The Begonia Bribe (3 page)

“You’re a home-wrecker, you tramp!”

“Judith!” Clancy and Telly swore at the same time.

“You see that? She’s got both of them wrapped around her little finger!” Judith accused, looking around the crowded corridor.

Cam watched Jessica. She didn’t argue or defend herself, but she did turn a sickly green and rush out the front door.

Clancy started to follow her, but Telly grabbed his arm. His words were quiet, but his voice was made for broadcast media; the tenor trembled within hearing range.

“Why did you bring her here? Tonight, of all nights?”

Cam wondered what was so special about this particular night, but the men just stood and glared. Telly had forgotten Cam entirely.

Thankfully, Nick came through the front door with a tray, giving Cam something to do. She rushed over.

“Hey, sis—glad to see you. There are three of these and Petunia’s sort of . . . indisposed . . . You mind grabbing one?”

“Of course.”

Cam rushed out to the van and retrieved one, glad for a concrete task at the moment. She could hear retching behind a bush. Was it Petunia? Or Jessica? She worried either way but grabbed a tray. She had barely reached the stairs when Nick rushed back past her for the last one.

The little squares of ice cream were beautiful. Chocolate on some, white chocolate on others—each with a small flower in pink, yellow, or lavender.

When Nick set the last tray down, she grabbed his arm. “Is Petunia okay?”

“Yeah, just . . . well, she’ll explain later.”

He splayed his hands and Cam knew he meant Petunia was throwing up. It
had
been her Cam had heard.

“Out there?”

He nodded. “Behind a bush. Something set her off.”

“Poor thing!”

“I’ll get the dinner dishes now, but can you . . .” He indicated the three trays. “We still have another few deliveries.”

“Of course!” It was funny to hear the word “dinner” for “supper,” and with Nick’s New Jersey accent, it was really closer to “dinna.” “You come say good-bye after you’re loaded, okay? Let me know that Tunia’s all right?”

He clicked his tongue and gave a half grin—a sort of wordless affirmative in Nick’s world. He seemed to do whatever he could to avoid language.

As Cam watched Nick leave the sunroom, Jessica came back in. She looked better—a lot better. Cam was impressed with how dignified she could look after the scene downstairs; she was the picture of elegance. She looked around the room and then made her way over to Clancy.

In slow motion, it seemed, Telly went toward her and his wife grabbed his arm, throwing red wine in his face.

“I will not have you chase after that floozy in my presence!”

Judith stormed out and Telly stood there, looking like an idiot.

Nobody rushed to help, as they all seemed to think he’d asked for it, until Giselle handed him a towel and then carefully began to dab at a wine-splattered tapestry.

Cam went to her. “Do you have any seltzer? It might work better.”

Giselle looked up. “It will? Yes! The mini-fridge.” Giselle rushed over to the bookcase and pulled a book out, which revealed itself to be a false front. She took a bottle of seltzer water and Cam did the same, then closed it again.

By the time Cam turned around after cleaning the stains, Telly, Judith, Clancy, and Jessica were all gone. Evangeline and Neil chatted amicably with sponsors and members of the media, and Cam’s dad seemed to have a harem, if not for Byron Norton also hovering. Nell, Lydia, Annette, and Barbara Mackay all appeared rapt at his story.

Jimmy Meares loitered near Annie, and Cam took mercy, deciding her best friend needed rescuing. She went over and leaned in, whispering loudly.

“You meeting Jake later?” Cam asked.

“Maybe. He went to his mom’s for dinner, which often requires Annie therapy afterward. What about Rob?”

“Hopefully.”

Jimmy wasn’t as thick as he’d acted; he understood the conversation meant the two women in his age range weren’t available. He said his good-byes and left.

C
am had an appointment the following morning to supply Telly Stevens with portfolios of the contestants for the interviews that would occur in the coming days. She looked around WONK, with its chrome-and-glass lobby. A small, perky receptionist led her into a studio that was familiar and not at the same time: Telly Stevens’s talk show set for
Roanoke Living
. The stage looked eerily empty without lights, host, and guest, but the chairs and background, a grand shot of Roanoke she’d seen on television a hundred times, were well-known.

