Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

complained about Devin's behavior. "He probably had too much to drink," she said, a typical female response to a man's boorish behavior. "Some guys just can't handle their drinks. And Jon does make a potent gin and tonic, long on the gin, short on the tonic."
    I wondered why Devin hadn't given Kelly a tumble. Why go for me, the only married person in the group? Because I was a challenge? I wondered.
    "I do remember Jon from Biology class," Kelly continued as she mounded cake onto the plates. "He was cute then and he's even cuter now. Is he seeing anyone?"
    "He dates Tiffany Talliere . She's a star on a local soap. But I don't think it's serious."
    "That's because he only has eyes for you, Ashley."
    I shook my head. "You're mistaken, Kelly, Jon and I are best friends and business partners."
    "I know Tiff. We did a shoot together in the spring for Glamour. She's a sweetheart. But the way Jon looks at you, she hasn't got a prayer. Trust me, Ashley, I know about these things."
    "I think you're just a hopeless romantic," I said, then changed the subject. "About the house, I'd like to get started early tomorrow. I know this is vacation for you but can you meet me there at nine?"
    "Sure," Kelly replied, "no problem. I'm used to early calls."
    "Want to ride in together?" I asked.
    "Can't, Ashley, I've got things to do and you'll be tied up at the house so I'll need my own wheels. Slide the door open for me, will you, while I carry this tray outside."
    I slid the door open, saw that J.C. had arrived and was shaking hands with Devin, then I followed Kelly out onto the deck with a tray that bore the coffee carafe along with rattling white mugs and cream and sugar containers.
    "Ah, the beauteous Ashley!" J.C. said in greeting and rose to kiss my cheek. "The other half of the gorgeous Wilkes sisters duo."
    J.C. could be charming when he chose, and tonight he seemed to choose. "Melanie, summer becomes you. You've been kissed by the sun -- oh, lucky sun -- and looking more ravishing than ever."
    J.C.'s outrageous flattery often made me uncomfortable although Melanie ate up his compliments, seemed to think of them as her due. Still I questioned his sincerity.
    J.C. was close to seventy but in very good shape, tall and lean, a runner with the hard ropey muscles of someone who ran marathons. Like the rest of us he had on shorts and a tee shirt, the usual summer beach garb. His hair was gray but abundant, wavy and long, very arty. Most times he wore it bound at the nape of his neck but tonight it was loose and flowing. When it fell in his face, he'd toss his head to fling it back, or else brush it away with a swipe of his hand.
    "J.C., what are the police saying ?" I asked as I poured coffee and passed out coffee mugs. "Was it a robbery gone sour? Is that why Valentine was shot?"
    His response was deliberate, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "They suspect a robbery gone bad, is what my sources tell me. My painting is gone, finito . Gone forever. I'll never see that one again, and it was my best. No doubt it's on its way to some unscrupulous private collector even as we speak.
    "And poor Valentine, my friend of a lifetime, gone, a senseless crime, a tragedy."
    "What else did they tell you?" I asked, dropping down into the chair next to him.
    On J.C.'s other side, Devin sipped coffee, spooned cake into his mouth, and regarded J.C. with total awareness. Devin was entirely sober now.
    Kelly quietly finished serving the dessert plates then took a chair for herself. It occurred to me that J.C. was barely acknowledging her presence although she had greeted him warmly. But that was J.C. for you, an artist with an artist's penchant for eccentricity. We all strained our ears to catch his next words.
    "All the paintings are gone, the entire exhibit," J.C. began. "There were no signs of a forced entry, front and back doors were unlocked, no weapon found on the premises, no witnesses."
    "What about the kids who skateboard out back at the gallery? Where were they?" I asked.
    J.C. leaned back in his chair, and for a fleeting moment a smug expression passed over his face. It vanished instantly, replaced by a poker face. Having witnessed him holding forth at art exhibits and lectures, I reflected that J.C. loved the spotlight, loved being the center of attention, the last word on every subject. "Kids weren't around this morning. There was a volleyball tournament on the beach so the kids must have been there. No one saw anything."
    "Why was