The Azalea Assault (8 page)

“Oh! Do they think I did it? I wouldn’t!”

“I don’t think so, no. But not coming to La Fontaine or answering your phone this morning is suspicious, where… your teacup would cancel that out. See what I mean?” She
hoped she was reassuring, even if, had she been the investigator, Samantha would be near the top of her list. She thought an angry lover was as likely a suspect as a jealous spouse, but she knew Samantha didn’t know she’d overheard the fight. Besides, as part of RGS, Cam preferred to keep Samantha out of the limelight unless there was real evidence.

“What should I do?”

“Call Jake Moreno. You got his card, right? And tell him what you think might have happened. Don’t touch the cup again. Let him get it, and tell him what I suggested and why.”

“Oh, Cam, you’re wonderful. Thank you!” Samantha then slyly changed subjects. Cam thought she’d had enough of the dark topic. “So how did you meet Rob?”

Cam grinned. “At a Young Media Professionals meeting in Chicago. He worked for the
Sun
but was stuck in Classifieds. It’s hard to move up in big markets when there is so much competition.”

Samantha smiled happily. “So you brought him back here with you?”

“All I had to do was dangle that Roanoke sports reporter position in front of him.” Cam grinned at the memory. Rob had accused her of outplaying him, which had always pleased her, given how important games were to him, but the move had been good for both of them—personally and professionally.

W
hen Samantha dropped her off at home, Cam wondered again if it was possible Samantha actually
had
killed Jean-Jacques Georges, but the idea felt so foreign that she pushed the thought aside. She put on a skirt more appropriate to evening, slightly shiny, fitted, and black, and walked the dozen blocks to the Historic Market District and Arzu Restaurant. The bulky portfolio and heels made going a little slow. Her dad and Ms. Duffy were already seated at a cozy table when she arrived, and her dad ordered her a
glass of merlot. Cam sat and flipped through the portfolio for Ms. Duffy.

Jane was suitably impressed with Annie’s work and promised to call her colleagues. Once Cam pressed, Jane left the table and called the magazine staff immediately, though Cam thought her own unspoken threat to stay until it was done had a large part to do with her urgency. Ms. Duffy was looking forward to a little alone time with Mr. Harris, something that seemed even dearer now that she’d seen, from the photos, how deeply he could love.

As Cam stood to leave, she looked at Jane Duffy curiously.

“You know… last night, when Jean-Jacques was speaking French, you frowned like you heard something odd. I don’t speak French. What did he say?”

“It was just… well, a beginner’s mistake, but he’s about as French as I am. He meant to say ‘once upon a time,’ but what he said was, ‘It was a cold.’ The words sound similar, but only a person relatively new to French would do that.”

“So he was… pretending to be French.” Cam was thinking of Giselle and wondering if there was a connection. Mr. Patrick said Giselle’s accent and name had been Evangeline’s idea, and Jean-Jacques and Evangeline appeared to have been friends. She nodded and waved good-bye. There was no need to trouble her dad and Jane Duffy further, and she was pleased to have the photographer task handled.

Cam went outside and called Rob, hoping to spend the evening with him. She had a lot she needed to sort through, and talking it out helped.

“Jake and I were just ordering a pitcher of beer,” Rob responded.

“Where are you?”

“Martin’s.” Martin’s was a sports bar on First, only a few blocks from where she was.

“I’m at Arzu. I stopped to show Jane Duffy something. Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Not at all. It’s perfect, actually,” Rob said.

“See you in ten or fifteen minutes.”

It was just starting to get dark, but it was a lovely night and downtown was alive with activity. She hoped she’d spot Rob’s Jeep so she could put the portfolio in it, but thinking about that reminded her she really needed to inform Annie she’d just found her a job. She pressed the speed dial for Annie’s number on her cell phone.

“Hey, Cam,” she answered.

“Do I have a special ring tone or something?”

“Of course you do! You’re my best friend!”

“What is it?”

“That
was
it. ‘You’re My Best Friend.’ Queen.”

Cam laughed. “How long have you been waiting for that exact joke?”

“Month or so.”

Cam snorted. “So what are you doing?”

“I’m naked!”

“I think you missed that—I said ‘What are you doing?’ not ‘What are you wearing?’ With you, naked could mean just about anything.”

“It’s true, but sadly, it just means I’m getting in the shower. On my thirtieth batch of cupcakes today, I ended up in a wrestling match with a package of Dutch cocoa, and I think I have chocolate up my nose.”

“Tasty. You need a beer to balance that? After you’ve showered, that is?”

