Murder at the Azalea Festival (13 page)

Back inside my house, I heaped bottles of liquid cleanser and cans of furniture polish and rags into the buckets, carried them out to the station wagon, and set them inside right next to the windows where they'd be visible. A mop and broom were shoved in last.

I went back into my house for my purse and Mindy's pink satin purse, and for one final check of my appearance. I'd cut slits in the knees of my oldest jeans, and I was wearing my paint shirt over a white cotton tee shirt. My clothing was laundered, but not ironed. My hair was stuffed up under a ball cap.

I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I told myself, inspecting my clean, unmade-up face. I'm a regular Hazel.

I drove out to Landfall. By eight-thirty the air was bright, clear and yellow the way it is in spring, not hazy the way it gets in summer. Quickly I reached the white stucco walls that surrounded the exclusive community. I didn't think I could talk my way in and this time I didn't have Nem Chesterton calling ahead to pave the way for me as he had on Thursday. So now I was a maid, and determined to act calm and casual, bored even, when I confronted the guard in the booth and identified myself by my new name, Jennie Lopez, short for Jennifer Lopez. A nice touch, I thought.

But I needn't have bothered worrying, for when I pulled into the private driveway, the glass booth was empty. Up ahead a large moving van was parked, and the guard and driver were having some sort of altercation. The guard glanced my way, took in the older model station wagon complete with its assortment of cleaning equipment, and motioned for me to drive in, no doubt forgetting me as soon as I was out of sight.

"All right!" I cried, punching the air. "I'm part of the invisible class."

Again I wound around the curving roadways within the complex. Fleetingly, I recalled Mindy saying she wanted to buy Moon Gate and how determined Tiffany had sounded when she said it wasn't for sale. Had Mindy planned to sell her Landfall home?

Mindy's driveway hooked around a small grove of wax myrtles which offered some privacy from the street. I parked behind the dense bushes, directly in front of the closed garage door, then caught myself as I began hauling out the cleaning gear. Shaking my head at my foolishness, I thought, It's not like I'm going to clean the house, for pity sakes. All this sneaking around and worrying had addled my brain.

From Mindy's purse I withdrew her house keys, found the one that fit the kitchen door, slipped on latex gloves and let myself in. Standing perfectly still, I held my breath and listened for any sound that I was not alone.

I'm trespassing, I reminded myself, and here in North Carolina the Second Amendment is dearer to some homeowners than the Ten Commandments. I could get shot. What would I do if I got caught? But who was there to catch me? Jimmy Ryder didn't live here.

Okay, I told myself, in and out fast, that's the plan. Look under the desk. See if Nick and Diane found the envelope. See what's in it that is so important Mindy had to hide it in her own home.

"Hello! Anybody here?" I called, just to be on the safe side. What I'd do if someone answered, I had no idea. But of course, no one did. I was alone in the house.

My plan was to make a quick but thorough search. I passed through the kitchen into the dining room where the sponged gold walls glowed warmly in the sunlight.

Then into the foyer and down the hall to the master bedroom. Someone had hung up all the dresses. Janet? Or one of Mindy's friends, since I'd heard that Janet was overcome with grief. A quilted coverlet in pale gold and green was silky and unwrinkled.

Evidence of the police search was discernible by drawers not being quite closed and closet doors ajar. Mindy's computer was gone, and so were the papers on her desk.

I held my breath and knelt in front of the desk, dipped my head under it and looked up. The padded envelope was still there!

With my gloved fingers, I unpeeled the tape. On my knees on the carpeting, I opened the flap and slid the contents of the envelope out on my lap.

A compact disk.

Nick and Diane should have this, I thought, slipping the disk back into the padded envelope and taking it with me.

I was mindful that the police now had my prints on file. I would be sure to wear latex gloves when I mailed the envelope and its contents to Diane. But before I did, I'd insert this disk into my computer and see what was on it. Why not? I asked myself. I'm the one who found it; surely that entitled me to some privileges.

