Rob gave a bemused look. “So . . . rough night?”
“Why did nobody tell me how hard waitressing is?”
“It is?”
“Yes. We should tip like thirty percent from now on.”
“Thirty!”
She turned and threw her feet across his lap.
“That bad, huh?”
She propped herself on a couple of pillows and lay back while he massaged her feet.
“Ouch! Gentle! I think the bottoms are bruised.”
“You get hazard pay?”
“No, but I made seventy-two dollars, and that was with Dylan penalizing me for the half hour I spent talking to our friend Vera.”
“Vera was there?”
“She thought I was following her. That I was some tabloid reporter or something.”
“Imagine what she’d do if she knew I really was a reporter.”
“And Elle had to protect me . . .”
“Say what?”
“I told her I was looking into her brother’s death—with you, for your job. Which I sort of am, right?” Cam asked.
Rob scoffed. “If you say so.”
“I figured it would keep her on my side. It’s something she wants solved. And if we solve the murders, then it works for everyone, right?”
“You’re a spin queen. You do know that?”
Cam sighed. “Part of the job.”
“But yes. If we do what we’re trying to do for your dad, we also figure out who the killer is, and that will make Elle happy, so there’s no harm in it.” Rob said. “Say, speaking of Vivian . . .”
Cam had been about to drift off, but that brought her around again, especially as they hadn’t been speaking of Vivian. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got a lot better grasp now on why the police have been so focused on her. If we look into the stuff, we . . . well, we either help them prove it was her, or we prove it couldn’t have been. Do you want to pursue it?”
“Yes! I mean, I don’t want it to be her, but I’d want my dad to be with a murderer even less, so either way we should definitely do it! What do you have?”
CHAPTER 18
As it turned out, Derrick Windermere’s history with Vivian Macy was not strictly political animosity. Rob told Cam he’d turned on her because of something that had started romantically and then gone sour. Friends of Vivian’s had admitted to police that they’d dated briefly, and when Vivian found out the kind of ethics he had in business, she’d ended it. He hadn’t taken it well.
“How did you learn this?” Cam asked.
“Annie. Jake keeps a notebook and she keeps reading little bits. This was the first real surprise in a while.”
Cam wondered if it was time to go talk to Vivian again. She thought the woman herself would have the best chance of clearing things up, even if the conversation would be awkward. She was a little worried, though, and felt maybe she should gather additional information before she pursued it directly. She considered going to her father, but he might be defensive or sensitive, and she imagined that if this really was headed in a romantic direction, Vivian might not have revealed her past love-related fiascoes to him. She scanned her brain for who else she knew who would know Vivian well, and came to a very strange conclusion. Neil Patrick.
She’d never approached Mr. Patrick directly in a murder investigation. She found his wife, Evangeline, significantly more approachable. But Evangeline was too young to have been a part of the social circle before Vivian left town to make her name, returning only to take her place in local politics. Cam thought Mr. Patrick had been at college with her mom and Vivian, even if he was a little older. Besides that, he’d been on every who’s who list Roanoke had ever produced, so he knew everyone involved, yet he hadn’t been one of the people pushing a specific political agenda. She thought his neutrality would be good for getting at the truth, unlike Samantha Hollister, who clearly didn’t care for Vivian.
Then again, understanding that might be helpful, too. She had a hard time thinking of a reason somebody wouldn’t like Vivian, unless their politics clashed, which they probably did. But Samantha’s agenda seemed more personal.
• • •
• • •
As Cam sat at her desk trying to work, she debated whom to talk to. As she went back and forth, Neil Patrick returned from a meeting, so she decided to just bite the bullet.
“Mr. Patrick? Do you have a minute?”
“Of course I do, Cammi! What can I do for you?”
She went into his office and shut the door, something that caused an alarmed expression to cross his kindly face.
“I trust Evangeline. In fact if you’d like, she can come in. It’s just that we never know who else might come in,” Cam said.
“I see.” He didn’t look particularly calmed by that.
“It’s . . . the murder at the fund-raiser the other night . . . and the one that followed in Newport News . . .”
Mr. Patrick looked confused, so Cam explained.
“Mike Sullivan, Derrick Windermere’s son-in-law, was killed just a few days later.”
Mr. Patrick’s face fell. “This doesn’t have to do with the Roanoke Garden Society, does it?”
“Not in any way I can think of. Actually, I’m helping my dad out. His lady friend, Vivian Macy, has been connected to both victims. And my dad asked me to help him show she didn’t do it, and I don’t think she did. But I’m also a little worried he’s looking at this through . . . a filter . . . because he likes her. I just wanted to talk to somebody who knew all the parties, who’d been around Roanoke and politics for a long time. I mean, I like Vivian, but if she is a killer, I’d rather know and warn my dad. Do you . . . know her?”
“Of course I do. I’ve known her for years.”
“Do you know anything about a romantic history with Derrick Windermere?”
His eyes popped and his jaw dropped. “Oh, I don’t think so! I wouldn’t imagine they’d get along. Derrick was always . . .”
“A little shady?” Cam finished.
“Well . . . yes.”
