Carolina Heat

by Barth, Christi

  “Would you pull her aside and ask her if she’s heard any rumors regarding Nathaniel Bellamy being adopted?”

  “I told Annabelle if there’s even a whisper of scandal, Mrs. Haley would know about it. She’s always been the lynchpin of the local gossip mill,” Mark explained. “In the nicest sense of the word, of course.

  “Oh, it’s true. Mom knows everything about everyone.” Ashby’s tone was dour. “And don’t think that hasn’t kicked me in the ass over the years.”

  “Do you really think he’s adopted? It seems a little like grasping at straws.” Jillian looked doubtful.

  “Jonathan logged some serious computer time this afternoon, and he’s absolutely certain Bellamy was adopted. What he couldn’t find out was from whom.”

  “I’ll go ask her before she puts back any more drinks.” Ashby winced. “Mom really likes to tie on one.”

  Mark roared with laughter. “Understatement of the year, my friend. Remember when she out-drank both of us at your graduation party?”

  Jillian bustled into action. “Ashby, you’d better scoot along and get a hold of your mama right away. Mark, you stay here and watch for Bellamy. He hasn’t arrived yet. Probably waiting to make a dramatic entrance right before we serve dinner.”

  “Mark, Ashby, both of you keep your eyes and ears wide open,” Annabelle cautioned. “Bellamy may be our only solid lead so far, and this adoption nugget only strengthens our case, but it’s far from open and shut. Anyone here tonight could be working with him, or working a completely different angle we haven’t uncovered yet. I can’t tell you what to look for. But you know at least some of these people. Ask leading questions, see where they go, and be sure and notice if anyone is listening in.”

  Jillian snorted. “God, Annabelle, this is the Deep South. We learn to eavesdrop before we learn to walk. It’d be more suspicious if somebody wasn’t cocking an ear to the conversation next to them.”

  Annabelle spread her hands wide. “See? That’s why you’re all going to be such a big help to me. But most of all, be on your guard at all times.”

  “Okay, enough of the pep talk. Annabelle, we’ve got to fix you up before anyone notices this.” Jillian waved a hand in the general direction of Annabelle’s mussed hair and tear-stained cheeks. “You come along with me.” She hustled Annabelle toward the stairs.

  Mark clinked his glass against Ashby’s. “Quite the little firecracker you’ve got your sights set on. Think you can handle her?”

  Ashby’s grin was wide and knowing. “Don’t doubt it for a second, buddy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Which one is the troublemaker?” Annabelle asked. She trailed her hand up the silky mahogany banister as she perused the portraits on the stairwell.

  “Oh, you mean the picture?”

  “Mmm, hmm. The one that sent your mother off the deep end.”

  “This one.” Jillian pointed at the gold octagonal frame.

  “When I came earlier in the week,” Annabelle remembered, “nothing was hanging here. And I think your mother mentioned something about you rearranging and going through the attic.”

  “I’m sure she complained to anyone who crossed her path. It was when this one arrived in the mail that I got the idea to switch out the pictures from our overflow attic storage.”

  “So your mother didn’t hide it away years ago. The first time she ever saw it was when she returned from her trip a few weeks ago?” A germ of an idea was taking root. Vanessa’s notes had been rudimentary at best, but there was something in there about a painting. Annabelle had dismissed it as useless. How on earth could she track down an unnamed painting in an unnamed location? But suddenly the leap to connect the dots was considerably shorter.

  “That’s right. Which is why her reaction was completely unfounded. With such an unusually shaped frame, it’s quite a striking piece. I thought she’d be thrilled. Several visitors commented on it.”

  Striving to appear nonchalant, Annabelle resumed her climb up the stairs. “Really? Out of all these pictures, this one in particular caught their eyes?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Jillian led them down a long hallway. The noise from the party dropped away. “It was strange, because we rarely get male visitors, but one day a man showed up specifically to tour our portraits. Said he was a huge Civil War buff, and had heard we had a collection not to be missed. Odd, because he was clearly a Northerner. I had to explain I was just filling in, and he should come back for a more detailed tour when my mother returned in a couple of days.”

