Rob was by her side, gripping her hand and rubbing her shoulders as necessary. She was grateful. Annie had declared plainly that she’d “had enough of those nuts,” so Cam had worried she’d have to come alone.
She sat respectfully and listened, eyes scanning, but trying not to be too obvious. Most of the audience seemed to be part of Samantha’s social network, but Samantha sat off to a side next to a poised woman with auburn curls. The woman appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, and Cam thought it was most likely Margo, Jean-Jacques’s sister.
Until she spotted Margo, Cam had planned to leave as soon as she’d paid her respects to Samantha, but now she felt that a few more puzzle pieces were begging to be slid into place. Samantha was clearly very fond of Margo. This woman seemed like she might be able to shed some light on where exactly those pieces fit.
Cam was thankful the service was not overly long and didn’t dwell on any unbelievable saintly traits, because Cam knew better. Jean-Jacques was a user and a con artist. He’d not merited any real caring that she could tell.
Halfway through, another woman—about Samantha’s age, but employing far more showgirl techniques with her makeup—arrived and stumbled up to the front of the church, throwing her body over the coffin and weeping. Cam quickly made the connection: the distraught woman was Margaret, Margo and Jean-Jacques’s mother.
Margo rose, helped her mother to stand up, and returned to the pew with her.
The older woman’s red hair was a shade too bright, making her daughter’s look dull, and she continued sobbing loudly.
After the service, Cam approached Margo.
“Can I help you? I mean… I’m sorry; my name is Cam. I work with the Garden Society. I—”
“You figured out who killed my brother—thank you.”
“Yes. I mean, though… with your mother.”
“Oh, that’s just Mother—ever the actress, looking for a few tears on her behalf and hoping somebody is carrying a flask to slip her a shot of bourbon.”
“Oh dear. Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
Cam was uncomfortable in the silence, so she looked for a safer topic.
“Samantha thinks quite a lot of you.”
“Oh, she’s wonderful! She’s always been good to me. In fact”—Margo leaned in to whisper—“I almost worried she’d been the killer, after what Johnnie did to me!”
“What did he do?” Cam knew some portion of this but hoped Margo would share more.
“He embezzled a bunch of money from our dad, put it in my account, then blew the whistle. Dad was furious. Wouldn’t listen to reason, and he wrote me out of the will.”
“That’s horrible!”
“It was sort of Johnnie’s style—him and Mom.”
“Why would you think Samantha killed him over that?”
“Just silliness on my part. Timing, I guess. I called her the night before the murder. I was a wreck when I told her about the will and how it had happened. Then when Johnnie was dead, I worried even more what I might have set in motion. I’m so glad it wasn’t… you know…”
“I completely understand. The first person the police investigated was my brother-in-law. It’s horrible to consider a loved one doing such a thing.”
“Exactly. You know, Cam, you’ve made me feel so much better.”
Cam wondered, though, if Margo hadn’t had quite the opposite effect on her.
Outside the church, she approached Rob and announced matter-of-factly, “I think there’s something fishy.”
“Fishy, how?”
“Call Jake. I’ll call Annie. We need to put our heads together.” She walked away from him, pulling her cell phone out of her clutch purse.
They met at Martin’s again. It seemed to bode better for them than some of the other places they’d been.
“What’s this about, Cam?” Jake asked.
Cam felt Rob shrug next to her.
“Pieces that don’t fit.”
“It’s a closed case,” Jake said, but in response to her glare, frowned and said, “Like what?”
She relayed Margo’s story, then mentioned the different drugs used to sedate Samantha and the phrasing in Joseph’s conversations with Samantha. “Why would Joseph use something sloppy like ether when the sleeping pills had worked so well?”
Jake frowned. “Forensics thinks the sleeping pills were not drunk from the cup at all. There was no residue on the sides of the cup, so they’ve concluded that somebody added the drug to the dregs rather than to the full cup before it was drunk.”
“Shoot! I did give her that idea!”
When the others stared at her blankly, Cam elaborated. “Samantha wasn’t drugged at all! She needed an alibi, and I gave her the idea!”
