Carolina Heat (20 page)

“I never said—” Ashby was cut off as Jillian rapped her fork against his knuckles.

“I don’t believe I was quite finished. First of all, it was Annabelle’s choice to keep this quiet, and I don’t blame her one bit. Why risk telling someone else she barely knows? Anyone and everyone in Charleston is a potential suspect to her. If it was your friend who was missing, you’d feel the same way. And second of all,” she twisted to look him straight in the eyes, “do you honestly think your knowing would’ve made a difference? Oh, except it would’ve been obvious you were helping Annabelle and Mark, so there probably would’ve been an extra bad guy hiding at Charles Towne to shoot you, too.”

Ashby took a long, slow pull from his beer. “You’re right, Jilly. I was just shooting my mouth off.”

“I know. And Mark knows you only got huffy because you care in the strange, Neolithic way men have of sharing affection.” She rubbed her hand down his arm in a comforting gesture. He murmured a quick apology for crowding her and scooted his chair away.

Mark watched the byplay in amazement. He’d heard of getting signals crossed, but could Ashby really be that thick? Against his better judgment, he might have to step in and talk to Ashby. Either way, Jillian had her work cut out for her.

“Believe me, I had no intention of dragging anyone into this mess,” Annabelle added.

Mark had heard enough. It was time to stop this before they ended up in a group hug. “Okay, quit talking as if I’m an inanimate object. Choices were made all around and now we move forward.” Mark stood up and pushed back his chair. “Anyone else want seconds?” Ashby followed him to the grill. He flipped burgers onto both their plates

“My sense of geography is rotten. Embarrassing to admit with the amount I travel, but true. Is it faster to fly or drive to Richmond?” Annabelle joined the men, plate in hand.

“It depends on how soon you want to go. Our airport isn’t a hub, and flights book up quickly.” Jillian nabbed another pickle as Mark came back and began to load up on sides again. “Plus, there’s a long stopover in Atlanta.”

“How ridiculous! Why go in the completely opposite direction, double back…never mind.” Annabelle rubbed her forehead as she slid back into her chair, clearly frustrated. “This always happens. What should be a two hour flight ends up taking all day, three airports, four gate changes, and then my luggage goes missing. Screw it, I’ll drive. Maybe rent a snazzy little convertible and play Aerosmith really loudly.”

“Great. What time do we leave?” Mark, Jillian and Annabelle turned to Ashby as one, identical looks of dismay on their faces. He waited an extra beat, then wagged his finger from side to side. “You all look like I suggested we go to the moon for dessert. Was there some magic ingredient in the potato salad that erased your sense of humor? I’m kidding. After all,” he drawled, leaning down to Jillian’s ear, “
somebody
has to throw together this ball. I don’t see Jilly here pulling it off without my expert advice.”

“My fragile ego is simply crushed beneath your biting wit.” Jillian sashayed slowly to the cooler and grabbed two more beers.

This time her flirtatious efforts were not in vain. Mark caught Ashby’s eyes glued to Jillian’s swaying bottom. Maybe she was finally having an effect on him. Too bad Jillian couldn’t turn around and see for herself.

“In the interest of full disclosure, why don’t you admit to Annabelle and Mark the only reason you’re helping me is because I bribed you with a free ticket?”

“Really?” Annabelle accepted the bottle Jillian passed her, and looked in confusion at Ashby. “I mean, I realize we’ve only known each other for a day, but I wasn’t picturing you as the high society, ball and gala type, Ashby.”

“Your instincts haven’t failed you.” Mark twisted the cap off Annabelle’s beer and handed it back. “This is a man who’d show up to his own wedding in flip-flops and cut-offs.”

“Then what’s the attraction of the Magnolia Ball?”

“This year Jilly turned it into a costume ball.” Ashby put down his second burger and plastered his hands over his heart. “When I see a girl in a big old hoop skirt and corset, my knees go weak. My heart goes flippity flop. And the prospect of an entire room of women dressed like it’s 1861 makes me downright giddy.”

