The Azalea Assault

by Alyse Carlson

  “There are two bodies and a money trail.”

  “So you claim Nick killed Jean-Jacques and Annie killed Ian? Un-freaking-believable!” She clicked her phone shut, totally annoyed it wasn’t a landline she could slam down.

  “You look ticked. Not at me, I hope?” Rob handed her a bag from Subway as if it were a peace offering.

  Cam growled and then apologized. “No, not at the moment. I found some good evidence for a different suspect and Jake won’t even look at it!”

  She led him through her apartment and out the back door, where a blanket had been laid under a blooming crab apple.

  “It’s not you; he’s annoyed the evidence is leading him on a wild-goose chase.”

  “So he’s not interested in new information? Seriously?”

  Rob described Jake ranting about Annie’s record and feeling guilty about not taking Ian’s accusations seriously.

  “I mean, the guy wound up dead. Jake feels like he killed him by not listening.”

  “But Annie didn’t do it. I can’t believe he even looked her up over dumping a stupid garbage bag! Seems like an abuse of his position to me.”

  “I agree, but… there was a threatening note at the servant’s house. It sounded like Annie wrote it… something like, ‘Lay off or you’ll be sorry.’”

  She turned and stared. “So someone really is trying to frame Annie?”

  Rob nodded grimly. She was glad to see he was on her side this time.

  “It was done on computer, not handwritten. If we could find the printer it was printed on… Jake said it was a dot matrix. You don’t see those too often anymore.”

  “Certainly not hooked to Annie’s computer; her stuff is high-end,” Cam mumbled. “You know… Evangeline suggested I look for who might want to frame Annie. Sounds pretty smart to me. Especially with this note thing.”

  “With the stuff you found, it sounds like maybe Evangeline would have a reason to frame her.”

  “Why, then, would she suggest something that would implicate herself? Still, it is a more likely scenario than Nick framing Annie from jail.”

  Rob frowned. “I guess you have a point there, but what if the two murders aren’t related? Jake thinks Nick was hired.”

  “By whom?” This was the first Cam had heard as to what a money trail meant.

  “I don’t know, but that’s why they’re holding him as long as they can. I think they hope he will give up the person who hired him.”

  Cam thought it sounded like a lot of excuses. “Rob, do you want to hear my new evidence or not?”

  His eyes popped open as if he’d forgotten all about the point that had started their conversation.

  “Of course I do. Shoot.”

  “Well first, I learned from Giselle this morning that Jean-Jacques came to the door and rang the bell the morning he died.”

  Rob nodded.

  “You knew that?”

  “Yeah, then he drove away, but only far enough to park and walk back.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry—it sort of got dropped when they found all the connections to Nick. There was an address in the car, too.”

  “Address?”

  “Little house somewhere in the Blue Mountains—Patricks own it.”

  Cam growled. She couldn’t believe she’d been so desperate for non-Nick evidence and Rob had withheld this. “So there maybe was an affair or something?” she shouted.

  “No, Cam—it didn’t pan out. The caretaker up there says nobody has been there for years. Jake thinks Mr. Patrick might have been helping Samantha out by offering Jean-Jacques a place to stay that was free, but out of her hair.”

  “But nobody’s asked them? After Mr. Patrick was so mad?”

  “Look, you’re right—especially after the murder last night—Nick isn’t the killer, so they should look into it again. I’ll remind Jake.”

  “I thought this was your investigation, too.” Cam felt a little better after reading Rob the riot act. She then explained about the money exchange between Ian and Benny that she’d seen in Annie’s photos as well as about the box of cash Hannah had showed her, and began describing all the angles that had blossomed as a result.

  Rob interrupted, which annoyed her, until she realized his input was useful.

  “What is money ever exchanged over? Porn is one, but you’re right, those pictures don’t sound much like porn—tabloid stuff maybe, but there’s not much money in that unless the person is a big celebrity or cheating on their spouse. Then there’s drugs, gambling, crime…”

  “So if we can connect Benny to one, that might be it. And there’s that camera from the greenhouse…”

  “With his fingerprints.”