“So you think Samantha did all this?” Annie asked, her nose wrinkled in disbelief.
“Not all. Listen. Let’s say you are a devoted aunt, and have a niece who is grateful and reciprocates your affection. And then a nephew who is a horrible ingrate.”
“Jean-Jacques,” Annie supplied, as if it weren’t obvious.
“You’re already having problems with the ingrate—in fact you have to basically blackmail him into doing something to pay you back. Then, on the night before this all starts, you get a letter that he’s inherited a lot of money and a sobbing phone call from the worthy niece about how her father was tricked into changing his will.”
“So she did do it,” Annie said.
“Stay with me. You learn he is also trying to scam money out of a friend, and you go to confront him.”
“And end up killing him,” Rob added.
“But then you panic. You call your lapdog, who comes to help with the body, but he’s seen—by Ian.”
Annie and Rob gasped. It was a detail they’d apparently missed through the margarita haze.
“So Joseph dumps the body, gets money to bribe Ian, Samantha feels guilty and pays him back, but then Joseph decides it’s his job to keep the focus off Samantha. He tries to accuse other people at first, then frame others because that isn’t enough—Rob, I bet he heard us at the party talking about Samantha and that’s why he tried to act like he’d been poisoned. But the fighting between Ian and Annie gave him the idea—he’d frame somebody solidly and kill the only witness all at once. It was a bonus that it would also frame the daughter of a man who’d caused him so much grief. Then Samantha would be safe. He finally even confessed for her.”
“Wow,” Rob said. “That’s devotion.”
“But why drug Samantha? What was that all about?” Annie asked.
“Maybe he expected some gratitude? That he would win her by saving her?” Cam suggested. “Maybe that was why that memory card was at her place, too—a present to prove his devotion.”
“But when it didn’t work,” Annie said, “ewwww.”
Jake chuckled.
Annie elbowed him since she had been the target of so much of Joseph’s nastiness.
“So what about Mr. Patrick?” Jake asked.
“Just what we guessed. He was tired of Jean-Jacques pestering Evangeline about money, so he was trying to bribe him to get rid of him once and for all. I bet he really was trying to help Samantha by offering Jean-Jacques a different place to stay.”
“Pretty impressive,” Rob said.
“What will you do?” Cam asked Jake.
“Looks like we reopen the case, provided I can find some evidence to support these details, but I’m willing to bet you’re right—there were several places the story was inconsistent, and this theory answers most of them. Good work, Cam. The killer almost got away with it.”
Cam tried not to cringe. This turn of events might just mean she was out of a job.
TO: Roanoke Tribune, Living Section
FROM: Roanoke Garden Society
RE: National Media Event: Tragedy Turned Around. Roanoke, VA
Two months ago a great tragedy nearly ruined Roanoke’s chances to display her floral glory to the nation via Gar
den Delights, America’s premier magazine for gardening enthusiasts. [Details on the tragedy and ensuing investigation can be found in the April 25 edition of the Roanoke Tribune.] Thanks to local law enforcement and the hard work of a few key individuals, the magazine feature will be released as scheduled this week.
Garden Delights magazine came to Roanoke in mid-April for a feature centering on La Fontaine, the famous gardens owned by Roanoke Garden Society founder Neil Patrick and his wife Evangeline, a former Miss Virginia.
The Patricks graciously opened their home to the magazine staff, only to have tragedy strike. World-famous photographer Jean-Jacques Georges, who spent summers in Roanoke as a boy, was killed before the shoot ever started. Shortly thereafter, Ian Ellsworth, photo editor for the magazine, was killed as well.
Thankfully, local photographer Annie Schulz agreed to replace Mr. Georges and with the assistance of the Garden Delights staff, successfully completed the photo shoot.
The Roanoke Garden Society extends its condolences to the families of Jean-Jacques Georges and Ian Ellsworth.
CONTACT: Camellia Harris
camharris@rgs.org
Turn the page for a preview of
Alyse Carlson’s next book in the Garden
Society Mysteries…
THE BEGONIA BRIBE
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!