  Annabelle’s heart raced. It had to be Tad Thornton. But why did he care about this particular portrait? “Jillian, this is very important. I realize you might not know the full story, but can you at least tell me who the man in the painting is?”

  Jillian nodded as they entered a sitting room. It was filled with dainty gilt furniture. Annabelle copied Jillian’s movements to arrange her skirts before sitting on an overstuffed pink davenport.

  “Colonel Horatio Lippincott. There was a letter that came with it from a lawyer explaining that it was an anonymous deathbed bequest. All I know is it was sent from Massachusetts. We haven’t figured out which member he’s related to yet, but we will. Maybe someone here tonight will recognize him. We had another visitor who might’ve known more about Colonel Lippincott, but Mama had already taken the picture down.”

  “Why do you think your visitor knew about the Colonel?”

  “Because when she came, I all but ran into her in the hallway. She asked if we had any paintings in octagonal frames. Well, I told you how unusual that is. I don’t think I’ve seen another one in the whole city. But I was so busy that day I didn’t have time to explain it was put away. I pointed her towards Mama’s office. I figured if she was going to insist on hiding the darn thing, she’d have to be the one to make the explanation.”

  Annabelle popped up and began to pace. With the exorbitant amount of skirt swooshing, it was slightly less conducive to stimulating her thought process than usual. “I didn’t bring my wallet,” she mumbled to herself. “Stupid, really, because that would...” her voice trailed off as she worked her way round the problem. “Jillian, you have a computer up here, right?”

  “Of course. That’s where I’m going to print the roster.” She sounded slightly miffed. “The place may be filled with antiques, but we do have twenty-first-century technical capabilities.”

  “Can you take me there?”

  “Don’t you want to fix your face first?” She pointed at a vanity covered with powder, perfume, anything a girl could possible use to primp.

  “You’re right—it completely slipped my mind.” Annabelle rushed to the vanity and repaired the damage from her crying jag.

  “What do you want with my computer? You might not have noticed, but there’s a terrific party going on downstairs. Now might not be the best time to surf the Web.”

  “I need to show you something. Mark convinced me to leave my purse at his place, so pulling it up on your computer is the quickest solution.”

  “Pull what? Annabelle, you aren’t even coming close to making sense.”

  With a final tweak to her hair ribbon, Annabelle was ready for action. “Sorry, my brain is about five steps ahead of my mouth right now. I promise I’ll explain in a minute, but I don’t want to prejudice you in any way.”

  Jillian still looked faintly annoyed, topped off with a dollop of confusion. Annabelle flashed her biggest reassuring smile. “Just plop me in front of your computer. I won’t be long. Then you can print the roster and we’ll head back downstairs.”

  Without another word, Jillian led the way out the door. Moments later she had Annabelle logged in to the computer. Annabelle’s fingers raced over the keyboard. She pulled up the Wanderlust website and scrolled frantically. Heart quaking, mouth dry, she took a deep breath and pointed at a picture along the side of the page. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”

  Jillian shoved at the layers of her skirt to squeeze clos
er to the desk. She leaned in to peer at the photo, and almost immediately jerked back in surprise. “That’s the woman I told you about, who came and asked about the painting.” She shook her head in amazement. “How did you know? Who is she?”

  “Magazines and newspapers don’t often post photos of their contributors, but this is a travel shopping blog. It’s a new feature they’ve been trying out for the past six months. The author posts a picture with each entry outside whatever new shopping mecca she’s raving about.” Annabelle took a deep breath to steady herself. “This is a picture of my friend Vanessa.”

  The walls of the room pressed in as the import of this fact hung heavy in the air. Too many questions, too many responses were possible, so nothing was said. Annabelle was completely still, waiting to see if Jillian would make the leap. Finally Jillian broke the silence.

