Keeping Mum (A Garden Society Mystery) (17 page)

Derrick’s ex-wife sat with their daughter, Vera, whom Cam recognized from the fund-raiser. Both looked like a studied example of grief, sniffing and holding each other, but Cam wasn’t buying it. She could understand an ex-wife being supportive of her child, but given what she knew about Derrick and that this woman had gotten away from him some time ago, real grief didn’t make sense. Unless of course she was sad she wasn’t still married to him because now the bastard was gone and she wouldn’t get any of his money.

That was another issue—Derrick had an estate besides the life insurance policy. Cam wondered what it was worth. He had lived like a very wealthy man, but his livelihood had required that he look successful. She wondered if he really was. She decided maybe the ex-wife was a good person to approach at the reception.

His current wife was so surrounded with people it was hard to actually see her face. Her hat also had a veil to it. Cam wondered if she was hiding her dry eyes. Why hadn’t this woman been looked at more seriously? Wasn’t it always the wife?

Rob elbowed her, pulling her from her thoughts. He pointed to a trio of people coming in.

“Who are they?” she whispered.

“That is what we in the sporting world call organized gambling.”

“Oh! Wait a minute. That guy was the guy with the phone.”

“What phone?”

“Joel’s phone, remember? So who are they?”

“The guy at the back is Big Al.”

“That’s a bit of a stereotype on naming, don’t you think?”

“I think he likes to play on it. He keeps clean, at least on paper, but everyone who gambles in this town knows he’s behind it.”

“And who are the other guys?”

“Now that I see him in context, rather than on a little screen with a naval hat, the suit is Dave Barrett. He’s a lawyer, and I think he knows how to keep them walking the ‘can’t get caught’ line. I don’t know the third.”

“The lawyer for a gambling ring borrowed and kept the phone of a staff member. And they’re here paying respects to Derrick Windermere. Interesting.”

“Not really. Derrick was just a white-collar version of what they do.”

Cam thought that was probably true, but in her mind, white-collar and blue-collar gamblers didn’t play together. “Maybe gambling is behind the murder.”

Cam was surprised how many faces she recognized as she looked through the crowd. A number of them had been at the fund-raiser. Even Samantha was there, sitting with Jared Koontz, of all people. When Joel Jaimeson stopped to greet her, Cam almost hid. They had to be quiet then, as the events of the funeral began in earnest. Other than the people she recognized, it looked a little like a who’s who of seedy society. Cam was surprised people like this were so prevalent in Roanoke. There were a lot of furs and six-inch heels, which seemed very over-the-top for a somber occasion, and there were a few men with oversize rings and flashy suits. They were not the mourning funeral-goers she would have expected at a classier man’s funeral, or even a humbler man’s. No, Derrick Windermere, if he had had a hand in planning this, wanted everyone to think he was loaded.

Thankfully, the service wasn’t overly long. And thankfully, though for an entirely different reason, the reception was across the parking lot at a hotel conference room. The same sort of decorations graced the place, and Cam thought some local florist had made thousands from this man’s death. The estimated profit was almost enough to suspect a murder motive. She whispered that to Rob and saw his mouth twitch.

“There she is. We’re going in,” Rob said. “You’re point.” He put a hand on her back and followed her silently.

“Do we know her name?” Cam whispered behind Derrick’s former wife.

“Charlotte? Charlene? Something like that.”

Cam didn’t want to get it wrong, so she went with the ever-reliable “Mrs. Windermere.”

“Mrs. Windermere, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The woman had chocolate hair and eyes that were almost black. She appraised Cam a moment.

“Why thank you. You are?” Cam thought she smelled an early-morning cocktail on the woman’s breath.

“Camellia Harris. I was a professional acquaintance. It’s just so sad.”

“Well, yes. I’m more here for my daughter. I’m actually Mrs. Langston now, but I appreciate your sentiments.”

“I’m so sad for your daughter. I hear she lost her husband recently, too.”

“Yes, well. Good riddance to him.”

“Really? Was he so awful?” Cam crossed her fingers that the alcohol the woman had imbibed loosened her tongue.

“She wanted to leave him. Had for years, but her father wouldn’t hear of it.” She then stopped and narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be gossiping.”

“Oh, no. I quite understand. Sometimes you just need to ease a little of the pressure. We won’t say a word. Will we, Rob?”

Rob shook his head dutifully.

“It’s just . . .” She leaned in conspiratorially, like she relished the gossip, however inappropriate. Cam decided it was definitely the drink. “He had some gambling problems. It made it impossible for them to get ahead. And then I think he was a bit of a womanizer on the side.”

“Then why would Mr. Windermere object to her leaving him?”

“He claimed he was old-fashioned, but I know better. He divorced me, didn’t he? And he’s been living with that tramp for years. Actually, I think it was the family connections.”

Cam tried to act dumb. A son-in-law connected to a former senator and a cop was possibly very appealing to someone with criminal tendencies. She wondered if Derrick had ever taken advantage. She knew what Elle had said, but Elle had perhaps only said what she didn’t mind her husband knowing. There might have been a lot more to it.

“Living with . . . so the woman up front wasn’t his wife? She seems to have a lot of support,” Cam said, thinking gossip on that front might be even more forthcoming.

“Heather? Oh, honey. He never married her. Poor idiot has been biding her time for years and just missed the gravy train.”

Cam thought Char-whatever Langston looked particularly smug.

An argument broke out then, at one side of the reception. One man was a police officer in his formal blues and the other was none other than Chad Phillips.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Langston said. “I’ll need to intervene there. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She rushed off, wobbling on her first few steps.

“Three guesses what that’s about,” Rob said.

“Why on earth would he show his face here?” Cam asked.

