The Azalea Assault (7 page)

“Hey, Gramps!”

Her father and Petunia had had fits when they learned her routine. Not far out of Roanoke the houses became run-down. People were poor, and her family insisted she’d get her bike stolen or get in an accident and not be able to find anyone with a phone. But after living in Chicago, she didn’t feel frightened by this kind of poverty. People got by, and she’d never been bothered. Plus, she carried her own phone.

Cam didn’t think Rob understood what her biking route was like, or he might have protested with her dad. He got his exercise in a gym, a batting cage, or on a baseball field. His road trips were via interstate, and she doubted he’d been this direction on back roads. She was glad—she didn’t want to have an argument about it, but she wouldn’t give this up for anything. It was heaven and helped her clear her head. Now what she needed was a way to convince Annie about the photography.

Just after she passed Gramps, a devious plan occurred to her. Annie claimed to be an artist—“above” real photography jobs—and she would most likely protest if Cam suggested she try, but if the Garden Society and magazine saw her portfolio first and wanted her, then she would be unwilling to refuse—her snobbery was in the abstract, not the specific. Cam hurried home to shower, and then she snuck into Annie’s apartment to grab her portfolio.

S
he called a cab to head back out to La Fontaine. It was a splurge she didn’t normally indulge in, but she figured it was needed for work, and she could catch a ride back home with Petunia when Petunia dropped off supper.

The cab smelled strongly of patchouli, and Cam was relieved to reach La Fontaine and step out of the cab to breathe in the lily of the valley that lined the Patricks’ front yard. She was surprised it was blooming already—she
thought it almost never did until after Mother’s Day. Neil Patrick was in the yard picking wilted flowers from one of the many bushes. Dressed as he was, in slacks and an oxford shirt, he seemed ill attired for the job. Perhaps he’d just needed some air, Cam thought.

“Cammi! We’re glad to see you again.”

“Are the officers still here?” she asked, a bit surprised.

“We took a break this morning to make some phone calls to other members, but we decided the full board should meet.” He looked at his watch. “In ten minutes. Lazy-head Samantha even arrived!”

“Oh, well, that’s good.”

He led Cam into the house.

“Giselle! Could you bring tea into the library?”

“Sure thing, Mr. P.” Her attempt at a French accent was gone.

Mr. Patrick frowned. “I’m afraid being French has lost favor with my staff.”

“It’s not surprising. Maybe you can suggest she go by Helga.”

“Oh, no! I had a German nanny as a boy. I want helpers, not commanders.”

Cam laughed and followed Mr. Patrick into the library.

She waited as the board gathered and the tea was brought in. People smiled or waved, though it was a timid enthusiasm, some having just learned about the murder. Once everyone was seated, Mr. Patrick asked the loaded question.

“Well, Cammi. What do you have?”

She stood and looked at the assembled group, gauging their mood. “For now, I think I have a perfect candidate to replace Jean-Jacques Georges. I hope that tomorrow I can let you know the news is contained, so RGS doesn’t carry a stigma from this.”

“Isn’t that fiancé of yours a reporter?” Mr. Patrick asked.

“Boyfriend,” Cam corrected. People were forever assuming engagement. “And yes, he’s a reporter, but a sports reporter.”

“Can’t he help?”

“Well of course I’ll ask, but I don’t know how much influence he has.” Chatter began among the board members, making her feel less guilty for not disclosing that Rob would actually be covering the story for the newspaper. She wished the group wasn’t so easily distracted, though; they were like children, really. “Excuse me!” She shouted over the clamor that was escalating. “I will do my best at news containment tonight. In the meantime, we need to let
Garden Delights
know by this evening whether we have another photographer, or they will leave. I believe I’ve found someone for the job.”

Clamor broke out again until Samantha stood and shouted, “Enough! Let’s move ahead!” She sat down again, and the board had the decency to look embarrassed as they quieted.

“Go ahead, Cam.”

Samantha’s eyes were red rimmed. She’d been crying, which renewed Cam’s belief there’d been a relationship between Samantha and Jean-Jacques, and she wondered how a class act like Samantha could end up carrying on with a lowlife like Jean-Jacques Georges. Then again, some people were drawn to fame, and that wasn’t exactly counter to what Cam knew of Samantha. She must have stood contemplating too long.

“Cammi?”