“Mr. Stevens?” the receptionist called. Her voice was slightly nasal when she shouted.

Telly Stevens came out a side door wearing a shirt, tie, and vest, but had apparently discarded the jacket for the time being. His hair was combed straight back to reveal a widow’s peak, but the salt that tempered his pepper kept it from looking too menacing. She realized she’d avoided looking at him very closely the night before, probably because he’d made such a spectacle, so it felt like her first close-up look at him.

“Well, hello there,” he oozed.

Cam repeated her mantra:
professional. Professional. Professional
. She knew his reputation and was not interested, but neither did she want to jeopardize the pageant by offending him. She thought if she were distant, she could avoid any misinterpretation.

“Mr. Stevens, nice to see you again. I wanted to go over the parameters for the Little Miss Begonia interviews.”

“Well, sure, darlin’. Come on in.” He was shameless—not a word or look of apology for the scene he’d caused the night before.

Cam followed him into his office and sat across from the main seat. A bookshelf sat to the side, the top lined with a handful of high-end liquor bottles. A similarly sized gift box sat on his desk. She suspected that was a well-known way to butter the man up.

To her alarm, instead of going around to his side of the desk, he settled in the guest chair next to her. She plowed ahead, presenting what his team had agreed to in terms of the interviews with the girls and how the clips would be used in the pageant and for publicity.

He scooted close to her and rested the back of his arm on her leg to hold the packet, even as she tried to push it to him.

“And this was all scheduled with my secretary?” he asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Then I suppose we’re set.”

“I just wanted to talk about tone and see if you had any questions. I know you’ve done pageants, but these girls are only seven to ten years old.”

His mouth twitched like he’d bitten into something bitter.

“They’ll be very star-struck and excited to be in the studio,” she said. “The first few will come in this afternoon—local girls—after you’re done filming
Roanoke Living
.”

“Well, if my secretary scheduled them . . .” He hadn’t removed his arm from her leg. He then turned his arm over and patted her knee.

Professional. Professional.
“We confirmed six a day through Friday.”

He squeezed her knee and smiled. She had to work not to swat it away.

“Well, I’m glad you let me know. I barely keep up with my calendar most days, but I’d like to prepare a little for this.”

Cam breathed a sigh of relief when he leaned back and let go of her knee. She handed over the packet she’d prepared for him.

“This should help. It’s all about the pageant. Do you have any questions, Mr. Stevens?”

“Can I get your phone number?”

Cam was horrified, then realized he might have a professional need.

“Of course you can. And you can call me for any trouble with these interviews or questions the packet brings up. Will you be at the welcoming supper for the girls tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” His teeth gleamed, but his eyes didn’t crinkle. He’d gotten her hint about the phone number. She felt dirty when she escaped, and it was barely nine in the morning.

* * *

C
am arrived at the Patrick Henry just ten minutes later. The old hotel was a comfortable walk from the studio, but the morning meeting with Telly Stevens had drained her. She found her way to an empty pageant office and turned on her laptop to organize her day. Once her planner was double-checked, she went into Evangeline’s office to see how things were going, but as soon as she got there, the bell chimed, signaling they had company in their suite.

Cam turned and her heart stopped. Three months earlier, Dylan, the man now loitering in the doorway, had guarded her as she was briefly—and, it turned out, benignly—held hostage. There was electricity between them, regardless of how badly Cam wanted it to go away. Her face grew hot. She wasn’t quite a redhead, but her complexion thought she was. She blushed easily.

She looked around for a distraction and saw that Benny Larsson, son of Henry Larsson, the premiere local gardener, had come in to Dylan’s left. Benny usually worked for his father, who in turn worked for half of the Roanoke Garden Society.

