03-Keeping Mum Page 3

  “Holy crap. I wish she’d talked to me. I’ve already been in contact with Henry Larsson to make sure the gardens include predominantly heirloom flowers—we want to make it authentic for the twenties, after all. If Samantha doesn’t back off, I might have to wring her neck.”

  Cam knew that Henry actually handled Samantha well and would be diplomatic about whether her order fit or not. Maybe just the main garden would be heirloom and the rest of her plants could be spread around the grounds.

  “The pro shop, bar, and tearoom are all booked in case of rain, and for dinner in any case,” Annie said.

  “You know our group. They were really only interested in supporting Samantha’s cause if gardening could be a big focus,” Cam admitted, “So outside, if at all possible . . . even in the second week in November.”

  The waiter brought their wine and poured, and when he left, Annie leaned in. “So? Idea?”

  “It’s not as big as I made it out to be,” Cam said. “But you know how the story is set up to look like a jilted lover is to blame?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If Vivian is picked, I think we should have clues and a card ready to put her as the dame who left him. We could even have a second murder later in the night—as the number-two fund-raising person . . . and call him the smoking man.”

  “Oh, excellent! Now, even if I didn’t already like her best, I want her picked!” Annie said.

  “Then I think we’re set!”

  CHAPTER 3

  The night of the party was a bit blustery, but the forecast said it would stay dry. The outer grounds were gorgeous, though Cam wasn’t a fan of the meticulously trimmed hedges. The flowers brought it into a full state of fall glory, boasting every shade between pale yellow and deep red. Mums appeared to be the favorites of the groundskeeper of the country club, probably because they were reliably pretty and more dignified than asters, though Cam preferred the asters for the colors they offered. It was even mild, temperature-wise, so a game outside would be fairly comfortable. Cam wondered if Samantha Hollister had bribed the weather gods—she seemed connected to everyone else.

  Cam had spent the afternoon helping her sister and brother-in-law. They were pros, but Petunia, Cam’s sister, was six months pregnant, and snarky even without the extra passenger. Cam just thought things might flow more smoothly if they had an extra set of hands, so Petunia could take a break once the prep was done.

  Nick was appreciative. Cam’s brother-in-law looked like a bit of a thug, prison tattoos, legitimately earned, and a Jersey accent that screamed gangster, but he had a heart of gold and always wanted what was truly best for Petunia, rather than what Petunia claimed she wanted. Cam had learned to appreciate his approach to her sister long ago.

  There would be a choice between Aiguillette of Striped Bass Joinville or Medallion of Spring Lamb Chasseur, and the sides and salads were all prepped and ready. Nick had access to the country club ovens for the occasion, so it would all go smoothly once they arrived, which should be any minute now.

  Cam, in the meantime, was checking that the grounds where the party would be held were ready and that all the game props were in place.

  She circled the grounds, keeping a watchful eye for the carefully chosen heirloom collection of flowers, first sweeping through the garden where the pre-supper cocktail hour would be held. There was a wall to one side of the garden with a gorgeous blooming autumn clematis. The delicate white flowers gave off a heavenly scent, so Cam forgave them for not being heirloom, or even native. She and Henry had agreed the majority of the flowers would be asters, largely because Samantha had pressured them to focus on red, white, and blue, and asters came in all those shades . . . sort of. In other circumstances, Cam might have argued that blue flowers were usually more purple than blue, as was true for the aster, and the “red” was definitely more fuchsia, but she wanted to minimize her headache and hadn’t really believed red, white, and blue was a priority, so she’d kept those thoughts to herself.

  She left the garden and wandered toward the first hole of the golf course, noting anise hyssop to the sides. The spiky flower clusters were pretty, but the decision had been made by the golf course, not Cam. She thought it was because they were relatively easy to maintain and looked pretty late into the fall. She chuckled with amusement that most of Samantha’s potted chrysanthemums had ended up also lining the fairway. They looked out of place with their red and pink pointed heads, but they were cheerful, nonetheless. As she reached the tee, she switched from just looking to make sure things were attractive to running down her mental checklist for all the props and settings for the game that had to be in place. She thought they were ready.