“Right. Sorry. I’ve found a talented local photographer who I believe is perfect for the shoot. It will save the magazine feature, and I’m hoping you’ll approve suggesting her to Jane Duffy and Ian Ellsworth. They are the
Garden Delights
decision makers, but, before I approach them, I wanted the buy-in of the board.”

They all nodded their approval, and Madeline Leclerc beamed. Cam’s tight regard for protocol would avoid future problems for their office, should something go wrong.

Cam opened the large portfolio and began slowly flipping pages. Occasionally, a painting or drawing was stuck
in, but most of the pages held photographs. The board was impressed. Halfway through, she reached a picture of her father in a rose garden. Cam knew the shot had captured a moment of profound grief, but in that, there was a deep, touching beauty. She caught her breath.

“Cam, who took those?” Samantha asked, clearly moved.

“My friend Annie.”

“They’re beautiful. She’s caught both the subject and the floral majesty very well.”

“I didn’t realize that picture was in there,” Cam said.

“When was it taken?”

“Soon after my mother died. He used to wander in our roses to be near her. I didn’t know there were pictures.”

“Well, I think Annie’s skill is evident, and isn’t your father one of the human subjects for our shoot? They seem to have a rapport.”

“If you only knew,” Cam muttered, thinking about Annie and her father laughing together and then refusing to reveal the source of fun.

“I move Cam present Annie’s work to
Garden Delights
,” Samantha said decisively.

“So moved,” Neil Patrick said.

Several “ayes” were announced, and then Samantha said, “Opposed?”

Silence followed, though Cam wasn’t sure Joseph had voted. Still, no one opposed, and Joseph could be disengaged that way.

“Good. I’ll go talk to Ian now.” Cam smiled, gathering the portfolio and leaving the board to the rest of their meeting.

A
ll three of the magazine photography staff members were in the front room of the servant’s house, the two men picking at what looked like the remains of a catering tray.

“Look, I met your friend,” Ian sneered at her suggestion. He began pacing and wouldn’t meet Cam’s gaze. “She seems
flaky at best. No offense.” His tone was even more hostile than his words.

Cam breathed out slowly. Obviously anyone would take offense, and this Ian character was an idiot. “I’m not asking you to take it on faith. I’m asking you to look at the portfolio. Where is the harm in that?”

He walked off as though he had a thousand better things to do, but silent Tom, who’d been watching, sat and gestured for Cam to lay the portfolio on the coffee table in front of him. She obliged and then started to follow Ian, but she’d only gotten a few steps when it occurred to her she just needed to appeal to the other
Garden Delights
decision maker. Jane Duffy would have at least as much say as Ian Ellsworth.

“Tom, do you know where Ms. Duffy is staying?”

“The Hotel Roanoke. Probably easier to call her cell, though. Ian has the number.”

Ian was the last person Cam wanted to ask for anything at the moment, especially as her goal was to undermine him. She took out her cell phone and was about to search for the number for the Hotel Roanoke when she thought of somebody else who might have Jane Duffy’s cell phone number. She pressed her speed dial and stepped out front for some privacy.

“Daddy?”

“Well, hello, sunshine! Are you all right?”

“I take it the police have talked to you?”

“They have. What a hassle!”

Cam thought he sounded as secretly excited as Petunia. She wondered if there’d been some mutant morbidity gene that had skipped her, but she managed not to ask, because she needed a real answer, not a joking one.

“Listen, Daddy, it’s awful, but it’s also awful because the magazine might leave if there’s no photographer, and the photo editor won’t even look at Annie’s portfolio.”

“What? That’s outrageous! She’s a talented girl!” Cam smiled at what a fan her father was of Annie.

“Exactly, but the other person with a say is Jane Duffy. You didn’t happen to get her phone number last night, did you?”

“Of course I did, but I can do you one better. I’m picking her up for supper in half an hour. Why don’t you meet us at Arzu for a glass of wine and show her Annie’s work? Then she and I can eat supper.”

“That’s perfect! Thank you, Daddy!” Arzu was a nicer restaurant with Mediterranean food, one of her father’s favorites. She thought this was a sign he thought highly of Ms. Duffy.

Cam went back inside to collect the portfolio.

“This is great work,” Tom told her as she zipped the case.

“Beautiful,” Hannah concurred.

