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

Saturday and Sunday, with eight homes chosen for their varying architectural styles. It's a real walking tour, with many of the homes located in the historic district, not far from mine.
    I was lingering, watching the tourists come and go, listening to their comments about my house and its decor when suddenly a familiar head appeared above the others and my heart thumped as joyously as a puppy dog's tail.
    "Nick!" I cried and moved through the crowd to meet him, the lurching of my heart giving way to a quickened pulse, plus sweaty palms.
    "Hi, Ashley," he said lightly, as if we'd parted three hours ago instead of the three months and three days since he'd left for Atlanta. He'd promised weekend visits but had not kept his promise.
    "We need to talk," he said.
    "Indeed we do."
    "No, Ashley, this is business."
    Then I saw that he was not alone. A woman accompanied him and my heart gave another tremendous lurch before dropping into my stomach from the sheer weight of disappointment. So this is what heartache feels like, I told myself, eager to know who she was and what place she occupied in his life.
    As people milled about us, and voices grew louder, Nick asked, "Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?"
    I thought for a moment. There was no quiet nor private space within my house just then. "The gazebo," I said, leading the way through the reception hall, the back hall, the kitchen, and out the back door.
    A hundred newly bedded, colorful azaleas bloomed in my garden but I was blind to their pretty upturned faces. I walked to the gazebo as if I were on a death march, full of dread, pain, and anxiety. Who was she? His girlfriend? Surely, not his wife. I would have heard.
    The interior of the gazebo was shaded with vines of Carolina jessamine, their small yellow trumpet flowers in full bloom. Bees droned drunkenly, and I reflected fleetingly on the bees at Moon Gate and wondered again if Mindy had been stung.
    Built-in seats lined the hexagonal gazebo and we each took one, automatically spacing ourselves equidistant one from the other. Aha! I observed with relief, so she's not a love interest. But who then?
    Nick looked tired. He'd lost weight as I had. His hair was a bit longer, a little fuller on the sides, more stylish, and I wondered if the plainclothes officers of Atlanta PD enjoyed relaxed dress codes. As usual, his suit was finely tailored and woven of the lightest wool, and his tie was made of silk rep, with tiny, colorful lighthouses on a tan background. If he'd smile, I'd see dimples, but he wasn't smiling.
    "How've you been, Ashley?" he asked.
    "Fine, Nick, fine."
    "Good." He looked me over but made no further comment of a personal nature. "This is Detective Diane Sherwood, Wilmington PD."
    I regarded his companion. She had a nice, open face, a sincere expression, pleasant but not overly friendly. Her hair was chestnut brown, wavy, and reached the collar of her brown-on-white striped cotton shirt. Over it she wore a light camel linen blazer with gold buttons, the blazer cut full enough to conceal a regulation weapon. She had on brown tailored slacks that fit just right, and sensible brown loafers.
    She gave me an earnest smile and leaned forward to offer her hand. I took it. Her handshake was firm and dry, correct. This was a woman who did everything by the book and correctly, I knew instantly. A woman of substance, not to be trifled with. And I knew something else: I liked her.
    "Nice to meet you Detective Sherwood," I said. "Now, what's this all about?" I looked at them, from one to the other.
    "Ms. Wilkes, we're . . .”
    "Call me Ashley," I said.
    She smiled pleasantly again. "For now you're Ms. Wilkes. And I'm Detective Sherwood."
    I looked from her to Nick. He nodded slightly, conveying his approval.
    I wondered if she knew about Nick and me, our past, our derailed love affair.
    "Ms. Wilkes, we understand you were at the Talliere home on Thursday afternoon and that you were standing near Mindy Chesterton when she