  “His? Are you sure?”

  Rob looked guilty. “I think that was secret.”

  “I’m not doing a press release. I just wish Jake would get over himself.”

  “I know, but they don’t want anyone to know because they hope someone might trip up.”

  “I won’t tell! You could trust me a little bit—that would help, too.” She felt her neck heat up and knew her face would soon be red. Not her most attractive look. She had to make an effort to calm herself, because it wasn’t really Rob she was mad at anymore.

  “Do you have anyone you could talk to? About Benny, I mean…” Rob asked.

  “You forgot love.”

  “What?”

  “As a motive.”

  Rob rolled his eyes. “Didn’t sound to me like Ian loved anyone but himself. And how could paying Benny be about love?”

  “That’s true. Maybe Benny was selling something. Ian sure had a lot of cash, though—he had to be planning something bigger. Maybe that money to Benny was a down payment for something.”

  “Like?” Rob said.

  “I’m going back to talk to Samantha again after I drop off this disc to Jake. I’ve already talked to Evangeline enough today, but Samantha had to cut me short. Plus, there were a few pictures I wanted to ask her about. Samantha and Evangeline are the only ones I feel comfortable with—picking their brains and all.”

  Cam half expected Rob to make a zombie gesture. Brain picking usually got that—a grunt and a grab, stiff-armed and monster-mouthed. Rob hated the term. In fact, he hated most slang and mocked it where possible, but he stayed serious, concerned, even.

  “Two women who might be suspects, and there’s something fishy about that tea with sleeping pills. Be careful.”

  “Fishy? Like what?”

  “I don’t know yet. Jake just said forensics wanted to do a bunch more tests.”

  Cam pondered that, but she didn’t want Rob to worry. “I’m always careful. I know how to talk to Samantha and Evangeline, trust me. Besides, I don’t think Evangeline is really a suspect.”

  “Why not?”

  Cam couldn’t answer. She hadn’t revealed even a third of what she’d learned about Nick from Evangeline. She didn’t want Jake hearing it if it wasn’t necessary and wasn’t sure if Rob might spill it in trade if she told him. Besides, Rob would take it the wrong way—as evidence of Nick’s guilt. And truthfully, Evangeline’s support of Nick had earned her a lot of slack in Cam’s estimation, even if there was evidence giving Evangeline a pretty strong motive.

  Rob eyed her sternly. “Because she’s nice? It’s an old trick, Cam. Just be careful.”

  She rolled her eyes and opened the door for him, not wanting to admit to the possibility she would need caution.

  “Meet me for supper, okay? So I know you’re fine? Six?”

  Cam agreed and then went inside to examine the pictures again. She searched the Internet for information on azalea symbolism while she was at it—“fragile passion” seemed the only potentially relevant meaning she found, but at least she was fully armed before handing the disc and summary over to Jake.

  Cam drove toward downtown, not feeling overly optimistic about Jake after their morning conversation. His disinterest in the pictures of Evangeline had
been discouraging, so she felt a lot of weight resting on the exchanged money angle.

  When she got to the station, she was irritated but not surprised to find Jake had found some other priority, so she wrote him a note and left the CD with pictures and her azalea summary for him. The poor deputy she scowled at looked afraid, but she knew that wouldn’t get her anywhere with Jake.

  At Samantha’s house, Cam rang the bell, but nobody answered. There had been plenty of time for Samantha to return from her lunch. It was past three. Cam knew, however, Samantha spent a lot of time in her yard, so she walked around the side of the house.

  Instead of Samantha, she found Joseph, glove-clad and pruning.

  “Hi, Joseph! Where’s Samantha? I would have thought you’d be with her.”

  “She went back into town to buy some line. One of her climbing roses needs some therapy after that storm. I let her know at lunch.” That seemed odd, as Samantha was the one who had invited her to come back, and Cam wondered if Samantha had been disingenuous, but she decided to accept it as just a timing flaw.

  “So you’re helping her get it sorted again?”

  “Trying. It’s a big yard for just Samantha.”

  “Henry and Benny help, don’t they?”