  Annie arrived not long after Cam had. She’d had to go home after her bakery day to change, but Cam was impressed. Annie wore a short, simple flapper dress, but it was silver and, therefore, elegant. She cursed her own fussy beaded number, which she was afraid to sit in until the last possible minute in case pieces of it went flying off in various directions.

  “How’s it look?” Annie asked.

  “I assume you don’t mean my floral checklist,” Cam said. Annie tilted her head and raised a brow. “Other than that, props are in place. It looks pretty. I think we’re set.”

  “No Rob tonight?”

  “At a thousand dollars a plate? Hardly. He’s glad, though. Virginia Tech had an away game last night, and he didn’t get back into town until about three in the morning. He wouldn’t have liked wearing a stuffy old suit.” Rob was currently winding down what had been a fairly exciting football season.

  “Are Nick and Petunia here?”

  Cam looked at her watch. “They should be.”

  “Excellent.” Annie rubbed her hands together in a mad scientist fashion. Cam couldn’t help but laugh. Annie followed Cam toward the kitchen to check.

  The dining room looked gorgeous. Nick had planned a seven-course meal inspired by The Great Gatsby that would begin with cream of celery soup and toasties, along with celery olives and anchovy canapés. Even the decorations finalized by Joel Jaimeson looked sublime, much to Cam’s irritation.

  She scanned names on the place settings—seating had been preassigned based largely on donation and avoiding hassle. Four tables toward the front had been purchased outright for obscene amounts. It was what was expected, after all.

  Ten tables of eight had been sold, the exclusivity allowing a premium donation request. Cam and Annie had figured the murder mystery to only have about twenty active players. Half the people present could be expected to pander so heavily to Koontz that they merely amounted to a cheering section, so that was fine. Twenty main players and twenty “citizen investigators” should make for a fun game. Joel hustled in then, fretting about something, so Cam scooted toward the kitchen, trying to look busy.

  “It looks fabulous, Petunia!” Cam said as Petunia set out the salads on the last table.

  Petunia rolled her eyes. “Keep that little twerp out of my way, will you? He keeps shifting things.”

  That was standard Petunia. But Joel tried her own patience, and Cam didn’t have half of Petunia’s anti-pretention bias, so Joel being the source of her irritation was hardly surprising.

  Cam rolled her eyes, too, in solidarity—they were sisters, after all. Then she stuck her head in the kitchen to yell thanks to Nick before going out to the garden to greet guests.

  • • •

  • • •

  “Do we have a clue on the winner yet?” Cam asked Annie as they went.

  “Or loser . . . if you aren’t keen on dying.”

  “It’s not really dying.”

  “Oh, you know some of these people want . . . him or her . . . dead.”

  “Oh, come on,” Cam said. She was sure Annie was just stalling. “You can tell me.”

  “No. Because then we’d have to kill you.”

  Cam huffed. “But I’m coordinating!”

  “No. I’m the one in power for a change. Maybe these nuts will accuse you of
murder.”

  Cam raised an eyebrow. It was true. These “nuts” had accused Annie of murder, but this wasn’t really murder. It was a game with the purpose of raising money.

  “My dad made me promise,” Annie pleaded.

  The dad card was something Cam understood. She’d played it herself, though Annie had played it with Cam’s dad also—the two were close—but Cam decided not to pressure her friend further and let it go.

  • • •

  • • •

  It was nerve-wracking, checking in all the VIPs. Cam had dealt with important people in the past, but usually they were either important in the domain of gardening, a field she knew was very narrow, and was rather expert herself, or else it was only a few VIPs at once.

  This political fund-raiser had drawn people from across the state, across professions, and across class lines that Cam wasn’t used to crossing.

  She was used to the wealthy Roanoke Garden Society members, and her best friend was the daughter of a former senator of no small account, but here she encountered fur coats, elaborate jewels, and Rolex watches. She supposed it was standard for a country club—at least for a high-end party like this. But she thought new money seemed much more intent on being flashy about it than the typical bluebloods she was used to.