“Benny! Hi! What are you doing here?” Cam hoped her enthusiasm hid her embarrassment about Dylan.

“Mrs. Patrick hired me and a few friends to help with aerating the soil, then planting some stuff for this pageant thing.”

“They’re your staff, Cam.” Evangeline smiled as if this were a grand treat for Cam.

“Staff. I see.” Cam blushed again, so she turned back to Evangeline to keep Benny and Dylan from seeing. “Thank you.”

“Well, of course, honey. There’s lots to do. Why don’t you have them get started?”

“Right.” Cam turned back to them. “Just you two?”

“Until eleven, then we have two more,” Benny said. “We also brought a bunch of tools.”

“That’s good. It’s a lot of area to cover and I don’t think the soil has been treated for years. They normally just use bedding plants, changing them out a few times a year, so they can tolerate poorer soil. The Memorial Day batch has run its course, though.”

On the elevator, without looking at her, Dylan said, “I’m glad I’m getting to work with you, Miss Harris.”

Her stomach protested and her spine felt weak. “Me, too. We appreciate it.” Her answer felt canned.

Cam looked at Benny. He was chuckling quietly, seemingly pleased with Cam’s discomfort.

She led them out of the Patrick Henry and headed toward the clamshell at the park. The area behind it would be most visible, and would therefore get the most flowers.

She pointed out the priority area and let them know the soil supplements and first batch of flowers would be arriving soon, so they could just get started prepping the ground. As she left, she scolded herself for feeling like it was a narrow escape.

* * *

C
am had plenty to do before she began checking in pageant contestants at three. The event staff all had to be situated in their various places at the Roanoke Arts Commission and the Roanoke Library. All the goodies for contestants had to be in place in the amphitheater, and she had to confirm that a shuttle would run hourly to the Hotel Roanoke and the Travelodge, the two closest hotels that had had rooms blocked for the event.

As she made her way back to the Patrick Henry, trying not to think about Dylan, Cam called Petunia to make sure she didn’t need help with the fajita buffet that would serve as the supper in the park.

Cam’s cell phone buzzed as she tried to put it back in her pocket. She hadn’t even made it back up to her office yet.

“Got a truckload of flowers down here. Where you want ’em?” Cam didn’t recognize the voice, but she’d been expecting the flower delivery.

“Oh! Wonderful! Can you see the men turning over soil?”

“Yeah?”

“Just drive across the grass and park near them. The flowers will be planted under the dogwoods, and the shade will be better for them until they’re planted.”

“That’s city property,” the man said.

“And the city is thrilled to have an outside group donate and plant flowers for them.”

“Okay! No offense, I just like to make sure. People who get kicked out don’t pay their bills.” It sounded like he was removed several steps from Nell Norton or he’d know these were a donation, but Cam decided to be nice.

“Understandable. I’ll meet you in ten minutes with your receipt. Just unload under the trees, if you would.”

“Will do.”

Cam hoped they also had the fertilizer and compost she’d requested. She wanted a lasting benefit to her favorite city, so she’d been pleased with the arrangement they’d made with Nell. Benny would know which plants needed greater acidity and which preferred alkaline soil, so she trusted optimum growing conditions would be set.

She reached the second floor and peeked into Evangeline’s office. “Flowers are here. Could I get that non-profit voucher? Nell will want her tax deduction.”

Evangeline nodded, pulled out a receipt book, and wrote one up for Cam. Cam took it and hurried back toward the elevators, feeling like her entire day would probably be spent running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

* * *

S
he met the truck on the grass near the row of trees that lined Williamson Road, forming the eastern border for the park. Two men were diligently unloading, and she noted they’d included several bags of compost and manure.

Benny heaved his shovel into the soil so it stood upright, and walked over to Cam. “What’s up?”

“This is first priority, now. I hope you’ve made good progress because these bushes and flowers need to be planted by the time the sprinklers come on at six.”

“Holy crap!” Benny said.

Cam eyed him. “I’m sure Evangeline told you.”