“Any idea what Ian’s issue is with Annie?” Cam asked.

Tom looked away, so Hannah braved it. “He said something about a psycho ex-girlfriend. I think she reminds him of someone. But then when he talked to her, Annie called his bluff on a few things, which he also doesn’t like.”

“Ian said it was a good thing they’d gotten Jean-Jacques to be the photographer, because a dump like this couldn’t possibly have any talent of its own,” Tom admitted. “Then Annie rattled off a dozen or so names—a few I knew. I didn’t know they were from here. It just set Ian off. He likes to be the expert. It almost seemed like they knew each other.”

“Well, I doubt that. Anyway, Jane’s going to look at the portfolio tonight. Does she trump Ian?”

“She will when we point out he never even looked at the work,” Tom said. Hannah edged closer to Tom, putting a hand on his shoulder. Cam wondered if this was a romantic getaway for the pair. They seemed to want to stay.

Hannah wouldn’t meet Cam’s eyes now, but Tom looked sincere.

“Okay, so the trial is with Ms. Duffy. I’ll call you, or ask her to, when she says yea or nay, so you know what’s coming,” Cam said.

She took their numbers and then went to tell the board
the decision was in Jane Duffy’s hands and she would see the portfolio that night. Cam was hopeful. “Is anyone headed back to town in the next half hour?” She preferred not to wait for Petunia. She hated having things unsettled.

“I can give you a ride,” Samantha offered. “I have an appointment in a little bit and it’s on my way.”

Things seemed to be lining up perfectly, except for the new mystery about the tension between Annie and Ian, but surely that wasn’t too big a deal.

S
amantha’s Jaguar had the softest leather seats Cam had ever sat in.

“Thank you so much. I really need to buy that car I have my eye on, but I’m still a few thousand dollars away from the down payment.”

“Oh, honey, it’s no trouble. Far better to hold off and find what you want than to settle.” Cam thought the statement wasn’t about cars.

After an awkward silence, Cam asked the question that had been nagging at her all day. “Where were you this morning, Ms. Hollister?”

“Sleeping like the dead!” Samantha gasped, realizing what she’d said. Tears sprang to her eyes, and her knuckles went white on the steering wheel as she clutched it, but she didn’t comment for what seemed a long time. “You know I haven’t slept that hard since after my last husband died, and that was with the help of sleeping pills.”

“But you didn’t take any last night?”

“No. After the party I thought I might need one. You
know
it didn’t go well.” She looked at Cam earnestly and kept driving. “Joseph stayed for a nightcap. He does that now and again. We debated old movies and the true meaning of chivalry. He loves old fantasy books and movies full of knights and dragons and princesses—he joked about a duel with… but… never mind. Seems so awful, now. It calmed me, though. Joseph has some very old-fashioned
ideas about honor, you know, but to me he’s like an old shoe—not all that attractive, but worn to a perfect fit. Neil stopped by, too, after Evangeline went to bed, just, well… you know… to see how I was—we’ve been friends a long time. He stayed for a drink and then left. Then, when I was alone again, I had a cup of tea and was out soon after.”

“So you slept what? Ten hours?”

“Almost eleven. I know it’s shocking, but Francine was here from six o’clock this morning and knows the truth of it.”

“She’s your housekeeper?”

“Cook, mostly. Though she does some other things. She says she tried to wake me at eight and I just mumbled to her through the door. I didn’t get up until after eleven.”

“Samantha.” The woman’s first name felt strange on Cam’s lips, and caused Samantha to turn toward Cam, even though she was driving. “There isn’t anybody who’d want you to sleep that hard, is there?”

Samantha paused, staring, but finally realized what Cam meant. “Do I think someone drugged me? Heavens, no! Who would? Not Joseph. Certainly not Neil. Nobody else was…”

Cam wondered what idea had interrupted Samantha’s thoughts. Samantha seemed to have missed Cam’s reasoning, but that was just as well. “You didn’t happen to save that cup of tea, did you?”

One eyebrow went down in thought. “It may still be in my room. Normally I leave it in the kitchen sink, but I fell asleep too quickly.”

“I don’t want to alarm you, but it sounds like someone might have wanted you asleep all night, and… well… if you can prove someone slipped you sleeping pills, then if anyone thinks you’re a suspect that would help prove you couldn’t have done it.”