Carolina Heat (33 page)

Annabelle was swift to put his mind at ease. “I’m fine. It’s my brother who’s in the hospital.”

“Your brother? What the hell are you doing with your brother? I didn’t send you down there for a family vacation, Carlyle!”

“Jonathan’s a computer expert. He came down to help out with a lead.”

“Since when do you let anyone help you with a lead? Then you’d have to split credit. What’s going on?”

Luckily, the cool-headed, rational side of her brain kicked in an instant before she lashed back a retort. Ralph had been under an enormous amount of pressure lately. He had every right to snap. And he did have a point.

Before this trip, Annabelle fanatically pursued every angle, every lead by herself. But it wasn’t to hoard the accolades. She couldn’t leave anything to chance. Not this time, though. Maybe it was being so tired of it all, so close to burnout. Maybe it was the genuinely special people she’d encountered here. Whatever the reason, she’d changed course, and didn’t regret it for a second.

Annabelle took a deep breath and chose her words with care. “I’m, uh, using a different approach. And Jonathan’s in the hospital because he was poisoned by whoever killed your brother-in-law.” She didn’t mention the attack was intended for her. No need to get the man even more worked up.

Ralph let loose a steady stream of invectives. “Never meant for anyone else to get tangled up in this. Is he okay? Does he need anything? We can fly him back here and set him up with the best doctors in the city.”

“They have perfectly good doctors here in Charleston. He’ll be fine. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Still could’ve checked your voice mail,” he groused.

“My phone’s at the bottom of a river. Don’t ask. Now, I didn’t mean to worry you, Ralph, but you knew I’d report back when I had something solid. Why were you compelled to track me down this time?”

“Because somebody tracked
me
down!” he thundered into her ear.

“Ralph, you’re not making any sense.” Annabelle rolled her eyes and mouthed an apology to her friends for the prolonged interruption. All four of them were sprawled on the parquet floor in the ballroom. Jillian waved off the apology and began to tidy the remnants of their lunch.

“Our personnel department got a call after we spoke the last time. My assistant was trying to steal donuts from their break room, or I wouldn’t have known about it. Good thing I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“Ralph, who called?”

“A woman. She knew you were in Charleston, writing for
Wanderlust
. Wanted to check your qualifications. Be sure you weren’t trying to do some sleazy exposé on her city. Claimed she was from the mayor’s office. Then she asked for your phone number to set up a proper interview. What have you done to get the attention of the mayor’s office?”

“I’m not quite sure how to answer that.”

“Did you go with the cover story we discussed? A puff piece on the top ten tourist spots? Because if you did, the mayor should be thrilled at the free publicity.”

“It’s what I’ve been telling people. Mrs. Haley was so excited she told every woman’s club in the city. My cover is rock solid, and definitely out there.”

“The last thing I need is to get in a pissing contest with the mayor of Charleston. I keep plenty busy as it is. Something put you on their radar. What did you do?”

A thought occurred to her. “What was the name of the woman who called?”

“Do you want to meet with her?”

“No, I’m playing a hunch. Mostly that she doesn’t really work for the mayor. Who was it?” She heard him shuffle through some papers on his desk.

“Varina Howell. Mean anything to you?”

Annabelle wasn’t sure how to answer, or rather where to begin. She heard the silent snick of another puzzle piece sliding into place. Too bad she still couldn’t quite make out what picture the pieces connected. “You could say the name rings a bell.”

“What do you know about this woman? And more importantly, how’d you manage to put her noise out of joint?” Ralph demanded.

“It would take too long to explain. Let me assure you, though, that the woman who called does not work for the mayor’s office. Varina Howell isn’t her real name. You have nothing to worry about.”

“You sure about that? Because if the mayor’s office calls me again…”

Annabelle swallowed her frustration. The man was like a bear nursing a wounded paw. She didn’t have the time or the patience to smooth his ruffled feathers. Corporate politics was never her strong suit.

“Ralph, I don’t know how to be any clearer.
Wanderlust
still has its sterling reputation. The phone call was nothing more than a test balloon floated in desperation. I’ll call you soon.” She hung up before he had a chance to protest.

“Interesting sounding call,” Jillian said blandly.

“A bit.” Annabelle quickly filled them in on the details of her conversation with Ralph.

Ashby shook his head in amazement. “Even though Varina Howell’s name kept popping up, I wasn’t convinced we were looking for a woman until right now. And before you gather the lynch mob, it doesn’t mean I’m anti-feminist. I’m just surprised.”

“Still picture women as dainty flowers, with barely the strength to lift a teacup, waiting for a big, strong man to rescue them?” teased Jillian.

“Not exactly. Gentler, kinder, nurturing maybe.” Ashby ran a hand down the length of Jillian’s back in a quick caress. The move did not escape the notice of Annabelle, who raised an eyebrow at Mark as she jerked her chin in Ashby’s direction. His head swung in time to catch both her look and the tail end of Ashby’s gesture.

Did he even realize what he’d done? Jillian was frozen in place with a look of confusion. Chances were he’d reacted instinctively, with no intent of reopening that particular can of worms.

Ashby continued, oblivious to the interplay around him. “To balance out men’s rough edges. I know full well both of you ladies could kick some butt if necessary. Feels reassuring, considering our situation. But yeah, right off the top it’s hard for me to picture a woman going all homicidal crazy.”

“While it’s true women can be as dangerous as men, this doesn’t prove we’re looking for a woman.” Annabelle held up a finger, considering. “Or, to be more specific,
only
a woman. She could be working with someone. This in no way rules out Nathaniel Bellamy. It could be his wife, cousin, aunt, mother—who knows?”

“Too bad your brother’s still down for the count. We could use someone who knows their way around a computer to narrow those possibilities down.”