“Evangeline said you didn’t trust him.”
“Not even a little. And that was before that deal Melvin talked me into where I lost my britches, so to speak.”
“Why do you think Vivian might have been convinced to go out with him?”
“I can’t think of anything except a mutual friend trying to set them up.”
“Set them up? Like a joke?”
Mr. Patrick looked startled. “Well, no. That wasn’t how I meant it; it seems like a rotten thing to do. But I suppose that could be true, too. I meant someone who . . . either didn’t know one or the other of them very well. Just a date. Attractive people, both divorced. There was a time divorce was sort of a mark of shame.”
Cam knew in some upper circles, it still was, but Mr. Patrick, a widower, was too kind to say so.
“I suppose someone might be intentionally putting them in each other’s path for other reasons,” he continued.
“And why might they do that?”
He stroked his mustache and looked confused for a minute, and then narrowed his eyes. “Because they didn’t have the power to get Derrick to stop his shenanigans, but wanted him to?”
“Somebody trying to scare him straight?”
“Yes. Like that.”
“Might somebody trying to scare him straight have gotten angry if it didn’t work?”
“Maybe. But I can’t imagine a person who tried to help him do the right thing then committing murder if it didn’t pan out.”
That was true. The moralities didn’t match.
“Did you know Mike Sullivan at all?”
“I can’t say I did.”
“He worked on Vivian’s campaign for a while . . . stole some money.”
Mr. Patrick shook his head, so Cam thought that was as far as she was going to get with him. It was an intriguing thought, though, somebody setting up Vivian Macy and Derrick Windermere—for whatever reason.<
br />
• • •
• • •
Cam worked for a few more hours, then decided to make an afternoon visit to Samantha’s house. She was ready for the “anti” argument where Vivian Macy was concerned. She didn’t think she could be convinced, but she thought she needed to hear it.
She called ahead. She’d dropped in on Samantha a number of times without calling, but sometimes the surprises she found there were too unsettling. Besides, she didn’t want to solidify a reputation as being rude. Thankfully, Samantha was happy to talk to her and invited her out to her house.
“Camellia, darling! Come in!”
Cam was a little wrong-footed with the over-the-top hospitality and she felt a strange sense of déjà vu. She’d been here once before claiming to be worried about a loved one’s romantic endeavors. It couldn’t be helped, though. This really was an important angle, and since she had a precedent, convincing Samantha that was the total reason didn’t seem improbable.
“Thank you so much for seeing me, Samantha. I know how busy you are.”
“Nonsense. Now that that fund-raiser is over, I’m shopping at my leisure for the holidays. I’ll have Thanksgiving at the country club. Margot is joining me, but you know my family history. Nobody else I really care to see.”
Margot was Samantha’s niece, and Margot’s brother, an undeniable scoundrel, had been killed about six months earlier—the first murder Cam had solved. In fact, she didn’t like to think about it, as it seemed to have set off a really bad string of luck where dead bodies were concerned.
“That sounds nice,” Cam said. Nick was cooking her own family’s Thanksgiving dinner. It was sure to be divine, as he was a great cook. Cam and Annie were on pie, roll, and eggnog duty. “I’m glad you’re getting a break then.”
“Gin and tonic?” Samantha asked.
“Yes please: weak, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Samantha poured and chattered about how much money had been made for Jared Koontz at the fund-raiser.
“So how do you know Jared?” Cam asked.
Samantha paused and seemed to be thinking. “I’m pretty sure I met him when he was working as a staff person for Alden.”
“Was that before your falling out with Alden?”
Samantha narrowed an eye. “Now I wouldn’t call it a falling out, exactly. Alden and I run in the same circles and have known each other a very long time. We get along for the most part. We’ve just had a few ugly disagreements over the years.”
That hadn’t been how Cam understood the relationship at all, especially as Samantha had recently suggested Alden murdered somebody. “Why did you think he would have killed Derrick Windermere?” she asked.
“Oh, that was silly impulse. Now those two I know didn’t get along, but Derrick could rub people the wrong way. It’s too bad, really. He was so charming.”
Of all the adjectives she’d heard about Derrick Windermere, this was certainly the most surprising. It wasn’t the first nice one. She’d heard “generous,” or “smart,” or “ambitious.” But the man didn’t seem very well liked. Charming went with likability in her mind.
“Listen, this is strange. My dad has asked me—he has been seeing Vivian Macy—I’m sure you noticed. And . . . well Vivian has been connected to Derrick. Dad wanted me to learn what I could to . . . cast doubt?”
“Oh, Cam, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Well, I’m not either. If Vivian did this, I certainly don’t want a murderer dating my father! But . . . people seem to like her . . . except for you. So I thought maybe I should ask you to give me the other side of the story.”
Samantha looked surprised, and Cam took a sip of her drink to try to appear relaxed. She hoped Samantha could calm down, too, and treat this like a normal conversation.
“She and I were friends once upon a time,” Samantha said. “From years ago—elementary school, maybe. We always got along just fine. She changed though.”