Mark laughed so hard he almost choked. “God, that’s right. I forgot all about it.”

Ashby gave a matter of fact shrug. “You can tell Annabelle the story. I’m too excited about the ball to be ashamed.”

“We discovered his peculiar affliction when we were twelve. I was in a production of
H.M.S. Pinafore
. Talked Ashby here into helping out with the sets. By the end of our dress rehearsal, he was barely coherent. I think that one evening pushed him into puberty. Practically started shaving the next morning.”

“It was a great night.” Ashby tossed back a few chips. “I’ll thank this guy till our dying day for the experience. And at least I turned my passion for seeing girls in frilly clothes from a teenage wet dream into a lucrative hobby. All sorts of people come to me for historic authentication and recreation. Whereas, Mark, when was the last time someone paid to hear you sing?”

Annabelle turned to Mark. “You can sing?”

“Not anymore,” Ashby snickered.

“That is quite enough, Ashby Haley.” Jillian glared at him. “Every time Mark brings a girl over, you trot out the debacle of his voice changing in the middle of his big solo. Yes, it was a humiliating night, and, thank goodness, he hasn’t sung a note since. But I like Annabelle. I think she and Mark are cute together. So maybe you shouldn’t pull out all the stops trying to scare her away.”

Jillian always did leap to his defense. Crap. He really would have to help her with Ashby after that speech.

“You’re right, Jilly.” He winked at Mark. “Sorry—it was a reflex. I wasn’t actually
trying
to run you off, Annabelle.”

“Thanks, I think.” She stood and began to gather their empty plates. “Besides, I’m staying at your parents’ B & B. I’ve no doubt I could pry a few equally embarrassing tales from your childhood out of your mother. If you aren’t careful, they may even wind up in my article.”

“Touché, Ms. Carlyle. A very smooth, very low blow. I admire your style. Swift, understated, and lethal.” He grabbed the plates she’d gathered. “To get back in your good graces, why don’t you let me clear the table? You can sack out on the lounge chair over there, cleverly disguised by Mark’s pile of newspapers.”

“I’d be foolish to turn down an offer like that.” Annabelle walked to the corner of the patio and sank into the cushions, letting her mind float. Everyone else followed Ashby inside and began cleanup. The ubiquitous hum of cicadas blended with the laughter from the kitchen.

It was a far cry from the quiet of her twenty-third-floor condo in New York. There, an evening out consisted of racing between two trendy bars and a club on the rare occasion Annabelle pulled herself away from her work. More often than not she spent evenings hunched over her computer screen.

Tonight was a glimpse into a wholly different lifestyle. Three professionals, skilled and devoted to their fields, who chose to treat an impromptu backyard barbeque with friends as a priority. Not an inconvenient social obligation, but something necessary and special. Even more amazing, no one was rushing away, back to work or another appointment. The evening stretched lazily ahead, full of promise and relaxation.

She shifted her legs and hit the large pile of newspapers stacked on the end of the lounge chair. Men could be such packrats. This had to be at least three months’ worth of newspapers. Mark honestly thought he’d go back and read the old news? She pulled a page from the bottom of the stack and checked the date. March 28
th
. Okay, maybe not three entire months, but it was still a little much to keep a foot high stack of very out of date news in the garden.

Then she noticed the headline beneath the date. She jumped up, heedless of papers spilling onto the ground, and headed straight for the kitchen. Inside, Ashby was buried up to his elbows in soapy water while Jillian dried. Mark was closing the refrigerator on the last of the leftovers.

“You, sir, have months of newspapers rotting away in your backyard.” Annabelle grabbed Mark by the shoulders and kissed him until they were both breathless.

“Maybe Jillian and I should leave before you discover the ten years of National Geographic in the spare bedroom,” Ashby said. “I can only imagine what his reward would be for those.”

Mark looked at Annabelle with hope in his eyes. “And I think my mother has every school paper from my first book report on the Hardy Boys right up to my doctoral thesis.”

“You don’t understand at all.” Laughing, she spread out on the kitchen table the newspaper she’d carried in. “Look at the headline.” She stabbed her finger at the page.