“Not a problem.” Mark pushed himself to his feet. “I can get started as soon as we get back to my place.” Silence greeted his announcement. He answered it with a snort of disgust. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys. Annabelle’s excused, due to being new to the group, but Ashby? Jilly? You guys know I do this for a living, right? I research things.” He drew the words out slowly.

“Not like this. I mean, I’m not saying you’re completely incompetent,” Jillian stammered, flustered. “But you told me you once spent three weeks working on a single sentence. We don’t have that kind of time.”

“All the stories I tell you, you pick that one to remember?” He turned to Annabelle and explained. “With that project I was in Greece, translating ancient Greek,
handwritten
texts into modern Greek to compare with a dozen published translations. There were twenty different texts all referencing a single sentence, but each with a slightly different interpretation. What’s more, I also had to translate my findings into Egyptian for my client. So yeah, it took a little time.”

“One sentence, huh? Must have been important,” Annabelle said, tongue firmly tucked in her cheek. It was entertaining to watch the laconic man disappear behind a façade of puffed up pride and righteous indignation. He was very sexy when temper flashed in his dark black eyes.

“To my client, certainly. It concerned dynastic rights of a harbor and would’ve affected the breadth of his current holdings.”

“Would have?”

“Didn’t turn out the way he planned. Very unhappy with my final results. Things got a little dicey toward the end. I still have a scar to remind me—” he tapped a thin white line along the side of his jaw, “—but all Jilly got out of the story was how it took me three weeks to work on one sentence.”

Jillian had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, Mark.”

“Sure, I prefer going up against a stack of dusty books, but I do know how to finesse answers out of a laptop. Can’t hack into anything top secret like Jonathan, but I can take a whack at it.”

Annabelle’s voice held regret. It was obvious Mark wanted do this, but she couldn’t spare him. “Actually, you can’t. I need you to help me with the book. You said you’d probably be able to recognize at least some of the names. It’ll give us a leg up from me slogging through it by myself. And it has to be our priority.”

Mark dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You’re right. Just trying to cover all our bases.” A mischievous smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “There’s still the fun of confronting Bellamy tonight. I guess I can look forward to the challenge of squeezing information from him in the middle of the ball. Cracking the rock hard façade of a career politician.”

“Whatever gets you through the day,” Annabelle laughed.

Mark sat down in one of the gilt Chivari chairs. “I noticed something when you were on the phone. You mentioned your cover was rock solid.”

“I think it is. Well, except for whoever shot at us. They probably have their suspicions about my visit,” she noted.

“Very funny. You said Mrs. Haley was spreading the word all over town about putting up a famous reporter?”

“She came back from a garden club tea, or a historical club thing—honestly, I can’t keep them straight. Anyway, she said she told all the girls at her meeting.”

Mark jumped back up and began to pace as he worked through the connections in his head. “Let’s make this easy on ourselves. Let’s assume one of the members at the meeting is our Varina Howell. Maybe after the little stunt at Charles Towne failed and we left town, she was stuck. Went to the meeting, where Mrs. Haley conveniently gave them the name of your employer. She tried to find you by calling the magazine. That’s who tracked you down,” he said, smacking his hand on a table in triumph. Jillian winced as the china danced, and he quickly removed his hand. “Figured if she got your cell phone number, she could lure you someplace without leaving any tracks.”

“This week?” asked Ashby, sitting up a little straighter.

“Obviously this week. She’s only been here a week,” Jillian snapped back.

“Give me a break,” he said, with a remarkable amount of calm. “I’m onto something here. This Wednesday was the Daughters of Charleston meeting. I’m sure of it. My mom’s car was being worked on, so I drove her right here and picked her up two hours later.”

“The timing’s more than coincidental. It fits perfectly. We left for Richmond on Thursday. Ralph got the call, but he stonewalled her. She got desperate, had to play it a little looser, and left the cookies at the B&B.” Annabelle felt a rush. They’d been connecting the dots left and right, but hadn’t been able to see the picture until now. In a matter of minutes, their suspect base had narrowed to less than a hundred people. The odds were finally in their favor.

Mark held up a hand. “Whoa. Before we rush off half-cocked to interrogate the ladies of the D of C with rubber hoses, do you know if your mom had any other club things this week?”

Ashby shook his head. “I know she didn’t. Her car was in the shop all week.” He began to tick items off on his fingers. “I took her to the beauty parlor, the grocery store twice, the library, and the flower store. That was it until she got her car back yesterday morning. And not a moment too soon.”

Jillian cleared her throat. “I liked Mark’s attempt to be the voice of reason. Maybe it’s selfish, but you’re talking about an organization which is my current client. My client who still owes me an extremely large final payment I don’t collect until tonight. And I know these women; I grew up around all of them. The Daughters of Charleston is a very old, very proper group of women. Members barely swat flies, let alone commit murder.”

Mark shook his head as he sat back down. “Doesn’t work that way. Some of the worst psychopaths in history were described by their neighbors as being kind, unassuming, and gentle.”

“Crimes of passion aren’t always about love. More often than not, it’s the passion for a cause or a belief which drives someone to extraordinary measures.” Annabelle ran through a mental list of examples, but the dejected look on Jillian’s face made her rethink. Although fascinating, stories she’d written of a mother who smothered her children or a man who poisoned a village’s only drinking well were not what Jillian needed to hear right now. She decided to take a straightforward approach.

“Jilly, the facts point to someone in the D of C. I know you see it, too.”

“I know. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around, because there’s already so much jumbled in there.” She patted her head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s been a long week.”

“So now that we’ve fed you, Annabelle and I will clear out. Give you a chance to spot check everything for the hundredth time.” Mark carefully eased his chair back into place at the ornately set table.