Murder at the Azalea Festival by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Read Free Book Online Page A

underside of the desk, I let out a yelp. Then, pulling away, something caught my hair and held it fast. What in the world?
    I reached up and released several strands of hair from something sticky. Kneeling lower and peering up under the desk, I saw that a loose piece of duct tape had grabbed my hair. The duct tape was holding a padded envelope to the underside of the desk.
    Jeez Louise, why'd I have to see that? I thought as I rubbed my sore head. Now what was I going to do? This was truly a moral dilemma. Open the envelope and see what was inside, or forever wonder what was so secret that Mindy had been forced to conceal the contents under the desk in her own house where she lived alone.
    "No, no, no," I said aloud, my voice shattering the stillness. I am not going to pry further. Up and out. Grab the garment bag, grab the overnight case, and better take Mindy's purse too. I needed the keys to lock up after myself.
    Later that night, after I had played at being "sweet, little Ashley" for Janet and had delivered Mindy's stuff to her waiting arms, and after I'd learned that there'd been no change in her condition, a riveting idea shocked me out of a sound sleep.
    Eyes wide open, I whispered to myself, "Mindy's being blackmailed." That's what those cash withdrawals were all about. And that's why she'd taped something to the bottom of her desk!
    And subconsciously I must have known this all along for why else had I failed to return Mindy's pink satin purse to Janet?
     

 
     
     
     
    8
     
    At ten o'clock on Friday morning, Jon and I joined the line in front of the Murchison House on Third Street, the Designer Showcase House. The morning was breezy and a bit cool, but according to WILM-TV, by afternoon the temperatures would rise into the seventies. I had on a navy sweater set with navy slacks so when the day did warm up, all I'd have to do was remove my cardigan.
    The Murchison House had been built by James Walker in 1876. It had served as the residence for members of the Murchison family until the Second World War when it was divided into apartments. Later the Episcopal Diocese of Eastern North Carolina used it as their offices. Now it was beautifully restored and once again served as the new owners' primary residence.
    Fourteen local interior designers had decorated the interior of the house and Jon and I had heard that their work was outstanding so we were anxious to see what they had accomplished.
    As the line inched forward, someone called my name and I turned to see Melanie approaching, a really handsome guy in tow.
    Another new outfit, I thought, as I scrutinized the sage green pantsuit she wore; the lines were soft and flowing, not at all masculine. And her shoes, purse, and jewelry were shades of bronze. How does she do it? I asked myself. I couldn't put an outfit like that together if my life depended on it.
    "Thanks for saving a place for us," she said loud enough for everyone to hear before she broke into the line.
    Jon arched his eyebrows at me. I crossed my eyes, a talent I had perfected in childhood. The man with Melanie caught me in the act and grinned.
    "This is Joey Fielding," Melanie said.
    When Jon and I merely said "hey," she exclaimed, "Surely you know who Joey is."
    Mentally I thanked her for a good excuse to look him over. He was well-built, had brown hair and brown eyes, a heart-stopping smile, and serious cheek bones. Light bulbs went off. "Oh sure, you're one of the stars on Dolphin's Cove. Sorry I didn't recognize you right off." I stuck out my hand and he shook it.
    I'd watched the show a few times, enough to know the storyline and who plays whom, but I had to admit I wasn't hooked on it as many were. Joey played a high-school dropout who hung around the campus often enough to have been the principal. His character was a kind of Gen X Fungi with a little bit of James Dean thrown in for good measure--cool, somewhat arrogant, yet deeply sympathetic.
    Jon, whom I know for a fact has never seen the