Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

for the captured German, Italian, and Japanese prisoners. Many of the early German prisoners were members of the elite Afrika Korps ."
    "I understand there was a camp downtown in the heart of the city," Devin said.
    "You're referring to the World War One Marine Hospital site at Ann and Eighth Streets. The prisoners there were Germans who worked in the fertilizers plants and on the farms. Under the terms of the Geneva convention , the POWs were provided living quarters and rations on a par with our own armed forces. So life for them wasn't bad. They had work for which they were paid, but were permitted to keep only eighty cents a day. They were well fed and received medical services when needed. In their free time they could play musical instruments, read, paint or draw, plant gardens, or engage in their beloved soccer games."
    "What were the relations between the town and the prisoners?" Devin asked.
    "In a word, cordial. Some of the prisoners became quite attached to their farmer employers. Years after the war, they maintained a correspondence. Some of the Germans even returned here to visit."
    "Did any escape?" Devin asked.
    "Few prisoners ever attempted to escape so although there were guards security was not heavy. The farmers themselves were permitted to drive a truck into town and sign out their workers for the day."
    Binkie grinned. "Now there is the story of one prisoner who escaped from Camp Butner , made his way to Chicago, and lived there for fourteen years without being detected. That was extraordinary. Generally, the very few who did escape were found and returned."
    "But not all?"
    "No, not all."
    I got up and picked up the empty wine bottle. "I'm making sandwiches. Binkie , will you stay and eat with us?"
    "I'd enjoy that, Ashley," he replied graciously.
    I left them to their discussion and went inside. Spunky wrapped himself around my ankles and complained loudly. "Miss her, do you? Well, how about some tunie ?" His ears twitched at the word.
    I popped the top on a can of tuna cat food and scooped it into his dish. Then I was forgotten by my feline friend. "You've sure got us trained well, Spunky," I said to the top of his head.
    When I returned to the deck with a platter of turkey sandwiches, chips, and soft drinks, Binkie was saying, "Interestingly enough, the prisoners remained in Wilmington for almost a full year after hostilities ended with Germany. During that year, they continued to work the farms, often without guards. In early nineteen forty-six they began to leave and by April they had all been shipped out. We heard that many didn't want to leave, that they asked to stay, to become U.S. citizens. But there were war reparations to be made and they were sent to England to work the farms there for another year or two."
    "Did they all make it safely home to Germany?" Devin asked.
    "Who can say?" Binkie said mildly. "Who can say. "
    "Okay, guys, enough war talk. Let's eat. And then I'll drive you back to town, Professor Higgins."
    "I enjoyed our little chat," Binkie told Devin as he poured himself a Diet Coke.
    "Thank you for all you've told me," Devin replied.
    After dinner I drove Binkie to his little bungalow on Front Street, kissed him soundly on the cheek, told him I loved him, and headed back to Wrightsville. The house was dark and empty. Devin had gone out. I went around turning on lights, filled Spunky's water dish, and went back out on the top deck with a tall glass of iced tea.
    The moon was sailing high, the stars were coming out, and I felt very, very small and alone. I looked up into the night sky and thought, those stars are shining down on you, Nick, wherever you are. My emotions were conflicted: hurt that he hadn't returned my calls; fearful that he hadn't called because he was injured -- or worse; angry with him for doing this to me.
    We'd been married out there on the south end of the beach, a year and three months ago on the first Saturday in May. The wedding and the reception, and an ocean-view cottage for a two-week honeymoon had been Melanie's gifts to us. The beach cottage had four bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a high-tech kitchen where Melanie's caterer friend Elaine McDuff and her crew prepared the wedding feast. There had been a spacious greatroom with a wood-burning fireplace for cool nights. My cheeks burned as I recalled how Nick and I had made love with complete abandon in front of that fire.
    I'd worn my mother's wedding dress. I'd lost enough weight so that it fit