  They looked fabulous in their wise-guy suits, fedoras, and flapper dresses, which added to how fancy everything felt.

  She managed to check people in and point them toward the grounds behind the pro shop, where hors d’oeuvres and wine were being served.

  “Cam, honey. I can check people in.”

  Cam looked behind her to find Evangeline Patrick. She had a sneaking suspicion Evangeline preferred an official duty to socializing with this crowd, but that was okay. Mingling was a better position for damage control. Cam thanked Evangeline and left to look for Annie.

  The asters smiled at her, and Cam looked more closely to see a mix of daisy poms and snapdragons filling in for some height variation. The only thing missing was roses, though transplanting those for a one-night event was cost-prohibitive. Cam thought the effect, while overdone, was still pretty.

  She found Annie talking to a pair of businessmen. Cam wondered if she was being hit on and approached. The men were probably campaign staff for Jared Koontz and just coordinating, but Cam doubted it was where Annie wanted to be stuck, so she whispered in her ear.

  “You can act like you’re needed elsewhere if you want.”

  “Heavens, really?” Annie said out loud. “Then let’s go.”

  They waved and left the two sycophants to their business.

  “Who was that?” Cam asked.

  Annie said, “I’m not sure. They were looking for Derrick Windermere.”

  They walked toward the growing crowd and made it all of ten feet before finding a familiar face.

  “Daddy!” Cam was stunned to find the first real guest she ran into was her father. A beautiful, familiar woman was on his arm, or rather, he was on hers.

  “Hiya, sunshine!”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Cam said.

  She wasn’t exactly disappointed. She loved her dad, and he was great company, but he somehow always became the planet around which middle-aged women orbited.

  “Well, me neither,” he said. “Not until Vi called. I didn’t know this was the hoopla you’ve been complaining about.”

  Cam looked around, mortified at who might have heard, and she tried to express without words that her dad needed to be more careful, but he never took a hint. Thankfully, most people usually thought he was joking.

  “You can’t be Camellia! I don’t believe it! Vivian Macy, do you remember me? Nelson graciously agreed to be my plus-one.”

  Now Cam placed her. The context of being with her dad had thrown off Cam’s sense of who she might be. The city councilwoman’s question seemed strange—Cam hardly needed to remember her. She was in the paper all the time. It was stranger, though, to see her dad was here on the arm of a politician.

  “Councilwoman Macy! So nice to meet you! And this is my friend Annie Schulz, the primary coordinator.”

  “Please. Vivian. Until I have a title of three syllables or less, it’s just too cumbersome.”

  They all laughed.

  “And Annie. You know, the last time I saw you, you were obsessed with Hello Kitty.” Vivian reached over to pat Annie’s hand.

  Cam smirked and filed it away. It wasn’t very often new fodder to tease Annie with fell in her lap. Annie made a face Cam couldn’t interpret.

  “I’m sure this will be great fun,” Vivian said.

  At that, Cam’s dad winked and led Vivian back out to a waiter who was circulating with a tray of wineglasses.

  “I wonder how that happened,” Cam said.

  “I keep telling you. Your dad’s a babe magnet. Sadly, though, I really can’t watch him impress the crowd at large tonight—which he will. I’d like to get a feel for the bidding war. It was too close to call earlier, and I want to see how much attention I’ll have to pay through dinner to who is going to get murdered later.”

  Cam stood, still wondering how her father ended up the date of the woman who would most likely be the next to announce she was running for a senate seat. Cam hadn’t even known they knew each other. Remember. Had Cam met the woman in person before? She still couldn’t shake the feeling that the councilwoman was more familiar than just her image from the newspapers. It was something about her voice and expressions. But if Cam had met her, she couldn’t seem to pull the memory from her mind.

  • • •

  • • •

  When Derrick Windermere arrived, Annie elbowed Cam as a way of announcing her return. They’d known the local financier would come with a big party—he’d paid for one of the full tables—but the sight of him was still a little alarming.

