Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

examination of the second floor, scouting the rooms for a place to install a second bathroom. If we gutted two closets that backed up to each other, we might just carve out space for a small bathroom.
    My tee shirt was sticking to my back, and I lifted it to get some air. It was then that I heard sounds coming from the first floor. Someone was down there, walking around. I'd left the front door standing open to allow some fresh air to enter the house.
    I went to the top of the stairs and called down. "H-e-l-l-o? Kelly? Somebody down there?"
    Only eerie silence met my ears. I grabbed up the box containing the dress patterns and drawings from the bed and hurried down the stairs with it. I made a tour of the first floor but there was no one there. I locked the front door carefully behind me. Had someone in the neighborhood walked in? Maybe a nosy neighbor? But why then hadn't he or she responded when I called down? Or waited to speak to me?

8

    "I'll have the Crab Melt Sandwich," I told the waiter at the Oceanic Restaurant.
    Our gang had overslept and we were having brunch at the oceanfront restaurant. I'd called Jon and he'd met us so there were six of us then Gordon Cushman showed up and he made seven. It turned out Melanie had invited him. "I'm so glad you could come, Gordon sweetie," she cooed. Melanie was up to something. She doesn't get mushy over people unless money is involved.
    The day was hot and hazy. Our table was positioned at the window on the top floor and overlooked the beach, the ocean, and the pier. Outside everything was blue: blue water faded into blue sky and the horizon was a blur. Strollers on the beach moved slowly, and even the waves seemed sluggish, not pounding the sand forcefully, just laboriously rolling ashore.
    Mickey was in a sullen mood but that seemed to be habitual so nothing new there. Kelly was quiet as was Devin. Gordon Cushman seemed more nervous than usual. I caught him watching Mickey when Mickey wasn't looking.
    Melanie was hyper, as if as hostess to this merry little band she had to make up for everyone else's lack of vitality. Thank goodness I had Jon; without him I might have set fire to my hair and run out of the building screaming.
    Hot coffee and iced tea restored us. Kelly complimented Melanie on her outfit, a colorful cotton shorts and halter set in a tropical pattern. "It's a Tommy Bahama," Melanie said, "that I picked up at Redix . I've got to take you there, shug . They've got everything. And great sales."
    Jon's omelet arrived and smelled and looked so good I almost lifted it off his plate. But then the waiter set my crab melt in front of me, and I forgot all about eggs. Pale yellow cheese oozed between slices of grilled rye bread. I picked it up and took a greedy bite.
    "I like a woman with an appetite," Devin said.
    There he goes again, I thought.
    "You know what they say, a woman who likes food likes sex too."
    "Give it a rest, will you?" Jon said testily. Poor Jon. He was usually so easy going but Devin was really getting on his nerves. And mine.
    Gordon glanced at Mickey warily then said to Melanie in a rush, "I want you to sell my house for me." Gordon was a fashion plate himself in his khaki shorts that rode low under his belly and his white athletic socks with stripes at the tops.
    "Which house? Your beach house or the town house?" she asked and didn't seem a bit surprised.
    She knew this was coming, I realized. My sister's antenna had been quivering for days in response to Gordon's financial problems. So she'd been expecting this to happen.
    Gordon cleared his throat and mopped his forehead. "No, no, not the beach house. I've got to live here. The house on Orange Street." He had not even touched his Shrimp Lover's Platter, but kept darting surreptitious glances at Mickey. Idly, I wondered if he'd notice if I reached over and snitched one of his plump, fried shrimp. Better not. Melanie might smack my hand.
    "I can sell that house in a heartbeat," Melanie said confidently. "It's beautifully restored and I have a buyer who is looking for a house just like yours."
    Melanie used that line all the time with clients while she courted them. After the listing agreement was signed, the buyer mysteriously did not materialize.
    "Why don't we drive downtown this afternoon and I'll take a look at it? Then I'll go back to the office and do a comp survey." She bestowed Gordon with a dazzling smile. "You were right to come to me. I'll get you top dollar."
    Melanie is very