“Bellamy to run for Governor,” Jillian read aloud. “Definitely qualifies as old news—he’s been campaigning for a while now. Even with the election months away, he already has ads running on TV.”

“Exactly my point. Anyone running for public office is concerned about what skeletons the press might dig up. One shocking allegation and suddenly his candidacy is at stake. He could be forced to drop out of the race.”

Jillian pursed her lips, considering. “Bellamy
has
been promoting the fact his family’s lived in Charleston for generations. A ‘True Son of the South’ is his current slogan.”

“Are you serious? It wraps everything up in a tidy package with a big red bow on top. Who could possibly have more to lose in this situation than a ‘True Son of the South’?”

Ashby looked unconvinced. “I’m no fan of Bellamy. I don’t happen to think a well-documented family tree is reason enough to elect him governor. But it’s quite a leap to tag him as a potential murderer just because he’s running for office. This is how lawsuits get started.”

“Ashby, you’re coming at it from your own frame of reference.” Annabelle gave a little hop and perched on top of the counter. “When you trace something historically, you follow the facts. My job starts with very few facts, which means you have to come at it from a different direction. I’m not planning to accuse Bellamy on the six o’clock news tomorrow night. But when we go to Richmond, if we have a few ideas where to start, then we won’t have to spend two solid weeks inside a library doing genealogy charts on the entire Confederate Army.”

“If Annabelle’s wrong, it shouldn’t take too long to rule him out. But if she’s right…” Mark’s voice trailed off. “The implications are staggering.”

“I’ve been doing this for eleven years.” Annabelle consciously tamped down her excitement so she could present calmly to the room. “Investigative journalism isn’t about concocting sensational headlines that have to be retracted three days later in a tiny paragraph hidden on page seventeen. Months of research, interviews, connecting the dots and yes, Ashby, sometimes following hunches. All of it, when done with passion and integrity, can expose truths. And the purpose in exposing the truth is always to right a wrong.”

“All right.” Ashby grabbed the pen and notepad by the phone. “While you two are in Richmond, I’ll do what I can down here. Give me the dates when you think Vanessa and Tad disappeared. I’ll compare them with Bellamy’s official schedule and see if he had any big unaccounted gaps of time.”

“It’d be a big help.”

“Oh my stars!” Jillian piped in. “This is falling into place even better than you know. Guess who’s the guest of honor at this year’s Magnolia Ball? None other than Mr. Nathaniel Bellamy. I’ll get you both tickets and rent Annabelle a dress. It’ll give you a chance to corner him in a nice, safe public setting.”

“Good idea, Jilly—except for the part where I have to dress up in a top hat and tails.” Mark piled bowls and pints of ice cream on the table. “Can’t I go undercover as a waiter?”

“Undercover? You’re on a first name basis with at least three quarters of the guests. Have you forgotten how small Charleston is? Besides, it wouldn’t do you any good. Even the waiters will be wearing tuxes.”

“Sweetheart, your next investigation better be centered around a dude ranch or the national pro bowlers’ tour. I can only take so much of this playing dress up.” Mark lifted Annabelle off the counter.

“The seamy underbelly of cattle ranching. Yup, it has Pulitzer written all over it. Thanks for the tip!”

Mark gave her a gentle swat on the behind. “Your lack of gratitude is truly shocking. However, I’ll take the high road and still share the ice cream with you. But keep your hands off the chocolate sauce, because it’s all mine.”

Annabelle dug into the pint of chocolate caramel swirl, invigorated by the way the investigation was shaping up. “It’s a good plan. We’ll stay in touch with Ashby and Jillian while we’re on the road, and we’ll reconvene Saturday night at the ball.”

“Be careful, you two.” Ashby’s tone was solemn. “I can’t rush to your rescue when you’re three hundred miles away. Watch each other’s backs.”

She tamped down a shiver of worry. Having a team meant having three times as many people to watch over. “Same goes for you and Jilly. The one thing we know without a doubt is this nutcase isn’t afraid to take chances.”