  “This is hardly the venue for a harem,” Annie whispered.

  “I guess I forgot to clarify that on the invitations,” Cam said.

  “Well you clearly fell down on the job. She’s not with him, is she?” Annie tilted her head.

  Cam swiveled her head to see Jessica Benchly, a recent acquaintance of hers. She was noticeably pregnant, but had found a dress that flattered her.

  “No. I think Jessica’s done with poor companion choices,” Cam said, remembering Jessica’s unfortunate date and the murder fiasco they’d all been pulled into with the children’s pageant the previous summer.

  Cam enjoyed their sarcastic banter, but it wasn’t thirty seconds before Annie whispered, “Daddio, two o’clock.”

  Since they’d already seen Cam’s dad, that could only mean Annie’s had just shown up.

  “Need backup?” Cam asked.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Where’s Elle?” Elle was the senator’s wife, and Cam had expected to see her on his arm.

  “Finland?” Annie said. “Gone, anyway.”

  “During the election cycle?” Cam asked.

  “Dad sent her. She makes him crazy with a bunch of stupid advice. When he was running, it was one thing—helped to look like he had a supportive wife, even if behind closed doors, she could be annoying. When he’s not running, it’s just easier to send her off.”

  It sounded crazy to Cam, but there wasn’t time to ask for clarification as the senator and a tag-along crony had reached them.

  “Sweetheart! It looks lovely! And Camellia. Thank you so much for helping my Annie pull this off.”

  Cam knew how badly Annie wanted to reclaim herself, but Cam stepped forward and gave Senator Schulz a small hug to make nice.

  “I was happy to help. You know Annie’s helped me a number of times. I was happy to do something for her for a change.”

  “Well Annie’s got a good friend, don’t you, pumpkin?”

  “I do,” Annie hugged her dad, but the eye roll couldn’t have been clearer from Cam’s vantage. Fortunately or unfortunately, the senator then seemed to be swarmed with a dozen others demanding his
attention. Cam and Annie snuck away.

  “Who are the other VIPs, pumpkin?” Cam said when they’d made their break.

  “That’s Goddess Pumpkin to you,” Annie said.

  They turned together so Annie could narrate. Derrick had broken free of his harem and was trailed by a trio of goons, loudly complaining about the whiskey quality.

  “Should be top-shelf stuff for all the money I spent tonight!”

  Joel Jaimeson seemed to be trying to edge in, perhaps to explain the goal of authenticity, which during prohibition would have been bathtub gin, but the more well-dressed of the cronies kept thwarting him.

  They made their way to Senator Schulz.

  “Joel’s like a terrier, isn’t he?” Annie leaned toward Cam and whispered.

  “No offense meant to terriers, I’m sure.”

  “You’re right. Strike that.”

  “So I know Derrick,” Cam said, returning to sorting VIPs. “Do you know any others?”

  “Slick guy is Melvin. Dad doesn’t like him,” Annie said.

  “Melvin?”

  “Big broker—investment banker or something.”

  “Okay. And the other two?”

  “Not sure, they probably work with Derrick. And then him,” Annie pointed. A stocky man eased in, the others parting for him, so obviously he was an important member of their little circle. “He was at Dad and Elle’s wedding.” She paused and frowned, then pointed across the patio to a woman with long dark hair. “With her. It wasn’t a huge affair. I don’t think Dad knows him, so he must know Elle.”

  The thick man shook the senator’s hand. Cam could see they knew each other now. She also saw that whatever he said annoyed Senator Schulz. After that, Derrick whispered something to him and the thick man started to argue.

  “Just go!” Derrick shouted.

  The man scowled and left on some errand, possibly concocted by Derrick to get him out of the senator’s way. He didn’t look pleased.

  Annie continued to narrate as Senator Schulz held court in the garden. Cam was chuckling before Annie had finished her presentation.

  Annie glared at her. “And there are some media people who need attention. I think they’re more your type than mine.”