  “Oh, they do, but I like to help, too.”

  “Do you ever work with them? Henry and Benny, I mean.”

  “On occasion, mostly during planting season. Why?”

  “Ever see Benny… acting funny?”

  “Oh, Cam, I find almost everything young people do funny, and I don’t mean amusing.” He paused awkwardly. “Not you, of course, but…”

  Cam tried to smile reassuringly. She knew what he meant because she knew how he was. He was prim and old-fashioned. She needed to get to her point.

  “I mean… suspicious?”

  He stared at her for a moment, as if trying to read her intent. “I guess, maybe. I usually see him lurking near greenhouse one at the Patricks’.”

  “Lurking?”

  “Lurking might be wrong. He is just there a lot. I thought maybe he fancied the winter plants—a little dark and morose? Isn’t that what young people like?”

  Gears turned in Cam’s mind. The camera had been found in the “Winter” greenhouse. And Benny’s prints were on the camera. Perhaps the greenhouse had a view of the hot tub or something. “I suppose some young people might. I’ve always liked spring myself. Did you ever see him in there with a camera?”

  “Benny? Why would Benny be photographing… wait… camera?” Joseph turned and stared at Cam, shocked at the idea.

  “Is there something else strange about a camera? Are you thinking of Jean-Jacques, maybe?” Cam tried to draw out what Joseph had found so odd.

  “Well, that’s who I’d have expected to be connected to any questions about cameras.”

  “Was Jean-Jacques taking pictures here?”

  “Hardly! Not a one! In spite of my showing off Samantha’s gorgeous garden. I even asked him, and he said gardens didn’t interest him. It’s unfathomable, really, what with her Chionodoxa gigantea and the way she’s coaxed it to keep blooming into April… in zone seven!”

  Cam thought Joseph had entirely missed her point about the strange pictures at the Patricks’. She needed to get him back on topic.

  “Do you think… um… Jean-Jacques was inappropriate with Evangeline?”

  Joseph looked confused by the question. “I can’t say I noticed one way or the other. I suppose they seemed friendly.”

  “You don’t feel a little protective of Evangeline, too?”

  “Oh, Evangeline has Neil! She doesn’t need me.”

  Cam tried to assimilate what she’d just learned from Joseph. He seemed very protective of Samantha. Had he been angry at the way Jean-Jacques had taken advantage of her financially? Maybe, although Cam had a very hard time picturing Joseph having enough initiative to commit murder. The protective-admirer angle also gave an additional motive for Benny, whose crush on Evangeline might have led him to act out over Jean-Jacques’s attentions to her. And after what Cam had learned recently about Mr. Patrick’s outrage at Jean-Jacques the morning of the murder, perhaps he’d had a protection motive as well.

  It was a tragedy, really, if Benny had done this. Cam felt sure if he had, he wasn’t really able to understand right from wrong… Then again, maybe Benny’s crush on Evangeline hadn’t been the motive after all. Maybe Benny had seen Ian kill Jean-Jacques and then tried to blackmail Ian. That would explain the money changing hands!

  “Cam?” Joseph’s voice startled her out of her musings.

  “Sorry, Joseph. I haven’t had enough sleep lately. I’m just daydreaming.”

  She didn’t want Joseph to think she was losing it. She went on to her next loose end.

  “You wouldn’t know who might have something against Annie, would you?”

  “Well, I am the one who got poisoned!” Joseph sputtered.

  “Annie didn’t do that. I’m hoping some of the pictures might show who did, if anybody. You know, Barney’s reaction to the brownies had nothing to do with poison; chocolate is toxic to dogs.” She held her tongue that she was sure he’d been unwell before the brownies were served. There was no need to be confrontational.

  “Pictures?”

  Cam stared. She’d been sure he’d be more interested in the poison.

  “Annie took pictures at the party all night,” she replied.

  “Oh, yes. I hope they help.”

  “I’m sure the police will tell us.”

  “Let’s hope so.” He smiled. “I hear Samantha now!”