“And how would Vera’s mother be the best person to intervene?” Rob asked.

“No clue. You don’t think Vera is tied to Phillips, do you?”

The gleam in Rob’s eye told Cam that was exactly what he thought and that this story appealed to the journalist in him, even if it was fairly tawdry.

“You do know who that cop is, don’t you?” Rob asked.

Cam shook her head.

“
That
is Len Sullivan, our suspicious cop. Looks like he thinks
something
about Chad Phillips being here is inappropriate. Is there anyone else here we need to talk to?” Rob asked.

“Have you noticed who Vera’s friends are? I can see it being helpful to talk to one of them.”

Rob pointed. There was a quartet of women hovering near one wall. One was turned with her back to them, and Cam could swear it looked like she was spiking her coffee. It was confirmed when she passed something to another woman in the group. The rest of them watched as Mrs. Langston lectured both of the men who’d been arguing. Vera was to the side looking petulant, but she followed her mother as she walked away, looking back over her shoulder sadly as they left. Cam could have sworn the look had nothing to do with the inappropriate behavior at her father’s funeral.

“Come on.” She took Rob’s hand and pulled him toward the women.

They looked at her questioningly as she and Rob arrived, but Cam just dived in.

“It’s so sad. Vera could really use that support today.”

“Who are you?” one of the women asked.

“Cam Harris. I worked with Mr. Windermere—he talked about Vera all the time. You must be . . . sorority sisters?”

“No, we’ve been friends longer. Vera’s never mentioned you.”

“Well, I don’t imagine Mr. Windermere mentioned me to her. His secretarial pool would hardly be interesting family conversation.”

They seemed to relax a little, except for one who reminded Cam of Kim Kardashian.

“So if you’re the secretary, what business is this of yours?”

Cam would have been shocked had she actually had a less sneaky interest, but this seemed to reflect the class of this group. “Mr. Windermere was good to me. I wanted to pay my respects. I just thought . . . well, I don’t want to approach Vera directly, so I hoped as her friends, you might pass on my sympathies.”

“Don’t be a bitch, Aubrey. That’s nice of you,” one of the other women said. “But what were you talking about . . . use that support?”

“Chad Phillips? I . . . I took it they are close—Vera and Chad.”

“Close?”

The woman she was talking to seemed clueless, but the face of one of the others behind her told Cam she’d guessed it.

“Maybe I’m mistaken,” Cam said. “It was just an impression I had.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” the knowing one said. “Look, we’ll pass on your message.”

“Thank you.” Cam took Rob’s arm and led him off.

“Vera and Chad,” Rob said. “Well, well.”

“I could see her face—she was sad he was going, and it completely explains why Mike and his brother would both be so mad at the guy—the fight at the poker game when Sully had learned something.”

“You think there was an affair?”

“I think it’s likely,” Cam said.

“Then Jake dropped the ball there. I’ll make sure he knows he needs to follow up on that poker game.”

“Are you sure? Maybe
we
should look into it?”

“How would we do that?” he asked.

“Maybe we should go play some cards.”

• • •

• • •

C
am couldn’t remember later how she convinced Rob to go along with it. She had to get him past his Dylan hang-ups, his hesitation at going behind Jake’s back, and his arguments that Cam had no poker face. In the end, she conceded he could play. It was true—
she
certainly couldn’t. She called Dylan to find out how to go about it.

“Cam, these are big-stakes games. Nobody can get in for under a grand, ten grand if you want one of the really big ones, which I think you do.”

“What?”

“The people you want to talk to—those games are closed, and if a young guy like Rob comes in, they’ll smell a rat if he doesn’t come with a pedigree. It’s not that they care where the money came from, but they don’t want cops or investigators buying in. Which you are, by the way.”

“But we’re looking into the death of one of them.”

“And some of them probably think, good riddance. Sully was a teddy bear when he won, but he didn’t win much. And when he did win, it usually went up his nose.”

“Wait. Not just the gambling? Drugs, too?”

“Look, I never saw it. They try to keep it looking clean. Everyone knows there’s an escort or two hanging around, and everyone knows the reason when someone comes back from the john sniffing, but they don’t do anything illegal in the main room.”

“Other than gambling,” Cam said. “So how do I get in there to talk to somebody?”

“I thought your buddy Jake was calling them.”

“He’s focused on another suspect and I think he dropped this angle prematurely.”

“Look, if you want to put on a real-short skirt and help me pour drinks, you can come to one of the games Wednesday. I get half your tips because they’d all be my tips otherwise, but I admit you’ll get more than me, so you can keep half.”

“Deal!”

She wished Rob was as enthusiastic when she relayed the plan to him. In fact they argued about it and he went home early, but she knew he’d come around. He’d bought in to going to the card game himself. And she was sure he knew he wouldn’t make a credible silver-spoon heir coming to the table, not to mention neither of them had ten thousand dollars lying around.

• • •

• • •

C
am went to work the next morning and found herself inundated with mundane tasks. The Roanoke Garden Society was sponsoring a winter garden that needed coordination with the city, a nearby elementary school, and a neighborhood group, so Cam made a series of calls. She felt like she was playing the telephone game before long and finally just requested a meeting.

When Evangeline arrived, Cam filled her in. “It will be so much easier than having the same conversation with a dozen different people, each wanting to add their own thoughts.”

Evangeline thought it was a great idea and started to head to her office.

“Wait! I forgot to ask what you found out from Melvin.”

“You mean before that fiasco of a rescue?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“I was brilliant, actually. I told him a mutual friend had told me Elle didn’t lose anything. I asked how that was possible. He said Derrick must have known something and passed on the information to his wife or son-in-law.”