bruising consistent with a fall like that.”
“But they don’t know?”
“A lot of stuff they can’t tell.”
Cam acted more irritable about this than she felt. In reality she hoped she was distracting them from Samantha and Annie. Nobody took the bait, and Annie seemed intent on encouraging Cam to just drink a little more so she’d calm down.
“Was the car at the scene?” Annie asked as she poured Cam some of her heavier beer.
Cam stepped on her foot, but Annie was still annoyed enough with Cam to ignore it. She pinched Cam’s leg under the table, and soon there was an almost silent pinching war going on; the men watched in amusement.
“Close enough. He parked a few houses away, maybe just to be considerate of residents.”
“Not likely,” Cam and Annie chorused.
Jake looked back and forth, unused to mind-melding friends.
“So you think two houses down is hiding, rather than considerate?”
Annie and Cam nodded in unison, suddenly back on the same page, but it was Cam who elaborated.
“Jean-Jacques didn’t know the definition of ‘considerate.’ He was certainly no practitioner.”
“That means he probably wasn’t just making an early start to his workday, either.”
“I’d gotten the impression, and Ian basically confirmed it last night, that Jean-Jacques always acted too big for his britches and pushed for a ten-to-three schedule, if not forced to do otherwise. I know I wasn’t expecting him until nine. In fact, I expected him to be late,” Cam said. “It’s possible Ian asked him to show up early—we talked about the view at sunrise and hoped to get a shot, but Ian would have to tell you whether or not that came up when they talked. I really doubt it, as Ian struck me as a giant wuss.”
“Wuss, yes, but sunrise? That’s awfully early,” Annie said.
Cam looked at Annie in disbelief. “Says the woman who bakes for a living?”
“Well, I just thought later hours might be a perk of the job.”
Cam rolled her eyes that Annie was already complaining about hours. “We’ll look at the weather when we get home, pick a day, and the other two you can sleep until eight.”
“Woo-hoo!” Annie said with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Cam?” Rob looked timid again, which meant bad news. “A front comes in tomorrow night. I don’t know how long it will stay.”
Sometimes she hated that he paid attention to the news. A little oblivion could do a lot for her mental health.
“Great—speed photography tomorrow outside, so we can take our time in the greenhouses.”
“At least part of it was planned for the greenhouses,” Annie offered.
“That’s true.”
“Well, if I might have to start first thing, I need to make sure cupcakes are covered.” Annie pushed at Jake to let her out of the booth and left the table with her cell phone.
“So, Cam…”
Cam turned to look at Jake.
“A couple of these personalities don’t quite make sense. I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“I can try. A lot of them don’t make sense to me, either.”
Rob ran his hand up her thigh in appreciation. She appreciated back, but would have preferred not to be interviewed.
“Benny Larsson?”
Cam sighed. “Henry Larsson, Benny’s dad, is chief gardener—Master Gardener in fact, an earned title, not easy to come by.” She leaned in. “Benny, I just found out today,
is officially, um… challenged? Learning disorder or something…”
“Do you know why he and Jean-Jacques might have gambling debts with the same bookie?”
Cam paused, taken aback. She couldn’t imagine any scenario where that would be true, or even how Jake would have learned it.
“Well, I wouldn’t think it would be wise for… I imagine the bookie is taking advantage of Benny. Is he local?”
Jake nodded, but that only brought up a more confusing point, which Cam was eager to point out.
“I guess the bigger question is what Jean-Jacques was doing there, with the local bookie, I mean. He’s not local. Why would a local bookie lend him money? Though I don’t think you should be above pressing them about this boy with the disability!”
“‘Boy’ is a little bit of an exaggeration. Benny is twenty-eight. And I’m going to ignore the fact you seem to know how bookies work. Benny’s disability isn’t obvious, really. I mean, he was a little slow, but I thought it might be nerves.”
“Any idiot gets how bookies work. I watch movies. And as for Benny… it doesn’t come across as a disability—you’re right. He just seems… inappropriate.”