TO: Roanoke Tribune
FROM: The Little Miss Begonia Pageant
RE: State Little Miss Begonia Pageant Finals to be held in Roanoke
The Virginia State Committee Advancing ‘Miss Pageants’ has chosen Roanoke for the state finals of the Little Miss Begonia Pageant this year. The pageant, a tradition since 1973, will be hosted by the Roanoke Garden Society and held at Elmwood Park. Offices at the newly renovated Patrick Henry Hotel will be used for event administration. Facilities at the Roanoke Library and the Roanoke Arts Commission have been reserved for staging, rehearsals, and inclement weather backup. During the last week of July, thirty finalists, between the ages of seven and ten, representing the ninety-five counties and forty independent cities in Virginia will compete. The winner of the Little Miss Begonia Pageant will participate in the Little Miss Cherry Blossom national competition in Denver, Colorado, in November.
Television coverage for the pageant will be provided by WONK television, and the competition will be judged by TV talk show host, Telly Stevens, local columnist, Barbara Mackay, and Clancy Huggins radio personality, all household names in Virginia. The Mistress of Ceremonies this year will be none other than Roanoke’s own Former Miss Virginia, Evangeline Patrick.
CONTACT: Camellia Harris
camharris@rgs.org
Twelve guests had grown to thirty faster than Cam could say “pretentious pageant,” and she found herself in the awkwardly familiar spot of greeting guests in the Patricks’ foyer. Both times she’d done this before, people had died, no matter how much she didn’t want to think about that. Instead of guests wafting in with the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine as they had then, they now carried the sweet aroma of the gardenia that framed the Patricks’ front walk.
Evangeline and Neil Patrick were shuffling about in the dayroom upstairs where the reception would be, and Cam expected Lydia Fennewick, the pageant chair and a friend of Evangeline’s, to arrive from the guesthouse any minute.
The first other guests to arrive were Trish Tait and Jenny Andrews, volunteers who would be helping with the pageant. Cam was glad. They’d make excellent minglers as the more prestigious guests arrived. Both were socially skilled, attractive, and committed to pageant success. Cam sent them up the stairs to wait for the other guests.
Clancy Huggins, one of the judges and host of Green Living, arrived next with a pretty woman Cam didn’t know.
Mr. Huggins! Welcome! I’m Camellia Harris, the event coordinator.”
“Miss Harris, lovely to meet you in person. And this is my dear friend, Jessica Benchly.”
Cam had half expected to hear the name Jessica Rabbit, with the unrealistic proportions and beauty of the woman, though Jessica Benchly was dark haired, with large dark eyes. She hung onto Clancy’s arm casually. “Dear friend” could have been literal or a euphemism—there was no way to know.
“Wonderful to meet you, Ms. Benchly. We’re having cocktails up in the drawing room.” Cam gestured toward the stairs, then had to turn back to the door, as guests began to arrive in earnest: Nell Norton and her husband, Byron; Telly Stevens and his wife, Judith Towers-Stevens—the executive who’d insisted her husband judge; Annette DiFlor of Anna Banana’s Tween Fashions; Holden Hobbes; and several more.
Cam had a headache. She’d been a part of a lot of formal festivities, but this one seemed to have a higher ratio of important people, and fewer allies to help her when things went wrong. She wished her boyfriend, Rob, hadn’t had a dinner scheduled with his editor at the Roanoke Tribune, as it would have been nice if he could have been here for her. She felt like squealing when her dad and Annie finally arrived, though she knew Annie was only looking at this as a job. Her camera was draped over her neck to document the party.
After another half hour of greeting, Cam finally felt she was okay to join the guests upstairs.
Instead of air-conditioning the grand, garden-view drawing room, the Patricks had thrown open the wall of windows and glass doors and had half a dozen ceiling fans circulating the summer air. The delicious floral scent from the garden drifted in. Cam was glad the temperature was lower than they’d expected the rest of the week, making this possible. It was warm, but worth it. This was a better angle to view the elaborate garden.
