Murder at the Azalea Festival (6 page)

From the dining room, I entered the kitchen. I snapped on lights and inspected it too. The cabinets were made of a bleached birch, and there was one of those fancy temperature-controlled wine refrigerators. To my right, a sunroom ran the width of the house and I walked its length back to a rear hallway that connected to the foyer--ring-around-a-rosy.

In the master suite, I tapped a light switch just inside the door, causing all the lamps to blaze at once. Here, everything was soft in pale golds and greens, very pretty and feminine, but also in a frenzy so that I couldn't see the top of the bed for all the gowns heaped upon it. Evidently, Mindy had tried on several garments before selecting the pink satin gown. The rejected dresses puffed up on the bed like a multi-colored parachute someone had discarded. A body could be hidden under all that silk and lace and I'd never know it.

Now why had I thought that? Maybe because it's a little spooky in here, I reasoned, and I'm all alone in another person's house--a person who is lying helpless in the hospital, unable to prevent me from prowling around her bedroom.

From the top shelf of a closet--there were two and they were huge and I couldn't help comparing them to the tiny, old fashioned closets in my house and feeling deprived--I pulled down an overnight bag.

In the bathroom I loaded the case with toiletry items, hair brush, toothbrush, perfume, all the things I thought Mindy might like to have when she awoke.

I found a pretty nightgown and robe on a silk-padded hanger and zipped them into a garment bag. Now where were her slippers?

Family pictures in antique silver frames covered most of the available surfaces in the room. Above the bed hung an ornately framed portrait of Mindy that must have been painted when she made her debut.

There were pictures of Janet and Nem, and their sons, Hugh and Nehemiah the Fourth, and pictures of the family as a whole, all five of them. Mindy was the little princess, the cherished baby sister. And in other snapshots, the Chesterton boys with their cousins. And a photo of Mindy with Jimmy Ryder, their arms wrapped around each other, an ocean behind them that was too blue to be the Atlantic. The Gulf of Mexico?

Slippers, I reminded myself. I looked around the room, finally spotting a pair of white silk ballet slippers under Mindy's desk. She must have toed them off when she'd been sitting at the computer.

It was turned on, humming, calling me to it like a siren's song. Mindy had not exited out of the program she'd been using earlier. Living alone, there was no need to hide anything.

I pulled out the chair and faced the screen. Quicken. I use it for my own accounts.

The colorful screen seemed to invite, scroll me, please, and as it asked nicely, I complied.

Mindy, who had always seemed like such an airhead to me, apparently managed her own money. I couldn't help being impressed. How often do we hear of actors and actresses who turn their large salaries over to financial managers, only to be ripped off and left destitute.

Wow! The deposits to Mindy's account were enormous. I knew actors made a bundle, but seeing those healthy monthly deposits made me wonder if I had chosen the wrong profession, if I ought not enroll in an acting class. Flipping through the pages, I learned that Mindy paid her bills on the first and the fifteenth. Mortgage and utilities on the first. Credit cards on the fifteenth.

She'd also withdrawn twenty thousand dollars in cash on the first of April. I scrolled back. There were identical entries on the first of every month. Cash. Twenty thousand. What had that been for? And why cash? How had she carried it around? Or did she? Maybe she was paying it to someone who didn't want a record of the transaction. But who? And why?

The telephone rang somewhere in the house, and Mindy's answering machine intercepted, her seductive voice inviting the caller to leave a message.

Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable, my conscience warning me this was private stuff and none of my business.

I knelt down and squeezed under the desk to retrieve the slippers. Smacking my head hard on the underside of the desk, I let out a yelp. Then, pulling away, something caught my hair and held it fast. What in the world?

I reached up and released several strands of hair from something sticky. Kneeling lower and peering up under the desk, I saw that a loose piece of duct tape had grabbed my hair. The duct tape was holding a padded envelope to the underside of the desk.

Jeez Louise, why'd I have to see that? I thought as I rubbed my sore head. Now what was I going to do? This was truly a moral dilemma. Open the envelope and see what was inside, or forever wonder what was so secret that Mindy had been forced to conceal the contents under the desk in her own house where she lived alone.

"No, no, no," I said aloud, my voice shattering the stillness. I am not going to pry further. Up and out. Grab the garment bag, grab the overnight case, and better take Mindy's purse too. I needed the keys to lock up after myself.

Later that night, after I had played at being "sweet, little Ashley" for Janet and had delivered Mindy's stuff to her waiting arms, and after I'd learned that there'd been no change in her condition, a riveting idea shocked me out of a sound sleep.

Eyes wide open, I whispered to myself, "Mindy's being blackmailed." That's what those cash withdrawals were all about. And that's why she'd taped something to the bottom of her desk!

And subconsciously I must have known this all along for why else had I failed to return Mindy's pink satin purse to Janet?

8

At ten o'clock on Friday morning, Jon and I joined the line in front of the Murchison House on Third Street, the Designer Showcase House. The morning was breezy and a bit cool, but according to WILM-TV, by afternoon the temperatures would rise into the seventies. I had on a navy sweater set with navy slacks so when the day did warm up, all I'd have to do was remove my cardigan.

The Murchison House had been built by James Walker in 1876. It had served as the residence for members of the Murchison family until the Second World War when it was divided into apartments. Later the Episcopal Diocese of Eastern North Carolina used it as their offices. Now it was beautifully restored and once again served as the new owners' primary residence.

Fourteen local interior designers had decorated the interior of the house and Jon and I had heard that their work was outstanding so we were anxious to see what they had accomplished.

As the line inched forward, someone called my name and I turned to see Melanie approaching, a really handsome guy in tow.

