Keeping Mum (A Garden Society Mystery) (2 page)

“I guess,” Cam said.

“So I thought we’d use those Patrick Henry ghosts.”

“What?”

“You never pay attention to me,” Annie complained. “The Patrick Henry is haunted—you know that. Smoking man. Piano lady. The trio in the restaurant.”

“I guess.” Cam didn’t like to admit it, but she’d had more than one sensory run-in with the ghosts of what was once the Patrick Henry hotel. It was still called that, of course, but it now held businesses in the lower levels. Neil Patrick, founder of the Roanoke Garden Society, had a suite of offices from which he and his wife ran their various foundations, including the Roanoke Garden Society, which was why Cam spent so much time there. The building also held apartments above, though Cam had only been to one of them once. In Cam’s time working in the building, though, the subtle evidence of ghosts was continually present, if not particularly ominous.

“But if we do it there, there isn’t a way for the Garden Society to play a central role.”

“I don’t mean
do it
there, necessarily. Just use the stories to personalize the game to Roanoke. Isn’t it likely one of those murders was political? Or at least criminal, which is pretty much the same thing.”

Cam didn’t quite buy into Annie’s assessment of politics, but “close enough for a game” was probably true.

“Look, my people are . . .”

“Your people?” Annie snorted.

“RGS,” Cam said. “They’ll want some gardening connection. We basically promised them that at the meeting where they approved this.”

“So maybe that’s how we choose a venue.”

“Maybe. I just wanted to make sure that doesn’t fall off the radar.”

“Fine. Pretty flowers. Whatever,” Annie said.

“Okay, and . . .” Cam wanted to redirect the conversation. She knew Annie would yield to her when the specifics came up. And at least she’d planted the seed.

“We buy a couple of games to get a feel, then substitute one of the Roanoke stories for our dinner.”

That was appealing, actually. They could ask guests to come in period costume. Her face must have shown she thought so.

“Yes!” Annie fist-pumped her triumph. “I’ll pull the game together. You pull together the players.”

“Oh, sure. Give me the dirty job,” Cam joked. She knew that was reasonable. She didn’t have the contacts for all the important people, but she did have enough contacts to hit them in two or fewer degrees of separation. “When will this be?”

“Second week in November. I need recovery from Halloween and time to build for Thanksgiving.”

Annie ran a cupcake shop, so holidays like Halloween were very busy, but there was also an unusual number of businesses that thought pumpkin cupcakes with turkey decorations were a perfect send-off for the Thanksgiving holiday. Cam wasn’t surprised at Annie’s choice of timing from that perspective.

“Isn’t that early, politically?” Cam asked, thinking of the candidate.

“No. Dad says a year is good. Especially as it’s only three months from the primary. And right after an election, people are either pumped from the outcome or eager to try to change things.”

“All righty, then. I guess we have a murder to plan,” Cam said. “But not today. My regular work calls. Plus, I need to make sure I can get our gardening details lined up, which means soliciting time from our master gardener.”

Annie stuck her tongue out and left so Cam could get back to her latest deadline.

Cam got to work drafting an email to Henry Larsson. Even if the venue wasn’t secured yet, she knew what they wanted. Since the party was to be set in the 1920s, the flowers should be of the heirloom variety that would have graced gardens at the time.

When she was done drafting the letter, she called and left a message for Henry to check his email. Gardening professionals weren’t known for being online all the time and without a nudge, he might not see her email until the end of the month.

• • •

• • •

C
am was startled out of a dead sleep.

“So I’ve got it!”

Annie had jumped on Cam’s bed. She lived upstairs, but the two had an open-door policy on visits. Cam, not the baker of the pair, was used to sleeping at least another two hours. It was five thirty in the morning.

“Geez, Annie, now?”

“Well, yeah, now. I have to go to work, then you go to work. And when you go to work, you risk all sorts of bad influence from those troublemakers you work for.”

Cam rolled her eyes. For the most part, the Roanoke Garden Society was made up of Roanoke’s elite—money as old as the state of Virginia, people connected to . . . well . . . everybody. This event was a good example of that. The guest list Cam had finally worked up looked like a who’s who of local power and influence. Sadly, it was also true that trouble found them.

“Okay, what?”

“I made you coffee,” Annie said.

“Sheesh. You want me to get out of bed? I don’t need to be to work until nine.”

“Neil will understand.”

Neil Patrick was never there that early, so Cam thought understanding wasn’t the issue. And her boss, Madeline Leclerc, had never even moved into the office, as she had a home office she preferred. Cam didn’t think she needed to explain all that to Annie, though, or Annie would just take it as confirmation that Cam could be flexible. When Annie was in this frame of mind, it was hardly worth resisting her whims.

“I thought we’d decided what we were doing,” Cam said.

“I know, silly. We decided generally, but I found specifically!”

Annie plunked a copy of an old newspaper article next to Cam, who’d finally managed to pull herself upright.

“What is this? Microfiche?” She hadn’t seen a printout like it since college. The copy looked like a newspaper article from 1925 on slick paper with very black print.

“I know, right?” Annie gave her geekiest grin.

“Which excites you, why?” Cam asked.

“Because there’s nothing, and I do mean
nothing
, on the internet about this. To cheat, people would have to know the game focus—which murder is behind our game—far enough in advance to actually make an appointment with the librarian.”

“You had to make an appointment?”

“Yeah. The reels are stacked behind a counter, and you have to know what date to ask for, which is already hard enough.”

“How’d you figure it out?”

