Noah. They were from Jen and they were meant for Randy. He was supposed to take them before Sera got the rest of the plants.
I was right, after all, that Jen had been lying about being with Randy the night Georgia was murdered.
Say it with flowers, indeed. She’d just said plenty.
Chapter 22
Dominique closed one of the Goose Creek Inn’s dining rooms to the public on Tuesday evening so Noah and Claire Seely could host a victory party with friends, neighbors, and their campaign workers. As expected, it began as a somewhat subdued celebration, but there was no mistaking the giddy look of elation on the faces of the volunteers who—until a few weeks ago—thought they’d be drowning their sorrows in beer rather than toasting each other with champagne. The staff at the Inn set up a podium with a microphone for Noah’s speech and someone changed the large “Seely for State Senate” sign that hung from the mantel of a large fireplace, crossing out the “for” and inserting “is going to the” in its place.
Noah’s first remarks—met with grimly polite silence—were about Georgia, but then his ruddy face broke into a big smile and he looked like someone had just handed him the winning ticket to the Mega Millions lottery. After that he spoke more earnestly about November and their chances of unseating his opponent. Frankly, he could have recited the phone book and the cheering would have been just as loud. Tonight everyone wanted only to savor an unexpected win.
Kit came up and nudged my elbow, a reporter’s notebook in one hand and a champagne glass in the other. “I thought Ross might show up,” she said. “I was hoping to talk to him now that he’s back from Florida.”
“How do you know where he went? And how do you know he’s back?”
“I bought coffee and a Danish at the general store on my way to work. I know everything.”
“Good Lord. How did Thelma find out so fast?”
“Because Ross needed milk and bread and some other stuff. Thelma gave me the whole list, but I forgot. He stopped in just before I did.”
“He’s not coming by,” I said. “I talked to him on the phone right before I left the house. It’s Noah’s night. Ross didn’t think his presence would add anything to the evening.” That was putting it mildly. No point telling her how angry and resentful he’d sounded. The few days in Florida seemed to have only stoked his belief that folks had turned against him. I clinked my champagne glass against hers. “Are you working?”
“Yep. Left a half-eaten burrito and a Diet Dr Pepper at my desk to swill champagne and find out if this campaign’s got what it takes in November to unseat the Big Bad Incumbent. I still think Ross should have come to make nice-nice with Noah. Who cares if they mean it?”
“God, what a cynic you’re becoming. Ross is avoiding the press because you’d just glom on to the Randy and Georgia story all over again.”
“Not me. I wouldn’t.”
“Maybe not you, but the guy over there who looks like a tube of mega-hold gel exploded on his head would.” I pointed across the room. “I’ve seen him on one of the network morning shows. He does gossip and fluff and weird stories about people being abducted by aliens. You think he’s here to ask Noah’s views on repealing the personal property tax in Virginia?”
“Okay, one slime-bag. Big deal.” Her head swiveled around. “You know who else is missing? Hugo Lang.”
“Speak of the devil,” I said. “Look who just showed up.”
Kit drank champagne. “This ought to be interesting.”
“Seems like he’s popping up in a lot of unexpected places lately. The other day I saw him—well, his car, anyway—driving away from Ross’s clinic. Wonder what he was doing.”
Kit shrugged. “Constituent visit? Except most of the patients don’t vote.”
Hugo worked the room on his way over to Noah. By the time they met up, I had a feeling Noah wasn’t at all surprised to see Hugo. In fact, it seemed more like he had been expecting him.
Noah stepped back to the podium and quieted the crowd, introducing Hugo as the next vice president of the United States. More wild cheering as Hugo joined him and the two men embraced and spoke quietly into each other’s ears, before clasping hands in the air, the quintessential symbol of victory on election night.
“They look pretty happy,” I murmured.
“Cue the speech of reconciliation, party unity, and mutual respect,” Kit said. “And let us not forget victory in November for the people of the great Commonwealth of Virginia.”
Hugo’s speech was brief and to the point. It was Noah’s night and he hoped, he said with a broad smile, that he’d have his own chance to thank supporters—maybe in San Francisco come August. Everyone roared and whooped and hollered until he finally held up his hands for silence.
“We all mourn the loss of a fellow candidate who was a friend and neighbor to many of us,” he said. “But tonight is a night of reconciliation, of healing, and of unity. I have the utmost respect and admiration for a fine man—Noah Seely. Tonight I pledge my full support to do whatever it takes so that in November the people of the Commonwealth of Virginia will send this good man, my good friend, and the next senator from the Thirty-first District, to Richmond where he belongs!”
Under cover of the cheering, I leaned over to Kit. “Did you write his speech?”
She grinned. “Honey, I could
“He never mentioned Georgia by name.”
“Yeah, he didn’t waste a lot of time on her, did he?”
Hugo hung around for a while for more back-slapping and politicking. As he got near the doorway on his way out, I happened to catch his eye. We hadn’t spoken since Austin Kendall’s fund-raiser at the vineyard. And I didn’t think he realized I had seen him leave the clinic. His face, for once, was grim as he stared back at me, then turned toward the door.
He may not have killed Georgia Greenwood. But something in the way he’d looked at me made me think that he was anything but sorry she was dead.
“Lucie.” Kit elbowed me. “I just said I’ve got to go. You leaving, too?”
“I’ll stick around for a while.”
Mick Dunne hadn’t shown up yet.
“I’ll call you. I’ve got a hot story and a cold burrito waiting for me.”
But as the evening wore on, I began to wonder if Mick was coming after all. I didn’t have his mobile number, though something told me he wasn’t the kind of man you kept tabs on.
“Hey, cupcake, what’s up? Something bothering you?” Joe Dawson stood at my elbow, holding a glass of champagne. “You want this? Yours is empty. I can get another one.”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. Probably going to leave soon, anyway.”
“Well, cheers, then.” He looked around the room, nodding. “Good turnout for Noah. I bet he can pull it off in November.”
“Hugo Lang just endorsed him.”
“Yeah, I heard. Good career move. Hugo needs to put as much distance between himself and Georgia as he can right now, considering what Ross is up to.”
“You mean moving?”
“What?” Joe looked surprised.
I never should have opened my mouth. Joe wasn’t a Romeo, but he was one of their conduits. “Oh, God. I thought that’s what you meant. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t repeat it.”
“Ross is leaving town?”
“Yes. When this is all over he wants to make a fresh start somewhere else.”
“Smart move.” Joe sounded grim.
“What do you mean?”
“He contacted one of the big auction houses the other day about selling that Jeff Davis letter. And he’s