  “The implications...” she broke off and pressed her fingertips into her temples. She started again. “I’m sorry. It’s a little hard to process.”

  Annabelle watched her with compassion. She could see the pain swim across Jillian’s eyes as the younger woman struggled to marshal her thoughts.

  “The implication being that my mother spoke to Vanessa in the days right before she disappeared.” It all came out in a rush.

  “Yes.”

  “That, coupled with her recent irrational behavior concerning a certain painting, makes her look very, very guilty.”

  Annabelle bit her lip. “Call her a...person of interest.”

  “No, I won’t.” Jillian shoved back from the desk and furiously paced the confines of the small room. “We’re charging full speed ahead after Bellamy with far less. You will not sugarcoat this because she is my mother. I won’t have it, Annabelle. This time, I’m the one saying I will not take that risk. How many lives? Tad and Vanessa, sure, but also the family and friends who grieve for them, you and Mark almost shot, your brother in the hospital. How many more lives are we going to let be ruined by this person? And if even one more life is taken because we dithered and held back just because she’s my mother?” With a swish of petticoats, she stopped and leaned her forehead against the wall. “I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. Don’t ask me to. Do what you have to do, and don’t you dare cut any corners or give her any special treatment.”

  “Jilly, we don’t know anything for sure. Don’t drive yourself crazy jumping to conclusions,” Annabelle soothed.

  “I do know something.” Jillian turned to face Annabelle, locked blue eyes to green. Her voice grew small. “I know your friend had a beautiful smile, and she looked really happy with life.”

  “She was.” Vanessa had been happy-go-lucky, optimistic, cheerful, and a ray of sunshine in Annabelle’s life. She promised herself, right then and there, to remember all their happy times together instead of focusing on the pain of losing her.

  “I’d like you to tell me about her when this is all over.”

  “That would be nice.” Annabelle smiled. “She would’ve loved this kick-ass party you put together.”

  Jillian swallowed a laugh. “Thanks.”

  “We’re going to take this one step at a time. Let’s start with you printing the roster.”

  “Right. Then I have to check with the caterers to see if dinner is on schedule. Lots of hungry people down there to appease.” In no time at all she printed the twenty page document. “My skirt has pockets. I’ll carry it for you.”

  “We’d better head back downstairs before the boys start to worry about us. Once everyone heads up to dinner in the ballroom, it’ll be relatively quiet, and I’ll bring them up to speed. By then Ashby should be able to update me on whatever he found out about Bellamy.”

  “Oh, sure, this way you get to skip the speeches. Great plan.” Jillian’s grin was a tad watery, but she’d pulled herself together.

  “I risk my life enough. I don’t need to die of boredom dressed like this. The obituary would be too embarrassing,” Annabelle joked. She paused in the doorway to give Jillian a swift, bracing hug. “We’ll join you before the salads hit the table, I promise.”

  When they reached the stairs, Jillian started up to the ballroom, and Annabelle down to join the other guests. After only a few steps, Jillian turned back around. “Annabelle, wait.” The two women met on the landing. To the crowd below, they looked like nothing more than old friends catching up. Jillian put a hand on Annabelle’s arm to steady herself. “This is unbelievable.”

  Annabelle noticed a string of couples on their way up the stairs. Her sense of discretion led her to pull Jillian back down the hallway where no one could overhear. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that you’re in this position.”

  “Are we truly discussing this? Discussing my mother in connection with the murder of two people?”

  Annabelle nodded. “We can’t ignore it, Jilly. You said so yourself.”

  “I know. It just feels so surreal.”

  “I think it’s the corset cutting off the air supply to your brain.”

  Mark had a headache from trying to follow the story his companion wove. Dotty Landreaux and Millie Parsons, both recently widowed, had each captured an arm of Stanton Danforth. They were like twin grey-haired ship’s prows hanging off his massive frame. The Danforth family made their money in blockade running. Over the last hundred years they’d been able to live off only the interest of the vast fortune. Top of the social heap, with houses here, Savannah and New Orleans.