I went upstairs to continue my search for clues. Two guest rooms upstairs, each beautifully decorated, furniture expensive. Mindy's clothes filled the closets, coats and jackets, her grandmother's famous pink satin Azalea Belle ballgown.

I slipped my gloved hand into pockets, looked inside shoe boxes, searched purses, found nothing of interest.

I stretched, then checked my watch. Ten o'clock. So much for getting in and out fast.

A sound in the street alerted me. Moving over to a window I looked down into the street. A car had pulled up, a black Porsche Boxster. Heather Thorp and Brook Cole got out and started up the sidewalk.

I was crouched down at the upstairs balcony railing when they came in the front door.

"What a mess!" Heather said as she closed the door behind them. "When Janet asked me to select a dress for Mindy, I was like, Whoa! I hate the bitch. But what could I say? They've got Janet pumped so full of Valium, she's a zombie."

"Poor Janet. She's really a basket case. Guess she thought that because we were on the show with Mindy, we were her friends," Brook replied as she sashayed in behind Heather.

I flattened down behind the balustrade.

"Like, I hate to speak ill of the dead," Heather said, "but that Mindy was a piece of work. I'm like, wow! I have no regrets that she's gone."

"Yeah, awesome. But that worked to our advantage. I'm not a bit sorry for what we did. Now we'll be rid of that Tiffany Talliere, and they'll have to give us bigger roles. There's no one left. Just me and you, girlfriend." They gave each other a high-five.

Heather twirled around in a dance. "Just us. The new stars of Dolphin's Cove."

"Keep it down," Brook warned. "I think the maid's here. Didn't you see that old clunker out in the driveway with all that cleaning stuff? H-E-L-L-O! Anybody here?"

Huddled on the upstairs hallway balcony, I thought, uh oh, they've seen the station wagon. What a nerve. Old clunker, my eye. The Volvo had a nice shiny coat of dark blue paint. What did they mean by not being sorry for what they'd done? Were they confessing to Mindy's murder?

"Well, she's not here," Heather said. "Probably taking a coffee break with one of the neighbor's maids. Like Mama always says, they'll steal you blind when you aren't looking."

"And that Tiffany, with her black blood, ought to be waiting tables instead of starring in a show with us, as if she was as good as we are," Brook said.

I peeked between the balusters down into the great room and the open foyer where the two young women stood talking. Heather, with her long black, silky hair and big brown eyes was dressed in capri pants with a cropped tee shirt.

Obviously, they hated Mindy. But did they hate her enough to kill her?

Brook, with her fine blonde hair and runway model looks, was wearing hip-hugger jeans and platform shoes with a peasant blouse.

What are they doing here? I asked myself. Getting a dress? Ohmygosh! They’re selecting Mindy's burial dress. So her body has been released by the medical examiner to the mortician, and Janet had given Heather and Brook a key and asked them to select an outfit for the funeral.

One thing I did know, everyone in town would attend Mindy's funeral. Not out of regard for her, but for the sensationalism of it all. It would be like a freak show with Mindy's defenseless dead body on exhibit. People can be so cruel. Again, my heart went out to Janet and Nem. And Mindy's brothers.

Brook's snicker carried up the stairs to me. "Well, you've got every right to hate her guts, after what she did to you." She snapped her fingers. "Stole Jimmy Ryder right out from under you, quick as that."

Heather placed her foot on the step and I scuttled out of sight, diving into the first bedroom I came to.

"No, sugar," Brook called, "not up there. Her bedroom is down here."

On hands and knees, I crept back to my post at the balustrade.

"I've never been in her house before," Heather said as the two women moved toward the dining room. "Not bad. But like they were paying her way more than us."

"Not any more. That's over. Come on, let's not take all day. Bad enough we're stuck with this miserable assignment," Brook nagged.

I stayed put right where I was and didn't move a muscle. Maybe I'd hear more.