“Which a lot of perfectly capable people do. Look at Rob over there.”
Cam snorted, choking on the drink she’d just taken.
“Low, man.” Rob took a sip of his beer and acted disinterested.
Jake’s grin was sheepish and timed perfectly for Annie’s return.
“What did I miss?” Annie asked, sliding in next to Jake.
Cam couldn’t breathe; she was laughing so hard. She fell over onto Rob’s lap.
“It isn’t that funny,” Rob grumbled.
“In the middle of a police interview it was.”
“Whoa. Police interview?”
“Just about some of the people who… seem off.”
“Oh, well, I see where Rob fits there,” Annie said dryly.
“What is this, pick on Rob night?”
“No, this is only practice for pick on Rob night,” Cam said, kissing Rob’s cheek sweetly.
Rob muttered for a minute, then kissed her back more intensely than was probably appropriate at a table with other people.
When Cam came out of the home-run kiss she slapped the table, took a swig of her beer and said, “Okay! Who’s next?”
“Maybe tomorrow would be better,” Jake suggested, looking from Cam to Rob with concern.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Cam,” Rob asked quietly, “did you eat today?” He gazed at her with concern. “You didn’t, did you?”
Cam slapped her hand to her mouth, realizing it was an uncoordinated gesture. “No! I tried, but I never got back to it. It was his fault.” She pointed at Jake.
Rob nodded to Annie, who ran to the bar to order a snack.
“We’ll do it tomorrow, okay, Cam? What time is good?” Jake asked.
It seemed to require a lot of effort to remember, but finally Cam told Jake she was flexible from ten until about one.
“I’ll come to La Fontaine to talk to you. You’ll be at the Patricks’?”
Cam nodded, only partially catching it.
“Jake is meeting Cam at ten tomorrow. Will you remind her?” Rob asked Annie as she returned and sat back down.
Cam frowned, irritated at being babysat, but she forgot it quickly, as Annie went into rare form.
“As long as Jake promises to dance like I like.” She eyed Jake, who blushed but answered.
“Name the time.”
Annie grinned. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?”
“Here?”
“Is this dance music? Of course not.” Annie pulled Jake out of the booth, then took his arm, whispering to him as they left. Cam thought it was probably about sticking Rob with the bill.
Rob winked at them as they left. Cam observed it through her too-little-food haze, amused Rob still hadn’t gotten the joke, though she knew he probably would have offered to pay anyway, since Jake had been helping him. Then she realized she had lost some detail.
“Where are they going?”
“Annie is going to make him dance like she likes,” Rob said cautiously.
Cam snorted again. “Oh, that boy won’t know what hit him.”
“Why? How does she like to dance?”
“I can’t tell you, or then I’d have to kill you!” She broke into giggles and fell onto his lap again.
“You’re drunk.”
“Maybe.”
The waitress delivered the quesadilla Annie had ordered, and Rob made sure the majority of it got into Cam. After that she felt a little more human, but infinitely more sleepy, so Rob drove her home.
Merengue music floated from Annie’s upstairs window.
“That,” Cam said, glancing upward, “is how Annie likes to dance.”
“Oh.” Rob stared at the dimly lit window. “Maybe we should dance like that.”
“Sure,” she said, but as Rob got her inside, he had to help her into pajamas and seemed to give up on the idea of dancing.
She rallied enough to brush her teeth, in spite of a bit of vertigo. She never skipped toothbrushing, but that was as much as she remembered.
CHAPTER 6
The alarm went off at five the next morning, and when Cam reached for snooze, she found her clock had been moved across the room. Normally it sat on the table by her bed, and even before it registered that her head hurt, she identified it as foul play.
“Freaking Annie,” she muttered, sliding out of bed and running her tongue over the apparent socks on her teeth.