“Holden Hobbes! He’s MC, so it’s okay if he has some idea of our plan. I asked for his memory on murders in the hotel. He remembered that triple murder—it was during prohibition. But the smoking man was the fishy one. I think that’s the one we should reenact.”

“Fishy how?”

“It was blamed on a romantic entanglement, but he was also a lackey for a guy who ran for mayor. The candidate lost. I think we should claim the victim sold secrets to the other side about tactics or something.”

“Oh! That works!”

“And
you
are the organized one who can take this and turn out who the players are without offending people, so on the twelfth, we can assign roles.”

Cam had known about the role assignment. Each dinner guest would get an envelope with his or her role. Some fifteen players would be specific characters, asked to keep up some front, and the rest would be “citizens” trying to solve the crime.

A website on the technique had suggested they could also text new clues to people to prolong the game and make it more interesting. Some roles would have a call-in number, and would then get prompts. Cam figured the person assigned as a cop and the person assigned as a reporter would get the majority of these. Cam had participated in a few real-life murder investigations, and these were, indeed, the people who had sources.

By the time Cam was dressed, she was excited. Annie promised to meet her in the Patrick Henry bar at three, and they could work out any kinks. Cam just had to spend the day looking at roles and figuring out who among the guests was too important to play the role of an ordinary citizen and who might be offended in certain positions—best not to offend big donors. She would need to strategize, too, to maximize press and avoid any arguments between people who had a known history of not getting along.

• • •

• • •

“C
am! I’m glad you’re here!”

Samantha Hollister wasn’t exactly high on Cam’s list of who she expected to greet her when she reached the Patrick Henry in the morning, especially when she was early, but she was still trying to make nice with the former RGS president.

“Samantha! How nice to see you.”

“I’ve brought you a present of sorts.”

“You have? What kind of present?”

“Joel Jaimeson!”

The name meant nothing to Cam. She tried to look pleased, but Cam knew she’d failed when she saw Samantha’s frown.

“Do I know that name? I’m sorry. It’s not coming to me,” Cam admitted.

“Joel is only the best party planner in Virginia! And he’s agreed to help with our fund-raiser!”

“Oh! Well that’s wonderful, but Annie and I have most of it worked out.”

“Nonsense. Joel is just what you need. I’m having lunch with him at one, and then I’ll send him right up.”

“Oh, well . . . thank you, then.” Cam tried very hard to sound gracious, but now that she’d placed him, she remembered that Joel Jaimeson was annoying, even from the other side of a television screen. He was so bubbly and perky that he irritated even the friendliest of hosts, though he’d managed a five-minute slot at the end of the morning show that had replaced Telly Stevens’s
Roanoke Living
. He presented entertainment tips, and Cam had seen a promotion for a half-hour Thanksgiving Day special that was coming up.

This was definitely a man who would take over if he was given the room. She just wished Annie was there. She was a force all her own, and Cam felt she would need the backup.

• • •

• • •

T
hrough Cam’s distracted morning, she figured out a way to ask for help without giving anything away. It was only a stall tactic, but surely Joel knew more gossip about local celebrities than Cam did.

Cam split the guest list in two: people she knew and people she needed to learn more about so as not to offend them through the game. She wrote a list of questions, too, so she could ask things about each person and whom they did and did not get along with. By the time Joel arrived, Cam was glad he was there.

“Thank goodness, Joel. It’s great to meet you. Boy, am I eager to pick your brain on this guest list!” A voice in Cam’s head that sounded like Rob criticized her choice of words. Brain picking was a peeve of his. Only delicate zombies were permitted that activity.

“Guest list details? Shouldn’t we get the main body of the party in order first?” he said.

“It’s planned. Where we are is the guest list.”

Joel tossed his head and tittered. “Show me the plans. I’m sure there may be room for improvement.”

“Mr. Jaimeson, with all due respect, I need help on just a certain aspect of it. Aren’t you here to help?”

“Yes, but it’s critical I know what will happen, or we can’t plan properly!”

“What will happen depends on what I find out about a few of the guests. The names are settled and I need to know more about these people before we can move forward. I’d love your help. And at three, I have a meeting with my co-planner. But at the moment, what I need is an informant who is better connected than I am.” She hoped the flattery worked better than her earlier approach.

Joel stared back at Cam like he’d never met such impudence. His chin was pulled in in a pout and he looked ready to have a fit, but Cam didn’t care at the moment. She hadn’t asked for him. She hadn’t planned for him. And a small part of her suspected Samantha had thrown Joel into the mix to intentionally make her life more difficult, or perhaps as a spy so Samantha could keep more control over things herself. She was sure that if Joel was more effort than he was worth, the Patricks, Neil and Evangeline, would help her get rid of him without having to confront Samantha.

“Three, then?” he asked. “Okay. We can discuss the guest list before we meet with your planner.”

He sat across from her and looked at her expectantly. Cam considered correcting him about Annie’s title, but instead made a mental note to text Annie. If it was just accepted that Annie was in charge, things would go more smoothly. She got several personality traits about key people and hints about relationships out of him, then Joel said he’d return to pick her up when it was time to meet Annie.

• • •

• • •

A
nnie was already at the bar when Cam and Joel arrived. Annie’s text about Joel’s help had been very specific.

“Probably unavoidable, but if you could work with types instead of actual roles, it might help. Who knows who he’s really working for?” she’d responded.

“He’s working for Samantha.”

“Okay, so we do know.”

“Unfortunately, we’ve already been over guest names.”

“Couldn’t be helped. You needed their personalities. But if he wants to know the game characters, stick to types there.”