Another new outfit, I thought, as I scrutinized the sage green pantsuit she wore; the lines were soft and flowing, not at all masculine. And her shoes, purse, and jewelry were shades of bronze. How does she do it? I asked myself. I couldn't put an outfit like that together if my life depended on it.

"Thanks for saving a place for us," she said loud enough for everyone to hear before she broke into the line.

Jon arched his eyebrows at me. I crossed my eyes, a talent I had perfected in childhood. The man with Melanie caught me in the act and grinned.

"This is Joey Fielding," Melanie said.

When Jon and I merely said "hey," she exclaimed, "Surely you know who Joey is."

Mentally I thanked her for a good excuse to look him over. He was well-built, had brown hair and brown eyes, a heart-stopping smile, and serious cheek bones. Light bulbs went off. "Oh sure, you're one of the stars on Dolphin's Cove. Sorry I didn't recognize you right off." I stuck out my hand and he shook it.

I'd watched the show a few times, enough to know the storyline and who plays whom, but I had to admit I wasn't hooked on it as many were. Joey played a high-school dropout who hung around the campus often enough to have been the principal. His character was a kind of Gen X Fungi with a little bit of James Dean thrown in for good measure--cool, somewhat arrogant, yet deeply sympathetic.

Jon, whom I know for a fact has never seen the show, said, "Good to meet you, Joey. I admire your work."

"We're looking at historic houses," Melanie said by way of explanation, "and thought we'd pop in here to check it out. We didn't expect such a line though."

She went on to tell Joey that I was her sister and that Jon and I restored old houses.

"Maybe you can restore mine when I find it," Joey said. "I've got my heart set on something like this." He looked up at the red brick mansion with its tall tower.

"Second Empire?" I inquired. "Is that what you like?"

"Yeah, this is way cool." Glancing at Melanie, he asked, "Is it for sale?"

She shook her head. "But never fear, we'll find one for you."

It isn't unusual for celebrities who come here to make movies, and for visitors who come for the Azalea Festival or the Candlelight Tour, to fall in love with our town, buy homes and stay. In the past, Alec Baldwin and Kim Bassinger had lived here for a while, and Andy Griffith, and now Linda Lavin. It seemed that Joey Fielding intended to be added to the list.

"I grew up in Litchfield," he told me, "so old houses like these seem the norm to me. Will you keep an ear out for me, Ashley? You're bound to hear when a house like this might be coming up for sale."

"I'll be glad to," I said. Then seeing the storm brewing in Melanie's eyes, I added, "But no one's better connected to the real estate scene than Melanie."

I turned to her. "I'm surprised to see you here. Don't you have festival duties to attend to?"

"There's the garden tour ribbon cutting, but Jillian's handling that. Besides, the festival officials are very aware that I've got a business to run."

"Same for me," Joey said. "My character's not in today's shoot."

"How is the show handling Mindy's absence?" I asked.

"They wrote her out. That's why they wrote me out too. Our characters are supposed to be off together, rekindling their love affair."

He grew serious. "What happened to her, Ashley? You were there. I've already asked Melanie about it, but she didn't see anything. I was in the tent, and I saw you standing right next to where Mindy was sitting when it happened."

"I'd turned my back," I explained. "She made a weird sound that alerted me something was wrong. She seemed to be in pain. She had some sort of seizure, then she was unconscious. The crown fell off her head, and the glass dropped out of her hand."

"Glass? What glass?" he asked intently. "Someone said a bee stung her."

Melanie was studying him like he was a foreign specimen.

"I don't know about that," I said. "If she was allergic to bees, her folks didn't know about it. They said she wasn't." I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. "I don't know what happened."

"But what's this about a glass?" Joey seized on it. "What was in the glass?"

I told him about how Mindy had objected to sweet tea, and how she had demanded sugarless tea. "Tiffany offered to get it for her."

"From where I was standing I saw Tiffany carry a glass of tea out to where you all were gathered, and I saw her hand it to Mindy," Joey said.

"Yes, that's what happened."

Jon was getting impatient, fidgeting, and then the line surged forward and we reached the ticket sales table where we purchased our tickets.

"This is what I'd like to know, Ashley," Joey asked, pursuing the subject of Mindy's collapse. "Did you see who gave the glass to Tiffany?"

I frowned. What was he asking me? "What are you suggesting?" I asked.

"I'm not suggesting anything," he replied. "But I would like to know how much you saw."

How much? I shook my head. "No, I didn't see where Tiffany got the glass."

The front door opened. "Oh, look, we're next," I announced, happy that the inquisition was over. Joey Fielding was much too intense for my tastes.

We passed between leaded glass doors beneath a leaded glass fanlight and on into the main entry hall. The tour was self-guided so I took Jon's hand and pulled him into the south parlor where the light was bright and the colors spring-like.

"What was that all about?" I asked him.

He guided me away from the door to a spot near a window. "I may not watch that show, but I do read People magazine. Mindy Chesterton and Joey Fielding were once an 'item.' Then she dropped him for Jimmy Ryder. Apparently, he didn't take it too well, and she accused him of stalking her. Well, they worked together, so there wasn't much that could be done about her accusation, even if it was true. How can you get a restraining order for someone you might have to shoot a kissing scene with?"

"Life imitating art? Or art imitating life?" I mused aloud.

"I don't know, but here they come."

Melanie and Joey followed us about the house, Joey asking my opinion on the things we saw, Melanie going into a deep sulk. In the dining room, the colors were dark and intimate, and the antique table was positioned at an angle. Joey wanted to know what I thought about that.

"It's effective," I said.

"I like the way the sofa's pulled up in front of the fireplace. I like the idea of a comfy place to sit in a dining room. I want that in my house. Me and my guests sipping after-dinner brandy in front of a fire, without leaving the room."