She had to move a note that had been propped in front of the alarm clock to turn it off. It read, “Possibly the only day for sunrise shots. We leave in an hour.” She cursed at the clock as if it would pass the message on to Annie.
Cam brushed her teeth, showered, and dressed, debating for too long over her contacts but finally forcing them in. Then she ate a piece of peanut butter toast, knowing it would help. By the time she heard Annie barreling down the stairs, she was alert, for the most part, and over her irritation.
“Give me a hand with the stuff?” Annie asked.
The camera equipment was too fragile for the dumbwaiter, and foot delivery would have taken Annie about four trips. It was more reasonable for the two of them to do it.
“You need more drinking practice,” Annie said as they carried the second load down.
“And you need to hide it better when you get lucky,” Cam scowled, finally finding a home for her repressed annoyance.
“Luck nothing. That, my friend, is art.”
Cam couldn’t help herself. She laughed, then winced.
“Besides, I drink.”
Annie made an “L” shape with her thumb and forefinger on her forehead. “You’re the world’s biggest lightweight.”
“Only when I don’t eat.”
“And what kind of real person doesn’t eat for, what… ten hours?”
Cam looked away. She hated it when Annie had a point. Food just wasn’t one of her biggest priorities, especially when she was busy.
“Well, if we’re doing this little project together, I’m going to make sure you eat. I need you in drinking shape!”
“Fine.”
They drove in relative silence and then pulled up to the Patricks’. Cam let Giselle know they were taking some shots from the balcony, and Giselle insisted they come through the house instead of carrying all the equipment around. As she led them through, she kept muttering about the “ugly business” at the side of the house, a fact Cam had somehow willed herself to forget, though it made her glad they were going through instead of around. Cam looked more closely at Giselle and realized she looked like she hadn’t slept well. She was pale and disheveled, when normally she was tidy and proper.
When they reached the balcony and Giselle left them, Annie began to set up. Cam, feeling useless, suggested she fetch the magazine crew.
“Can you wait? I have an hour, maybe, of sho
ts here. Please don’t subject me to Ian yet.”
“Yeah, why does he think he knows you?”
“He’s a deluded idiot?” Annie said as she fixed the legs of her tripod into place, jiggling them slightly to make sure they held tight. Annie didn’t look at Cam, but given her concentration, that didn’t seem unusual.
“You need anything?”
“Coffee?” Annie asked.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“With cream or half-and-half, unless these folks are insane like you.” Annie had shot a few preliminary pictures already. She still wasn’t looking at Cam, but Cam knew now she was avoiding Cam’s eye roll.
Cam found Giselle and made her request. In minutes she was loaded with a tray that included a coffee thermos, cream, sugar, and packets of fat-free creamer. For some reason it irritated Cam that Giselle knew her reputation where coffee was concerned.
She poured Annie her coffee, then sipped her own.
“This really is a magnificent view,” Annie admitted as she continued shooting.
Cam sat back on a chair and vowed not to be hungover the next day. That was the only flaw in the current setting: the dull throb that kept threatening to turn into a headache. She should enjoy working with Annie, and she decided she would if it killed her—though that unfortunate thought caused another stabbing sensation in her forehead, as it reminded her of the very flaw she was trying to suppress.
After about half an hour Annie finally pulled away from her camera for more than just a drag of coffee. Three rolls of film had been deposited in her bag, and she’d taken many more shots with her digital camera.
“So what all do we need to get today? This bird’s-eye view ought to help us map the order.”
“You sound… organized.”
“Camellia Erin Harris, artistry and organization are not mutually exclusive!”
“I know, I know. I’ve just never seen it before. No need to bite my head off.”
Annie head-butted Cam in the shoulder to show she was teasing, then held out her hand expectantly.
Cam scrunched her eyes against the pain this caused her head, then looked at Annie’s hand.
“What?”
“While art and organization don’t have to be mutually exclusive, I happen to know I don’t have to be organized, because you are. Where is your list?”
The Azalea Assault Page 7
