Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

actually quite modest, suggesting it had been lived in by a woman with simple tastes. There were plain white curtains on the windows. The radiator between the windows was uncovered. The walls were painted pale blue. Furniture that must have come from the farm was simple and useful, an iron bedstead, a pine dresser and chiffonnier.
    Kelly gave the mahogany-stained closet door a yank. "It always sticks," she said.
    "Old houses like these have settled," I said. "We'll give the foundation and floor joists a good thorough check."
    Kelly pulled a flat box down from the closet shelf. "These are papers of my great-grandmother's I'll have to go through."
    She set the box on the white chenille bedspread and lifted the lid.
    "Oh, look at those old-fashioned dress patterns," I said.
    Kelly removed a portfolio and opened it to a sheaf of pencil drawings. "These must be Uncle J.C.'s early drawings," she said. "I'll have to go through them and ask him if he wants them." She put the lid on the box and returned it to the closet.
    "Look, Ashley, I know it's an imposition, but there are things I'm going to want to save, items like that." She indicated the box on the shelf then closed the closet door. "Do you think I could store a few boxes at your house till I have a chance to look at the contents? I don't feel comfortable imposing on Melanie to store them for me in a rental house."
    "Sure, Kelly, that'll be no problem. I'll take that box with me today, if you want. I'll be stopping by my house later to check on it."
    "That'd be great. I'll be back over here tomorrow afternoon to go through Grandpa Joe's desk. Melanie said she'd help me box up items like sheets and blankets and take them to Goodwill. The clothing is so out of style and worn, I don't think even they would want it."
    I dragged open the closet door again, took down the box, and set it on the bed. Glimpsing the crowded closet, I did not envy Kelly having to go through her great-grandparents' personal belongings. I remembered how difficult it had been when Melanie and I had had to dispose of our mother's personal possessions. And remembering the difficulty of such a project, Melanie had volunteered to help her best friend get through it.
    We moved into another larger bedroom that must have been the one Kelly's parents used when in town. She showed me the room that used to be hers when she was in high school, sweet and girlish with flower-sprigged wallpaper and Priscilla curtains. "We've got to find a place for a second bathroom up here," she said.
    "And install central air-conditioning," I said, fanning my face with my legal pad.
    "I've about had the heat here too." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to get going." We descended the stairs to the cooler first floor and I walked her to the door. Impulsively, I hugged her. "Thanks for selecting me, Kelly. I'm going to enjoy restoring your house."
    She hugged me back. "I'm really excited about what we're doing, Ashley. It's going to be beautiful. I'm looking forward to spending more time in Wilmington once the house is done."
    As we said goodbye, she said, "Oh, I almost forgot. Here's a set of keys," and handed a key ring to me. "We had very secure locks installed on the doors and windows after Grandpa Joe died. Mom, Dad, and I were living in New York so the house was often empty. Are you staying?"
    "Yes. My camera is in the van. I'll take pictures and measure the rooms. I have lots of notes to make. See you later at the beach house."
    I watched her drive away, retrieved my briefcase with the camera and measuring instruments from my van, and went back inside the house which was getting hotter by the minute. As I passed through the rooms I turned on the fans and reflected that moving hot air felt cooler than stagnant hot air.
    Alone in the house, I had to admit it felt kind of creepy. Houses have personalities of their own and to me this house felt conflicted. Open, loving, homey, yes, yet at the same time secretive. I'd had my own house blessed after I'd restored it and I thought it a good idea to recommend that Kelly do the same. Let the house start a fresh chapter in its life just as the residents might do. To that end, I measured and photographed, and made many notes in the legal pad, singing an old tune under my breath, Where Have All the Flowers Gone, my favorite anti-war song. From my dad I'd inherited an eclectic collection of fifties, sixties, and seventies music.
    As the heat grew more intense I hurried through my