“Yeah, and there are four of us. But that’s a lot!”

Benny’s friends had all joined him and Cam looked at Benny, waiting for introductions. They didn’t come, so she began. “I’m Cam Harris.”

Benny jumped. “Right! Miss Harris, this is Scooter and Jed.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Cam said. “The bushes and lilies take priority as focal points. The annuals should work around them as complements. Benny is expert enough to guide you. I just wanted to make sure you knew they were the priority.”

Dylan was behind the others, as he was taller, and made a point of grinning in a way that made Cam feel naked. That’s when a hand from behind touched her waist and she jumped.

“Sorry! Intense flower discussion?” Rob asked.

She kissed him quickly so no one mistook who he was, then said, “Just a second.” She rushed over and handed the man from the nursery the receipt slip and then came back to Rob and quickly made introductions. Everyone else dispersed, but Cam felt at least one set of eyes on her.

“What are you doing here? I don’t have time for lunch.”

“Then I’ll bring you some, but I have news,” he said.

“Good news? Bad news?”

“Yes.”

Cam raised an eyebrow.

“I get to cover the murder trial next week,” Rob said. It was Cam who had solved the murders that had plagued the RGS the previous spring and Rob had reported on them, so it wasn’t surprising he got to cover the trial. But Cam could tell there was more.

“And?”

“And as payment, I have to cover the Little Miss Begonia Pageant.”

Cam laughed. “Oh, you poor macho stud! How will you save your reputation?”

“I thought maybe I’d request a brawl.”

Cam laughed again. “Actually, I think these things can get pretty nasty, though I’d appreciate it if you covered it as warm and fuzzy.”

“I’ll cover what happens.”

“I know. News is news.” Rob wasn’t actually a high risk for tabloid-style journalism, so she felt fairly safe unless something went drastically wrong. Unfortunately, if the pageant-judge love triangle didn’t sort itself out, they might have a little of the wrong kind of excitement. She just hoped this event would be significantly less eventful than the last one. A nice, smooth competition with a deserving winner might not be exciting, but at the end of July it was newsworthy. And it was certainly what the pageant committee hoped for, as well as RGS, which was even more important to Cam.

“So what’s the agenda?” Rob asked.

“Setting up until three, then I start checking girls in and getting them to their hotels. At six, there is a buffet supper in the circular courtyard by the library. Afterward is a meet-and-greet ice cream social. Back to the hotel by eight, and tomorrow we start rehearsals.”

Rob’s eyes glazed over.

“Hopefully that won’t put you to sleep,” Cam said. She considered telling him about the potential judge scandal but decided against it. She wanted the girls to be the focus.

“Can I talk to the contestants?”

“If their guardians don’t object and you promise to be nice.”

“Would I be mean to ten-year-old girls?”

“No, I’m teasing.”

“And what’s your next step?”

“I need to bring over all the check-in packets. We’ll do it at the band shell.”

“I’ll help you.”

Cam was glad for the help. She could have recruited one or two of the men planting flowers, but they were better off uninterrupted and Cam didn’t want to encounter Dylan at the moment. She liked this solution for help until the cadre of volunteers began to arrive around two.

* * *

T
he heat threatened as Cam and Rob crossed the lawn to the band shell weighted down with the boxes of materials for participants. It was noon, and Cam thought it might have already hit the predicted high of ninety.

She carried a box and Rob maneuvered a hand truck that held four similar boxes. He looked too warm, but didn’t complain. She led him up the ramp onto the shell.

“Crap!”

“What?” he asked.

“Look!”

Rob looked around. The inside of the shell had been vandalized with a lot of spray-painted writing, though the only recurrent word was “Exploit.”

Cam set the box down and jogged back down the ramp, Rob on her heels.

“Benny!” she shouted as she approached the trees.

“Yeah?” she heard from the far end of the row.

“Did any of you see anyone go in the band shell today? It was fine this morning, but somebody has had a heyday with spray paint since then.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Benny said.