As she stood in one of the French doorways that led to the balcony, Clancy Huggins and Jessica Benchly climbed the balcony stairs from strolling the garden. Cam had been right that the mosaic effect of the garden below was that of an iris. There was a vast array of purple blazing star, iris, and gladiolus, shot through with yellow foxglove and white calla lilies. Nearest the fountain at the center was a delightful cluster of sunflowers, perfect for the stamen at the center of the flower. The bit of conversation she heard from Clancy and Jessica was about the specific strains of oleander and the variety of lilies Clancy admired, while Jessica favored the hibiscus.
As they passed her, Cam heard an ominous feminine growl from inside. “What is she doing here?” Cam looked for the source. Judith Towers-Stevens glared at Clancy and Jessica, then stormed away from her husband and caught Nell Norton’s hand, changing faces like a chameleon as she began to ask recommendations for keeping a floral garden through August, which could be challenging in the Virginia heat.
Cam felt guilty for her relief that Judith Towers-Stevens could take care of herself, as a look to another French door and the hungry look of Telly Stevens explained why she was so angry. Her husband definitely lusted after his fellow judge’s date. She wished she could smack him upside the head, but it wasn’t like they didn’t know about his personality. And it was Judith’s fault Telly was involved—she’d insisted.
Cam tried to evaluate if there were other problems, though a romantic triangle among judges was problem enough.
She looked at her watch for comfort but didn’t find it. She wandered over to Annie with her new concern. “It’s not like Petunia to be late.” Petunia and Nick, Cam’s sister and brother-in-law, ran a small restaurant, and Cam liked to hire them whenever RGS had catering needs, so they were expected at any minute.
Annie looked at her own watch and raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, technically, they aren’t late, but pushing it, and Petunia is usually a little early.”
She walked out onto the stairway landing and realized the Spoons van was sitting on the street waiting for one of the guests to park so Nick could pull past and get close to the house. When the car had finally cleared, he pulled up near the front door. Cam ran down to greet them.
“Everything alright?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Petunia sneered.
Cam started to h
elp, but Annie pushed past. “Let me do it first. She won’t refuse me,” she whispered.
It was true. Petunia liked Annie a lot, in spite of Annie being Cam’s best friend and the daughter of a former state senator, a position Petunia’s reverse-snob tendencies would normally shun. It was largely because they both were a bit snarky, though Annie’s snark held significantly more humor than Petunia’s, in Cam’s opinion. But Annie also shared Petunia’s reverse classism.
Cam waited until Annie had grabbed a box without being yelled at before she joined. Petunia still glared, but didn’t stop Cam from taking a tray.
“Dining room!” Cam called. She hoped they’d find it. The parties Spoons had catered at the Patricks’ before had been outside or upstairs. When Cam arrived, she was relieved to see Petunia opening wine bottles and Nick heading back outside for the last bowls of fettuccine.
The table looked lovely. Cam had rarely seen a table that could comfortably seat thirty, mostly because most dining rooms couldn’t hold one, but this one had extra room. It was set elegantly with the Patricks’ fine china and crystal glassware.
“Are you two staying?”
Petunia shook her head decisively. “You’ll get the pans, won’t you, Cam?” Petunia blinked innocently. Cam found her sarcasm annoying.
“We’ll be back in about ninety minutes,” Nick said, taking his wife by the elbow. “We need to get the dessert, which is ice cream.” Cam knew it was for the best if they left anyway.
“Sheesh. Petunia’s crabbier than usual, isn’t she?” Annie said.
“No kidding,” Cam agreed. For Annie to say it, it had to be pretty obvious.
Cam started to follow Petunia to see if there was a real problem, but was intercepted by a very late Jimmy Meares—probably the parker who had been in Nick’s way. Jimmy Meares was Kyle Lance’s manager. Kyle was the tween pop star who had agreed to help with the pageant, and Cam thought it was cheeky of Jimmy to show up without Kyle, but she led him upstairs. She waited about ten minutes before she called the guests down to supper as Annie took pictures to document the gathering.
The Azalea Assault Page 27
