The Begonia Bribe (14 page)

“Never mind me. Evangeline has just been splattered with red paint. It’s on royal blue. Any way to choose lighting that makes it look arty? At least not white light . . .”

“Blue will make the red look purple, and it is mostly complementary anyway, though sort of . . . romance lighting . . . but it would work.”

“Perfect! That’s good!”

She leaned out of the curtain and gave Evangeline a thumbs-up and then ran back to find Rob and the woman. He’d tackled her in the already mourning lilies and the newly planted begonias, though thankfully, they were behind the stage so it wouldn’t be visible. Todd, the security guard from the Arts Commission, had seen enough that he’d put her in cuffs and called the police. The woman’s super-soaker lay on the ground at her feet.

“Why would you do this?” Cam asked.

“You’re exploiting these poor girls!” she said. “Beauty pageants make everyone but the winner feel bad about herself!”

“But they aren’t even judged on beauty. It’s talent, poise, personality . . .”

“Ha! Those last two . . . you think those aren’t about beauty?”

“No. I don’t,” Cam said. She hoped what she said was true. Rob looked uncomfortable.

They edged away, leaving the woman to the security guard.

Annie approached them with a large grin. “Colorful side piece.”

Cam rolled her eyes, wishing she had the leeway to go home and change.

“No. Seriously! I got pictures of her and she looks insane. And I got Mr. Patrick and Evangeline in the lighting—good idea, by the way. Almost looks planned. I’ll get one of her in normal light when she’s done—I think it speaks for the brilliance behind the scene—making lemonade of lemons.”

Cam had stopped following Annie when she mentioned “good idea,” and instead focused on the stage. Kyle was singing and she realized the periphery of the park was packed. They’d sold most of the seats, but there was no way to close everything in, so it appeared all the ten-year-olds in Roanoke had convinced people to bring them downtown for this—a few free Kyle Lance songs.

It wasn’t Cam’s thing, but she appreciated the tween phenomenon for what it was. After the first song, she texted Nell to let her know it was probably time to make her way to the stage.

“I’m almost there,” the reply came, and Cam spotted her. She was stately and had no red paint anywhere. Perhaps she’d been the smart one.

A minute later, Cam spotted Claire, one of the volunteers, leading a group of girls to the front of the stage. She didn’t think they knew it meant they were green finalists, but she was pleased to see Lizzie skipping at the back of the group.

Kyle Lance sang one more song, blew a kiss at the little girls, and left the stage, setting off shrieks from the hundreds of girls who had gathered just to see him. He had a limousine behind the shell, and security had held a path. They made their way to the Patrick Henry, where Cam knew he’d be escorted up to a suite of food and entertainment. It was a bit much, but he’d agreed to do this show at a fraction of his regular price because he was from Virginia and it was a warm, fuzzy public relations thing.

Cam was surprised at the presence Nell Norton had on stage once Evangeline had introduced her. She could have been the Queen Mother, at least to the extent Cam had seen royalty on TV. She was proud but pleased, smiling down on the girls and the crowd.

“As a part of my participation in this event, and in exchange for my support as CEO of Nelly’s Nurseries, the Little Miss Begonia Pageant has indulged me in a little side competition. You see . . . children are more creative than the rest of us. And so I thought I would offer a separate one-thousand-dollar scholarship for the best presentation of a green gardening idea. All the girls entered, and you are about to meet the five finalists, all of whom have already won a hundred-dollar gift card to their nearest Nelly’s.”

The audience clapped and a few of the girls shrieked, realizing why they had been led to the stage.

“Girls, do you think you can remember your talks from this afternoon? Two of you had posters, and those are here.”

All the girls nodded with varying degrees of confidence.

“Okay, first up is Lily Andrews.”

Lily, a timid blonde girl, rose and walked up the stairs. Nell calmed her and then whispered something that made Lily giggle. Lily looked out at the audience and smiled and began her presentation about keeping pigs as pets. She said the pigs could eat the weeds and scraps, and that pig poo could fertilize the garden. There was a lot of appreciative laughter and indulgent smiling.

The next presentation had to do with edible flowers and pretty vegetables: doubling up space to both enjoy the sight, but also then eat what was grown, saving money and improving a house’s carbon footprint.

The next two presentations were more about composting-related issues, obviously researched by smart girls and well done, but not as entertaining. And then Lizzie was called on stage. Several audience members made cooing noises—Lizzie wasn’t just the youngest contestant, she was by far the smallest.

She began the presentation, “You like toads, right? And bugs eat your garden!” Cam knew she had them right from the start. She couldn’t help but grin through the whole presentation, and spotted Mindy and Barry actually sitting together and smiling.