  Danforth, having divorced his fourth wife last week, was now officially in the market for number five. Although you could give them an A for effort, what Dotty and Millie didn’t seem to appreciate was each of Danforth’s wives had been easily ten years younger than the previous model. The last one was born the year of the first shuttle launch, while Dotty and Millie had both watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon. Neither of them stood a sliver of a chance, and yet they simpered and clung to him with all their might.

  “Embarrassing, really, to watch them carry on.” Mrs. Henderson paused to dab at the corner of her mouth with a lacy handkerchief. She’d accumulated a tiny drop of spittle with her long recitation to Mark. And although every word of her story was true, it struck him she enjoyed the telling a little too much. Like an ancient Roman Senator gleefully betting the lions would rip the slaves apart in the Coliseum.

  When he heard the chimes signaling dinner, he almost dropped to his knees in gratitude. “Mrs. Henderson, I’m going to hand you back to your grandson now. He can escort you upstairs. I have to find my date.”

  “You bring her by my table later and introduce me. I want to meet this Yankee who thinks she’s good enough for you.” The old bat actually pinched his cheek before doddering off on the arm of her very tolerant grandson. Poor guy. Here he was, probably nineteen years old, surrounded by beautiful, eligible women and he had to spend the night keeping tabs on his acid-tongued grandma. If he was smart, he’d pour wine down her and park her in a corner to nap before the dancing even started. Mark made a mental note to see if he was right in about an hour. He saw Ashby come up beside him.

  “Where’s your girl?”

  Mark shrugged. “With Jillian, I expect.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Eavesdropping sucks,” Mark said succinctly. “You would not believe the stupid things people talk about.” He ticked off a list on his fingers. “The newest restaurant in town has a bad valet company; a Lexus got dinged right in the parking lot. The Governor didn’t have a good experience in Hilton Head last year so he’s going all the way down to Key West instead. Mrs. Pierpont claims she went to a spa, but when she returned, all her wrinkles were gone and her nose had been shaved down at the tip.”

  “Stop right there. I can’t hear any more of that crap.”

  “How do you think I feel? Topped it all off with ten uninterrupted minutes of Mrs. Henderson.”

  Ashby hooted. “That old bat? She was about a hundred years old when we were kids, and mean as a snake. Well, was it at least wo
rth it?”

  Mark shook his head, too disgusted with the entire process to speak.

  “Give it time. People haven’t had much to drink yet. Their lips aren’t loose enough.”

  “What about you? Any luck with your mom?”

  “Yes and no.” Ashby seemed content to leave it at that. Mark, however, was not.

  “Ash, don’t stop there. We can always repeat it for the girls later.”

  Ashby nabbed a shrimp and snow pea skewer from the last appetizer tray returning to the kitchen. “Didn’t get nearly enough of these tonight. I’m starving. Can’t wait for dinner.”

  “All right, I get it. Whatever this is, it has to be big or you wouldn’t make such a long, drawn out production. Did she swear you to secrecy? Tell me what you found out,” he demanded.

  “People know he’s adopted.”

  Interesting. “What people?”

  “The old guard. The movers and shakers who are financing his campaign. Most of the people in this room tonight. They all know. And they have a kind of unspoken agreement not to spread the story to the press. Gotta tell you, it doesn’t sound like this story is going to have any effect on the election.”

  “Why? Did you find out who his birth parents are?”

  Ashby nodded. “Yup. My mom quivered like a retriever in front of a brace of ducks when I asked. It’s been years since she told the story to anyone new. I probably made her month. She made me promise to bring Annabelle over so she could tell her the sordid details in person. Didn’t want me to spill the beans first. But I figure telling you doesn’t count.”

  The big room was more than half empty by then. Most of the guests were in a line up the staircase to enter the ballroom. Nevertheless, they retreated to the same alcove they’d used at the start of the evening for added privacy. Ashby propped himself against the wall, one knee bent for balance.