  He seemed awfully excited, considering his next suggestion was that Cam go in and talk to Samantha on her own. He wanted to keep pruning. She knew social interactions were a strain on him, and he was probably just tired of being so social, but he could be terribly abrupt.

  She left him to his bushes.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Cam! What a nice surprise!”

  “Hi, Samantha.” Cam frowned. She was under the impression she’d been expected. As she climbed the stairs from the lower level, however, she smiled, truly happy to see Samantha again, largely because she felt ready to burst.

  Samantha wasn’t at all like Cam’s mother, but she seemed to care in a maternal way, and at the moment, that was just what Cam needed, along with a little sanity.

  “It’s almost five. Gin and tonic?” No, nothing like her mother at all.

  “I’d love one. Weak, though. I have Annie’s car.” She glanced at her watch. Ten after four really wasn’t almost five, but who was counting?

  Samantha’s version of a weak gin and tonic was on the medium-strong side to Cam, but she thought one wouldn’t hurt.

  Samantha excused herself then, to double-check that Joseph’s feathers weren’t ruffled and take him the twine she’d just bought.

  Cam picked up her drink and wandered, looking at Samantha’s art and souvenirs from her travels. There were a few tasteful masks and drums, along with paintings and baskets, all of which Cam thought were probably from Africa. She lifted the lid of what she thought was an Egyptian jar, if the hieroglyphs were any indication. Inside she found a memory card. She frowned, but the chance of it being the missing memory card was very slim.

  Samantha returned with some water crackers, a wedge of Brie, and a small dish of roe.

  “Caviar!”

  “I know. We should drink vodka, which I am embarrassingly low on. Joseph won’t eat caviar with me, though, and I can’t afford to feed a big party, so indulge me.”

  Cam thought Samantha could afford it, but it would be pretentious for a large affair, so she didn’t argue. She was too curious not to try it, at any rate. She put some on a corner of cracker and took a bite, then squealed.

  “It’s so salty!”

  Samantha’s smile grew. “You’ve never had it before?”

  Cam shook her head as she’d filled her mouth with gin and tonic to balance the flavor.

  “Oh, I adore
it… about three times a year. It’s too much for a frequent snack, but I’m just so delighted Joseph didn’t scare you off this morning. I was worried he had.”

  “Why?” The gin, almost gone from her glass far more quickly than she’d intended, had made her blurt the thought she normally would have filtered.

  Samantha seemed to misunderstand her question. “It reminds me a little of when Evangeline used to come by…” She trailed off, then seemed to skip ahead. “She’s married now and does it so seldom anymore. I guess I like having a”—Cam prepared to hear the word “daughter” or “protégée” but instead got—“younger sister of sorts. My own sister hasn’t talked to me in a long time, even with her ex-husband’s recent passing.”

  Cam thought Samantha must have had wine for lunch. She normally wasn’t quite so forthcoming.

  “Were they Jean-Jacques’s parents?”

  Samantha nodded sadly. “Margo, Johnnie’s sister, was quite distraught—she was closer to her dad than I knew—and that falling out at the end.” Samantha’s face looked distant for a moment. “My sister and I fell out over Johnnie’s discipline. Margaret, my sister, was a bit of a con artist, and he picked up the trait. In college Johnnie tried to convince me to pay his tuition—cash. His father, I learned recently, was willing to pay for all of it, though only directly to the university. I thought he was out of the picture, but he didn’t want to be. I’m convinced to this day Johnnie and Margaret were just trying to get money from me.”

  “But… I thought Jean-Jacques owed you a lot.” After she’d said it, she hoped it wasn’t offensive, but Samantha took it in stride.

  “He did. I paid directly to the school for a one-year photography course, not a cheap one! And I bought his equipment, very good equipment. I wanted him to have a vocation.”

  “He did well with it.”

  Samantha took a rather large drink and savored it in her mouth a moment before continuing.

  “I suspect the field is conducive to the con. Tell some tall tales to get in somewhere impressive, then suddenly you actually get some impressive shots. Pretend you are an event photographer, suddenly you’ve met the important people. I know he had real talent—that was obvious—but his talent with the con helped him as much as his photography skill.”