On impulse, she looked around. Officer Quinn was on duty near the fringe of the crowd, presumably to make sure the Kyle Lance groupies didn’t get unruly. She was staring at Mindy and Barry, scowling. Being on duty meant she had not been disciplined. Cam wondered what the process was, and if it meant she was innocent or that the proof hadn’t been strong enough.

As Lizzie finished, the crowd gave a standing ovation and then Evangeline took over to introduce the next feature—the first group of girls performing their respective fitness routines.

Cam’s phone vibrated.

“Hello?” she whispered, not wanting to disturb her neighbors. It was Dylan.

“Miz Harris, I’ve been trying to get the step-monster for ten minutes. She’s not picking up and I think she wanted each of these fitness groups in different lighting, but I don’t know the order.”

“I’ll find her.” Cam didn’t look forward to it, but she knew it was an important decision.

She headed to the television control station. The cameramen were off in various directions to get better angles, but Judith Towers-Stevens should have been manning the box with the monitors so she could direct the others. The box was more a tent of sorts, with a window at the front and enclosed on the other sides, to keep the audience and heat out, along with the commotion. Cam reached the window and looked for her. She wasn’t there.

She crossed the box to the door and entered to see if there was any clue where the woman had gone and almost tripped over her.

“Crap.”

Cam knelt to feel her throat and saw the same foam she’d seen from Telly Stevens. She was sure Judith was dead.

She called 9-1-1, explaining the crowd and her preference not to cause a panic, since the woman appeared already dead. They said they’d send a policeman and an ambulance, but a medic would come in alone initially.

When she hung up, she called Jake. She was far more comfortable with her ability to continue this event if a police officer who would communicate with her was involved.

Finally, she flagged Rob and had him run out to tell Hilary they had a problem. The filming would still need directing and she was the one best able to do it.

Unfortunately, Rob came back ten minutes later and said the head cameraman was on his way. Hilary was nowhere to be found.

T
he cameramen began a round of what looked like musical cameras. By the time the head man arrived, Jake had, too, so an argument ensued over the cameraman’s need to go into the control booth. Jake insisted it was a crime scene and could not be touched, but the cameraman swore he needed access to the equipment to run the show.

“What do you really need?” Jake asked.

“Two of the laptops and the master headset.”

Jake nodded, put on gloves and retrieved them, setting the man to the side of the box with the computers. He had them on chairs facing him and the man looked thoroughly annoyed.

“This is hardly ideal,” he said.

“Your boss is dead. Probably not a good time to complain about working conditions,” Jake said. Cam glared, hoping no one in the crowd had overheard.

The man frowned, nodded, and began checking in with the other camera people. They were into the final fitness routine when Hilary Sweeny returned with a cardboard tray that held two coffees and two pasta boxes from a local take-out place.

“Wh . . . what happened?” she asked.

“Where’ve you been?” Cam asked.

“Judith asked me to pick up supper—she was in a right rage when she finally got here, so I didn’t question her. I went over to 24 Church Avenue for Italian. Will you please let me take Judith her food? It will get cold.”

“I don’t think Judith will care,” Cam said. “Seems she already ate.”

“What?”

“You need to wait for Jake.”

As Cam said his name, he came out and placed a crime tape strip across the entry.

“Jake, this is Hilary Sweeny. She’s Judith Towers-Stevens’s executive assistant.”

Jake repeated Cam’s question about where she’d been, then asked when she’d left.

“When the little girls started that green thing. I was sure I’d be back before they were done, but it’s Friday night, so it took longer.”

“And Ms. Towers-Stevens was fine when you left?”

“Well . . . fine for a recently widowed woman—a little terse maybe. Isn’t she fine now?” She eyed the crime tape nervously.

Cam wondered why she’d tempered “right rage” down to “terse.” Maybe the rage had been directed at the assistant and she was worried there would be repercussions if other people knew.

“She’s dead,” Jake said.

Cam wished she’d thought more carefully how this would go down. Jake’s bluntness led to Hilary’s shriek and everybody in the audience looking their way just as the medic finally arrived.

Cam pushed Evangeline’s speed dial, knowing the crowd would panic with no information. By the time the routine was done, Evangeline stepped calmly to the microphone.

“Just so nobody panics, I’ve just been informed there’s been a medical incident. It’s being handled. The show will continue unless we receive word we can’t. All we ask of you is to stay seated unless the medical team asks you to move so they can maneuver. This is critical for somebody’s safety.”

Spin was a beautiful thing. The crowd relaxed immediately. There were still curious eyes, but they gave the two men with the stretcher room to move and didn’t seem to have noticed the police officer and medical examiner making their way to the box. Cam closed the flap over the window opening before they began taking pictures. The flash would have been hard to hide or explain.

Things then went smoothly up until the poise routines were over. At that point, Jake called Evangeline and Cam died a little inside. She could hear Evangeline through the phone.

