Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

his heart on his sleeve, and was as transparent as a bride's negligee: an easy target for an unscrupulous woman.
    Our entrees arrived, Benne oysters for Jon, jumbo sea scallops for me.
    "It's true that after he returned from California, they had him studying Arabic so he could help translate documents and recordings. He took classes all winter and spring at the University, very intensive, and he played tapes in the car and carried a tape player around with him. But that just gave me more time to work with you on our restoration projects." I smiled. "It's a wonder he didn't speak Arabic in his sleep.
    "Nick discovered he had a gift for languages, something he didn't know about himself. Then this summer he started making short trips to CIA headquarters to translate some cell phone messages, what they call 'chatter,' that they had intercepted. But he was never gone for more than three days and he called regularly. So you can understand why I'm worried now. I'm about ready to get in my car and drive up there and haul him home!"
    Jon grinned. "I can just see you storming the ramparts at the CIA! Let me know when you're going. I'll go with you."
    I laughed.
    "Well, what happens when you call him?"
    I shook my head. "I just get his voice mail. I leave messages but he doesn't return my calls. I can't help thinking that something is wrong."
    "Have you tried calling CIA headquarters?"
    I set my fork down. "Storming the ramparts would be easier! You can't imagine how hard it is to get to an operator. They've got the most complicated recorded menu. I almost gave up in frustration. Finally I got through to a real live human being. I asked to be connected to Nick Yost but she just asked me for an extension. When I didn't know his extension, she told me that without the correct extension she couldn't connect me."
    "That is frustrating! And Nick didn't leave you an extension number?"
    Shaking my head pitifully, I murmured a pathetic, "No."

    Jon insisted on picking up the dinner check although I offered to share. As we stepped out onto the breezy causeway, he said, "Ashley, I think you need to have some fun. Do something to take your mind off worrying about Nick for a few hours. And I know just how to cheer you up."
    "How?"
    "Come with me." He opened the passenger door of his new Cadillac Escalade and I got in. "We'll return for your van later."
    We drove east on the causeway to a beach club. I heard the music as soon as I climbed down out of the SUV. I was glad I'd changed outfits earlier. I had on black walking shorts, silver sandals, and a silk camp shirt in fuchsia. Large silver hoops dangled from my ears. I slipped my hand into his.
    He held on to it. "They're playing our song."
    "My favorite," I said. I Love Beach Music by the Embers flowed into the parking lot, making my body want to move.
    Inside, the floor was packed with dancers of all ages from teens to seniors. On the Carolina coast, the shag is universal. Summer day camps teach it to children.
    Jon got us two beers from the bar and set them on a table. He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. His palm on the small of my back was warm and firm. His shoulder felt solid under my left hand. I slipped my right hand into his left. We moved in close in the traditional slow-dance position just as the DJ segued into Percy Sledge’s When A Man Loves A Woman. Slow and easy. Wildly romantic. It'd been a while since I'd shagged but the steps came back easily.
    When the DJ moved on to My Girl by the Temptations, Jon murmured in my ear, "We're good together, Ashley."
    I pulled back and looked him fully in the face. Uh oh, I didn't like where this was going. "Best partner I ever had," I said and gave him an innocent smile.
    He didn't say another word, just drew me closer.
    When Melanie and I were growing up, Daddy and Mama used to shag with us at home on Saturday night when Melanie didn't have a date, which did happen once in a while. We rolled back the rug in the living room and turned on the stereo to one of the beach music stations out of Myrtle Beach or Elizabethtown. Daddy taught me the steps, counting out loud, "One, two, one, two, rock back, rock forward." Mama danced with Melanie. She was as tall as Mama; you almost couldn't tell them apart. The same flowing auburn hair, pale oval faces, yellow-green eyes. Remembering, I smiled to myself.
    Jon returned my smile, thinking it was meant for him. "I've worked up a thirst." He led the way to our table. I was lifting