“Duh!”

Cam passed on details of where they’d be, deciding it was better to spring the photography job on her in person… and with witnesses. When she hung up, she made her way west on Kirk, then wove her way to Martin’s Downtown Bar on First Street. There she found Rob and Jake in a surprisingly quiet corner, looking at a legal pad, in spite of wearing muddy sliders and cleats. They’d clearly come straight from practice.

“Am I interrupting?”

Instead of simply scooting over, Rob stood, allowing
Cam to slide between him and Jake. Men could be ridiculous, Cam thought.

“Not at all. Griggs is thrilled with the story I filed today, so Jake was just walking me through the standard investigation process.”

“Cool.” She was interested in that herself, but her own professional interests took precedent. “You didn’t, erm… How did the Garden Society come out in your piece?”

“Not mentioned. Jake says we keep specifics out of the paper for a while in case it’s important to the investigation.”

Cam let out a deep breath and relaxed back against the booth. Rob slid back in after her.

“Thank you for that.” She smiled at Jake, thinking maybe he was slanting his information to the rookie reporter to make his own job easier, but it also helped her. “Annie’s meeting us in a little while.” She smiled smugly. She could see Jake was pleased as punch. “So any new info?”

Suddenly Rob looked away, which wasn’t like him, but Jake seemed unaware anything was amiss.

“The offended-boyfriends-and-husbands angle may be panning out; it’s thrown up a lead or two.”

Cam nodded, still not understanding Rob’s response.

“Er… Cam?” he finally said, looking around the bar nervously.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know Nick was an ex-con?”

“Nick?”

“Nick.”

“I’m sure he’s been arrested. He was wild when he was younger… punk rock or something…”

“He did five years in Brunswick.”

Cam’s jaw dropped. Brunswick was a state prison near Lawrenceville. It was a far cry from a night in a city jail, which was what she’d been imagining.

“Seems he’s our likeliest suspect,” Jake said calmly, possibly not knowing how close Cam was to her brother-in-law. He took a sip of his draft and sat back. Rob had taken out
a pen and was studiously coloring on his coaster to avoid her gaze.

“Look, I know Nick.” She turned from one to the other, feeling closed in. “He’s a pussycat.”

“Cam, it doesn’t look good,” Rob said gently.

“Maybe not at first glance, but there’s a lot more to look at.”

“Of course there is. Nobody is stopping there. He’s just the current favorite.” Jake sounded uncomfortable, finally, which cheered Cam up, but only slightly.

Cam promised herself if he stayed a favorite, she’d find the killer herself. She would rather a Garden Society member did it than Nick! She couldn’t take the idea of Petunia’s Prince Charming turning into a toad without a proper look for the real culprit. She stared into her glass, tired of both Rob and Jake at the moment. She wished Annie would hurry.

“S
o… I thought you’d be drowning your sorrows or something.” Annie appeared to float up to their table in waves, her long, iridescent skirt balanced by her casual tank top.

“We are.” Annie’s smart-aleck ways aside, Cam was very glad to see her.

“With beer you can see through? How humiliating.” She gave an exaggerated shiver.

Annie waved over a waitress and before anyone could protest, ordered a pitcher of Snapping Turtle, a local India Pale Ale. Cam was glad Jake seemed amused. She and Rob had an unspoken rule about calories, but she knew not everybody lived by it. Jake stood and allowed Annie to slide into the booth next to Cam, then slid in behind her. Cam was more entertained than anything else, so she decided to turn to more pressing matters than Annie’s beer critique.

“Annie, I have a proposition.”

“And I keep telling you—of course, as long as the ratio is at least balanced.”

Cam rolled her eyes. It was a joke about threesomes and
Rob not being man enough for both of them—in reality it was just Annie trying to get a reaction from Cam, which she didn’t, because Cam already knew the joke. Rob wasn’t aware of it, and Cam preferred to keep it that way, but he looked at Cam questioningly. She shrugged, feigning cluelessness, then turned back to Annie.

“I have a job to offer you.”

“Cupcakes with little flowers for a fund-raiser?” Annie teased.

“Photos for a national magazine.”

Annie was intentionally obtuse. “You’re offering me magazine pictures?”

“I’m offering you national recognition for taking magazine pictures.”

“Okay, remember the eyebrow promise? All bets are off. Why would I want all that commercial noise?”

“Because one-point-three million people would see the gorgeous photographs you took.”

“One point… Holy cow! Do that many people care about gardening? Why do that many people care about gardening?”

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.”