Cam tried not to cast any judgment about that. Change could be good or bad. It sort of depended on the direction. And Samantha was definitely a person Cam saw both good and bad in, so really, it wasn’t fair to assume Vivian had improved and Samantha had stayed the same materialistic, vain person she’d been when she was younger.
“Somebody said Vivian and Derrick had dated. But . . . they seem ill suited. Do you know how that happened?”
“That was my own stupidity! Vivian was moving back to town after spending several years in Richmond, and I knew Derrick was just getting over his divorce. I thought they’d have fun together.”
“You set them up?”
“I was trying to do a good deed! It was before I realized how much Vivian had changed.”
“I see.” And she did. Samantha was unlikely to try to make Derrick learn the importance of integrity—Samantha didn’t seem all that concerned about alternative ethics. She didn’t say it, but the thing that was still possible in Cam’s mind was that Samantha really did know Vivian had changed for the better and maybe wanted to tarnish her reputation a little.
“So you don’t think Vivian would . . . murder someone, do you?”
“Well, I never would expect that of anyone. In Vivian’s case, part of it is that I don’t think she’d get her hands dirty. But I wouldn’t put it past her to . . . play victim and inspire somebody else to do it.”
That didn’t sound even remotely right to Cam. She wondered what exactly had happened between Samantha and Vivian that had soured their friendship so badly.
“So you think I really need to be cautious about Vivian. Should I worry about my dad?”
“Well, only if he gets in her way. I think she can be ruthless in her ambition.”
“Would Derrick have gotten in her way?”
“I can’t say. I think maybe he could have. He had great resources.”
“So this would have been politically motivated? If she did it, I mean.”
“Honey, ambition is all that woman has. Everything with her is politically motivated.”
Cam finished her drink and thanked Samantha for her time. She left the conversation feeling more negatively about Samantha, rather than Vivian, but she knew she should try to maintain some objectivity. At least she had a good solid set of questions to ask Vivian.
• • •
• • •
Cam didn’t want to go through her dad to set up a meeting with Vivian. She didn’t believe, yet, that Vivian was dangerous, but at the same time, there had been enough doubt thrown out that she preferred to leave him out of it in case things didn’t go well.
The trouble was, finding access to Vivian without going through her dad meant going back to her office to look at the official roster from the fund-raiser. She had never contacted Vivian directly except by email, and she couldn’t think of another route to find the woman’s personal contact information.
When she entered the Patrick Henry, it was evening; eerie piano was playing even though no sound system existed and the piano sat unattended. It was the haunted hotel stuff Annie loved to tease her with, but Cam had spent enough time there that she was starting to be fond of certain aspects of the haunting. Though as she came out of the elevator on the second floor, she had to amend that—not all of it pleased her. The smoky smell hovered from the man who’d been killed there in the twenties—the same man they’d based their murder mystery dinner on.
Through the glass doors she thought she saw a light from the door of Evangeline’s office, but when she got inside, she realized she was mistaken. It must have been a reflection from the security lighting in the hallway. She locked the front door again behind her. She doubted anybody else would come into their private suite, but a woman alone at night couldn’t be too careful. She went into her office and turned on the computer.
Cam logged on and accessed the shared folder with the contact information. Vivian’s list was longer than most, so she hit “Print” to take the list with her. When she wen
t out to the central office to retrieve it, she was grabbed from behind.
The man was strong, not particularly tall, but stocky, and he had gloves on. He pulled her back into Evangeline’s office, where he had a chair and telephone cord waiting.
“Scream and I’ll make this hurt,” he said.
Cam nodded agreement but he strong-armed her anyway, slapping her. It wasn’t so hard she blacked out, but it disoriented her and made it more difficult to fight him off. He wrestled her into the chair and tied her to it with the phone cord, shoving some sort of fabric in her mouth; then he came close to her face, a ski mask covering most of his. His eyes looked dark, but maybe only because it was dark in the room. All she could really see was the glistening intensity.
“You leave this alone! You are not ready for the answers you are going to find.”
He left then. She heard the lock as he opened the door, followed by the elevator ping as it arrived to pick him up. When she finally believed he was gone and all she could hear was her own heart pounding in her chest, it was time to find a way out. She breathed in deeply, trying to focus. She imagined he had removed the mask and was nothing more now than a nondescript man in a dark suit.
Concentrate. She worked her tongue to force the cloth—she’d identified it as a glove after having it against her tongue for a while—out of her mouth. It tasted disgusting, but she tried not to think about it. She managed to get the glove out, after a time, but didn’t think screaming would help. Thankfully, the man had tied her to a wheeled chair. She used her legs to push to the desk, then threw one up to knock the phone on the ground. She had to use her feet to flip it over again and remove her sock to be able to push the buttons. She had to start over twice because she didn’t have the dexterity in her toes. Finally, she managed to call Annie. Annie was physically closer, but more important, Annie’s phone number could be pushed without having to go to the center of the grid of numbers, making it easier to dial. She hoped Annie had her phone on. The next obstacle was that she couldn’t hear when it was answered, so she just began the mantra, “Tied in my office, come help me. Tied in my office, come help me.”
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