“Are you sure?”

Evangeline finally announced that the police had asked to document everyone there and requested everyone to stay in their seats until someone took names and phone numbers.

“Why? Was there a crime?” somebody yelled. It was a reasonable question.

“They don’t know at this point,” Evangeline said smoothly, “but if it was, they need to be able to reconstruct details. We really appreciate your cooperation. I wish Kyle Lance was here to sing for you, but in his absence, maybe I can sing you a tune or two.”

The crowd clapped enthusiastically, and Evangeline called Mr. Patrick to the piano. It had never occurred to Cam that he played, but a lot of society gentlemen had cultural talents, so it shouldn’t have surprised her. Another bond between the glamorous Evangeline and her much older husband.

Evangeline sang Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Were Made for Walkin’,” and then Carole King’s “Natural Woman” to an enthusiastic crowd before they judged that about half the crowd had been released and the rest might believe they wouldn’t be there all night.

Cam remained preoccupied. She’d been ready to pin Telly Stevens’s murder on his wife, but who would want them both dead? Aside from Dylan, anyway . . .

* * *

T
he two arguments Cam had witnessed, first between Telly and Clancy, then Judith and Clancy, kept nagging at Cam. To her knowledge, Clancy was the only person who’d actually argued with both of them. It was hard to picture Clancy as a murderer, but the evidence presented itself as such.

Then again, both arguments had been
about
Jessica Benchly, and Cam thought she was a much easier suspect to consider.

As Cam’s mind wandered, she decided to find Dylan and make sure he knew what was going on. When she reached backstage, however, Dylan and Jessica seemed to be rather entwined, so she snuck away, fighting the feeling in her gut that she knew shouldn’t be there. She had no business being jealous of who Dylan saw.

Sneaking back off the stage, she found Annie. She was glad to see Annie had put her camera back in her bag.

“Looks like Jake will be tied up all night,” Cam said. “Chocolate therapy help?”

“Better than nothing, though preferably someplace with a red wine rack.”

Cam frowned. She wasn’t a true connoisseur of either chocolate or red wine, preferring a custard or something a bit tart for dessert, and a much lighter wine than Annie would choose. She knew her friend, though, and where Annie was concerned, dark chocolate and red wine had a certain alchemy.

“I’ll find Rob.” His taste buds were more like her best friend’s than her own where wine and chocolate were concerned.

Unfortunately, when she found him, he, too, was engaged. “No way. Murder number two? I can’t leave!” He was shadowing Jake. Cam felt annoyed with men in general, and men who had to keep up with criminal events, specifically.

“Come on!” she grumbled. Annie followed her. They headed toward the Patrick Henry and went into the bar. She was surprised the piano music she always heard in the lobby didn’t come from there, as she’d assumed. She asked at the bar before they sat down if they could get dessert as well as drinks.

“Matter of fact,” the bartender said, “I got a cheesecake, plain or chocolate, and brownies.”

“Perfect. One of each cheesecake. A merlot with the chocolate one and a white zinfandel with the plain. Over there.” She pointed to where Annie was sitting.

“Excellent choice!” It was exaggerated, but as the man was about sixty, it was also cute. Cam joined Annie.

“So Mindy probably didn’t off Mrs. What’s-her-name,” Annie began.

“No. Telly Stevens, either. In fact, I think Barry’s current girlfriend is trying to get the ex out of the way through framing.”

“No!”

“Seriously.” Cam explained the Officer Quinn evidence and the scowling she’d seen earlier that evening.

“That’s awful! I mean . . . I never liked Mindy, but being framed because somebody else wants your loser ex? That’s too low for anybody.”

“Not to mention her kids,” Cam said.

“Yeah, those girls are great. Did you see Lizzie tonight? The audience was eating out of her hand!”

Cam laughed. Annie’s grudge was based on Mindy’s history of materialism and snobbery. Annie didn’t carry it over to the girls.

“So . . .” Annie changed the subject. “Who’s killing people?”

“Heck if I know.”

“I know you don’t
know
, but you
did
solve the last one. What do you think?”

“Until tonight, I had Judith Towers-Stevens nailed for the murder of her husband. You can see how accurate
that
probably was.”

“Unless this was a revenge killing.”

Cam frowned at Annie. It was a fresh angle but it seemed implausible.

“Think about Telly. Who would avenge him?”

“Rabid fan?”

“Who would have to be close enough to know who did it, yet delusional enough to respond with murder instead of calling the police with evidence?”

“Okay, unlikely. What about someone who loved him?”

“Like who? He was horrible.”

“Right. And horrible men never find saps to love them.” Annie’s sarcasm was bitter. She’d loved a horrible man at one point.

“I just can’t think who would kill over it.”