The women's voices grew distant until they were just a faint murmur drifting from Mindy's bedroom, a murmur that was frequently punctuated by loud laughter.

It wouldn't take them long to select a dress because they couldn't care less what Mindy wore when she went to her eternal rest. They'd be leaving soon and I could resume my sherlocking.

"Okay, that's done," Heather's voice rose from directly beneath the balcony. I crawled over and peeked down. "If it weren't for Janet, I'd trash this place. That whore stole my role and she stole my man!"

Brook's snort carried to the landing. "Well, you've got every right to hate her guts. I know he was in love with you. How she roped him into marriage, I'll never understand."

"Like the oldest trick in the book," Heather retorted with disdain.

"No! You don't mean it. She told him she was preggers!"

"Like, what else? When he found out she wasn't, that he'd been tricked, he went ballistic. That's when he started drinking and got into that jam with the Raleigh police after that rock concert. That's why he's been in rehab until a month ago."

"That little slut. What a dirty trick."

"And . . . she was sleeping around while Jimmy was away."

"Oh? Who?"

"I know for a fact that one was Mickey Ballantine."

"Oooooh, Mickey. He's way sexy in a rough sort of way, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't mind a hickey from Mickey."

"But he's dangerous, shug. Everyone knows he's connected."

Connected? Oh, no, Melanie!

"You said 'one.' Were there others?" Brook asked.

"Sure there were others. You know how slutty Mindy was. And you'll never believe who. He was ..."

The door slammed shut with a bang. I waited until their voices were distant murmurings and I heard car doors slam. Then I stood up and brushed myself off, regretting that I'd missed the name of Mindy's other lover.

In a large hall closet I found a file cabinet and started pawing through the files. If there was a will, it wasn't here, but maybe the police had taken it. So I didn't know who gained from her death. Surely Nem would have seen to it that Mindy had a will after she started making big bucks. Probably in his office.

There was a folder labeled "Larry McDuff," but it was empty. So there had been some connection between Mindy and Larry, just as Elaine had suggested. Had the police taken the contents of the file? Could Larry have been the other guy she was fooling around with while Jimmy was in rehab?

Back in the great room, I noticed how footprints showed distinctly on the plush carpeting: my sneakers, Brook’s platforms, Heather's heels.

So engrossed was I in trying to make sense of what I'd just learned, I almost didn't hear the scraping of a key in the front door lock. What is this, Grand Central Station? I'd never have time to search the house with all the people coming and going.

I raced into Mindy's bedroom just as the front door swung open. Jumping into a walk-in closet, I hastily thrust aside clothes on hangers and squeezed face-inward into the corner. I sucked in my belly and pressed my nose against the wall.

Although the closed door and the clothing muffled sounds, I was able to hear someone moving around in Mindy's bedroom. The footsteps were heavy so I assumed the intruder was a man. Noises like doors and drawers being pulled open sounded. He was searching the desk.

Then the closet's double doors were flung open and he began pulling boxes off the shelf, opening them, then tossing them onto the floor. He was so close I could hear him breathing. But with my face turned away I couldn't see him. I held my breath and pressed further into the corner.

Then he left, not bothering to shut the doors. I didn't move.

I heard dull thuds as drawers were banged shut, footsteps, then the sounds of searching. The man was moving from room to room, opening doors as he went. He must have gone into the kitchen because for a time I heard nothing. A moment later, the stairs creaked. I stretched and breathed. Should I try to make a run for it? Dash out of the closet and out through the sunroom to the kitchen. Just as I decided that was my best course, I heard him coming back down the stairs. Too late.

He was back in the bedroom again, standing squarely in the closet door, blocking the light. Any second now he'd start moving clothing, then I'd be discovered.

A door banged at the front of the house, followed by girlish voices. The man drew in his breath, then bolted. Distantly, I heard his footfalls on the sunroom's flagstone flooring.