Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

colorful sundress. Pink and green designs on a white background. Silk and chiffon. Spaghetti straps, a flirty flared skirt.
    "It's so summery," I said. "I love it."
    Kelly picked up the map, then laid it back down under the lamp. "Why is the north end of the island called Shell Island? I always wondered about that."
    "It used to be a separate island," I replied, and moved to a mirror to hold the dress up in front of me. "How did you know my size?"
    "You're an eight, right?"
    "I am. Hurricane Hazel filled in the inlet separating Shell Island and Wrightsville with sand. They became one island."
    Kelly got up, leaving the map spread out on the desk. "I'm glad you like the dress. Wear it tomorrow."
    I kissed her goodnight. "Thanks," I said, "you're sweet."
    How had I ever thought Kelly was a pain? I wondered to myself as I drifted off to sleep. She was a lot like Melanie, unpredictable but basically kind and generous.

13

    The next morning, Tuesday, I went to work early, met with the plumbing contractor, then left before noon to drive back to the beach house to shower quickly and change into the sundress.
    "Ready?" Kelly called, passing my door.
    When she saw me, she exclaimed, "I knew that dress was meant for you. Look at her Melanie, doesn't she look sensational?"
    "Sensational!" Melanie agreed. "Too bad that wandering husband of hers isn't around to see her."
    "Well, thanks a lot, Mel, I really needed to hear that."
    She put her arm around my waist and drew me toward the exit. "Sorry, shug , but I'm getting a mite annoyed with the elusive Detective Yost." To Kelly she said, "I never really wanted Ashley to marry him but she was so in love. And he does love her, I know that. He's just always so preoccupied with work stuff, I have to question his priorities."
    I glared at her. "Will you two ever stop talking about me as if I'm ten! "
    "Sorry, Ashley," Kelly apologized. "She's right," she said to Melanie. I groaned. Even when they were trying not to they still talked about me as if I were not present.
    "Well, let's get going. I'll drive," Kelly said, and we left in her rental car.
    The Louise Wells Cameron Art Museum at Seventeenth Street and Independence Boulevard was our destination. The museum is dedicated to preserving and exhibiting North Carolina Art but houses an international collection as well. We browsed through a permanent collection of Mary Cassat color prints that depicted the daily rituals in the lives of nineteenth century women: bathing fat chubby babies, writing letters, serving tea.
    The museum was cool and I was glad I'd brought a cotton sweater to drape over my bare arms. But the dress was pretty and I felt pretty in it.
    Next we looked at Claude Howell paintings. Howell was a Wilmington native, and fascinated with the effects of our coastal light which he thought was unique. He painted scenes from local life, a beach cottage and a fisherman in bold blues and greens, a picture of two fisherman sorting fish in dusty pinks and blues.
    There was a landscape of the falls in Cherokee County by William Frerichs that reminded me of the Hudson River School exhibits I'd seen at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
    "Uncle J.C.'s press conference is at one-thirty," Kelly said. "Let's grab a quick lunch while we can."
    "A glass of chardonnay," Melanie told our waitress in The Forks Restaurant inside the museum.
    "Tea for me," I said, but Kelly asked for wine.
    After the wine came and Melanie said, "To us," I ordered the Southern Style chicken salad. Melanie and Kelly decided to try the Cornbread Salad, made with cornbread croutons.
    "At the end of the day, they're crating Uncle J.C.'s paintings and he's shipping them to Christie's. They've been on temporary loan here since the museum opened in 2002. I think he knew that something like this Christie's auction would come along."
    "He'll be set for life," Melanie declared. "And he deserves it. He's worked hard all his life producing these paintings. He only brings out one or two a year, so you can see how much time he puts into each one."
    "Not only that," Kelly said, dipping her fork into her salad, "well, Melanie knows this but I don't think you do, Ashley." She paused.
    "Know what?" I asked.
    She said importantly in a hushed voice. "Uncle J.C. and my grandmother Peggy were the ones who found William's body."
    "No!" I exclaimed, my mouth open, my fork midway to it.
    "Yes. They found him hanging in the barn at the farm. That's what sent Peggy over the edge into