“I still think you need to ask around about who might have been ‘so in love.’” As Annie sighed and fell over in her booth seat as their wine and cheesecake were delivered. She sat back up quickly, looking embarrassed.

“I just wish the most logical answer wasn’t somebody I wished it wasn’t.”

“I’m glad I haven’t had any of my wine yet, or I might not have followed that. No, wait. I still didn’t follow that. You have a suspect?”

“No! It’s not him. But the motivation
looks
like him.”

“Who?”

Cam felt ashamed for caring, and Annie figured out it was about her crush.

“Why would Dylan care about Telly Stevens?”

“Dylan is Telly Stevens’s son.”

Annie gasped. Her jaw dropped, though she had the decency to then cough briefly into her napkin and take a large drink, as if she’d just had a crumb in her throat. When she recovered, she asked, “Okay, so do they think this is daddy issues?”

“They seem to be pursuing inheritance.”

“What was he getting before Telly died?”

“No clue. Nothing, I think. He didn’t even know who his father was until the police told him. So he had no reason to think he’d get anything from him, dead or alive.”

“Ouch. That sucks. I’ll have to spank Jake for that. Both telling
him
rudely and
not
telling me. A double spanking.”

Cam smirked. Leave it to Annie to provide the necessary comic relief.

“So how did you learn about all this?”

“Benny brought him over the other night because of the questions.”

“That and the fact that you want him,” Annie said.

“I do not!”

Annie raised an eyebrow.

“Fine! So I want him like I want Sam Winchester from
Supernatural
—bad boy, good heart,
not
a good idea—not
real
, even. I would never cheat on Rob.”

“I know you wouldn’t, even for Sam Winchester, which is totally
insane
if you want my opinion—and I
like
Rob. I just . . . have noticed a certain mood . . . tendencies . . . attitude . . .”

“Shut up.”

“See. That’s proof. For you, ‘shut up’ is profanity.” Annie pointed at Cam with her fork.

“Annie, for the sake of our friendship, can we please drop Dylan.”

“Fine. Not the wife. Not the son. Who else?”

“Business might have been likely, but not with the wife dead, too. It seems more personal. Has to be about relationships,” Cam said.

Annie stared at her like she’d grown a third eye and then downed her last taste of wine.

“Hater? Mistress? Insane fan?”

“All possible.” Cam frowned. “There were a few pictures of him in women’s underwear. Jessica Benchly had them . . .”

“Oh, now that’s an interesting twist. Who could have thought he had that in him? But it doesn’t seem smart to kill someone she was trying to blackmail.”

“No, but I wonder if there’s a story,” Cam said.

“There undoubtedly
is
a story. The question is, will anyone tell it?”

Cam nodded. There was no disagreeing there. She was sure
somebody
would talk, but finding who was something that needed careful consideration.

“The people who know about those pictures are Jessica Benchly and Clancy Huggins. Clancy was mad when Jessica tried to show them to me. And there were arguments between Clancy and both Telly and Judith.”

“So that looks like Clancy’s responsible,” Annie said.

“Do either of those men seem like guys who’d get into ladies’ underwear and take pictures together?” Cam asked.

“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean, maybe Clancy set him up.”

“But if he had the goods on him, he wouldn’t need to kill him—like you said,” Cam argued.

“No, but then Jessica got ahold of them and was talking. Heck, maybe it was self-defense!”

“Self-defense by poison?” Cam sighed. Poison was a plotter’s . . . erm . . . poison. And Judith appeared to have died by poison, too.

“Okay, switch modes. Who knows plants well enough to poison by oleander?” Cam said.

Annie frowned. “You’d know better than me, wouldn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Garden Society?” Annie said as if Cam was dim.

“Well, duh, but no! There’s no motive there!”

“How do we know that?”

“Let’s look for somebody else first.”

“The nursery lady would know.”

“Nell. That’s true, but I can’t see a motive in any direction . . . but . . .” The suggestion had given Cam an idea.

She pulled out her laptop. Annie rolled her eyes and flagged the waiter for another glass of wine. As it arrived, Cam finally said, “Yes!”

“Enlighten me?” Annie asked.

“The V-SCAMP website has a biography page for past contestants. Almost all the contestants since 2000 are here. Prior to that, it is mostly the top three. But in the bio are interests. I can see who gardens.”

“Okay, first . . . V-SCAMP? Nice! Next . . . assuming the killer is a past contestant.”

“Well, it’s not his wife.”

“It could be a lot of people. Even . . . what’s his name . . . Benny would know this.”

“Benny wouldn’t commit murder—certainly not for somebody else.”

“He might have had a hypothetical conversation with somebody about plants that kill.”

That was true enough. Cam didn’t like the idea at all, because it made it possible both Benny and Dylan had had a role in these murders. She’d believed Dylan about not knowing who his father was until after the murder, but how easy was it to lie?