Murder at the Azalea Festival by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter

through the Victorian garden. Mrs. Bellamy had designed and maintained and loved her garden with a passion throughout her lifetime, but after her death, it went to seed and became a jungle. UNC-W got involved, coordinating the archaeology studies that revealed the original layout of the garden. In 1996, the Cape Fear Garden Club sponsored the re-creation of the garden.
    I admired showy daffodils, thrift, snowdrops, spiderwort, and cheddar pinks. Later in the summer, the day lilies and crepe myrtles would bloom.
    "That poor Mindy Chesterton," Binkie declared, "the paper says she's dead. And someone said you were there when she collapsed, Ashley dear. What happened to her?"
    "I don't know, Binkie. One minute she was fine, the next minute she was unconscious."
    Overhead, stiff breezes stirred the branches of magnificent Magnolia trees, causing the thick, papery leaves to scrape against each other.
    "But surely some event preceded the collapse. Did she eat or drink anything?"
    Even though I'd trust Binkie with my life, I was mindful of my promise to Nick not to discuss the case with anyone but the police. I intended to be faithful to that promise. "I honestly don't know what happened to her, Binkie. It's a mystery."
    "Poor girl," Binkie repeated, shaking his head so that a lock of snow white hair fell onto his forehead.
    I reached out to brush it back and gave him a peck on the cheek, all the while suspecting he knew I was holding out on him. I hated being evasive with Binkie but what else could I do? "Let's talk about pleasant things, shall we," I suggested.
    "Of course," he replied thoughtfully. Nothing much gets past Binkie.
    The Bellamy Mansion had been built at about the same time as my own house, but while mine was homey, the Bellamy Mansion was grand. Visiting one of Wilmington's historic houses with Binkie is a real treat because he knows so much of the folklore of the area, as well as its history.
    On one side of the property stood a sturdy, two-story brick structure. "The slave quarters," he said grimly. The large building had housed female slaves and their children before emancipation.
    I let my gaze travel over the mansion. "This house was designed with our hot humid climate in mind. The white paint deflects the sun, and the generous porticos offer shade and catch breezes."
    The porticos, or piazzas, as they are sometimes called, wrapped around the house, their roofs supported by beautiful, immense white columns. Small balconies projected off the second floor windows, offering air and shade. Above the entablature at the front of the house, a classic pediment rose to the roofline.
    I pointed up at it. "See the belvedere. Designed to ventilate the hot air from the attic space over the children's bedrooms. And that's the original tin roof."
    "There's a children's theatre but the children scarcely got a chance to enjoy it," Binkie said, "before they were whisked out of town to flee the ravages of old Yellow Jack."
    "Yellow fever, you mean."
    "Yellow fever. Really hit this town hard. Then, during the war, the house was occupied by Union troops. It wasn't until several years later that Dr. Bellamy was able to move his family back into their home. That was when he installed this cast iron fence."
    "And that's when Mrs. Bellamy planted her garden. I'm so glad the house survived, Binkie."
    "I share your sentiments, Ashley. As you know, the house was constructed by slave carpenters and free artisans, both highly skilled craftsmen."
    Inside, we toured the library which an arsonist had torched in 1972. Signs of damage still remained on the south wall. The heat of the fire had been so intense, the original brass gasolier, plaster work, and slate mantelpiece were destroyed. The mantelpiece had been replaced with one made of cast iron with faux painting to look like marble. The woodwork and plaster moldings had also been recast.
    After the tour, we exited into Market Street.
    "Will you join me in some refreshment, Ashley dear?"