Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

beach. From the distance they could have been male or female, I couldn't tell. They were running north, toward the Oceanic Pier that loomed out over the ocean.
    Should I call the police? I asked myself. But then I'd be up for the rest of the night and I hadn't had any sleep at all. Tomorrow was a work day. I needed to be up in -- I looked at the clock -- five hours.
    I turned on the lights and searched every inch of my suite to make sure I was alone. The bed was a jumble with tangled sheets and humped up pillows and those people -- whoever they had been -- might have thought I was in the bed, sleeping soundly. Had they intended to harm me?
    I recalled what Willie had said, that someone was trying to kill me. I examined the bed closely. It was just as I had left it. The mattress was not pumped full of bullets. The pillows were not slashed to shreds by someone wielding a knife. No one had attacked the bed where they thought I slept. So this was not about me.
    And the first person had shone a flashlight around the room, searching for something. What did I have that someone would want to steal?
    I checked the lock on the hall door. Secure. For good measure, I dragged a chair up against it. Near the door I caught a whiff of a scent, the cloying scent of musk oil. So one of my intruders had been Devin Ballantine!
    Well, that did it. That was the last straw. I was outraged that Devin Ballantine would dare come into my room uninvited.
    Seething with anger, I pushed the chair away and unlocked the hall door. I hurried down the hall, past the staircase that ascended to the darkened greatroom above, and scurried around the corner to Devin's door. Not wanting to wake up the entire household, I tapped lightly and called his name. When he didn't answer, I opened the door and went inside.
    His room was at the front of the house. Light from a street lamp shone through the open shades to reveal an empty room. The bed was made. Devin had not retired for the night. He wasn't here because he was out on the beach, one of those two people who were running up the beach.
    I went back to my room, checked it again, locked it again, and finally succumbed to a restless sleep.

16

    "I didn't sleep well last night," Melanie complained on Thursday morning.
    "Neither did I ," I said. "What are you doing up so early?"
    Melanie is the only woman I know who looks good in the morning, whether she's had a good night's sleep or not. She was wearing a sleep tee shirt that came down to her thighs, peach with green sequined apples stenciled over each breast. The caption read "Forbidden Fruit."
    "I have clients looking at Gordon Cushman's house this morning," she replied as she padded across the kitchen barefoot and poured herself another cup of coffee. "And a new listing to get on the MLS this afternoon." For all her frivolity when it came to men, Melanie was a serious business woman, a billion dollar producer who sold residential and commercial properties. She worked hard even on vacation.
    "Did you hear noises last night?" she asked me. "I thought I heard sounds but they could have come from the street."
    "What about Mickey? Did the noises bother him too?" I asked.
    "Mickey? Well, uhmmm , we had a little spat. Just a lover's quarrel. Mickey -- oh, this is so silly -- Mickey is jealous of Spunky." She giggled. "Men. Silly but still he got all huffy because Spunky sleeps with me -- you know how possessive men can get. Says I love that cat more than him. So he slouched off to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms." She giggled again and examined her nail polish for chips.
    "Yes, I've noticed that he's moody," I commented. So Mickey had slept alone last night and therefore had no alibi. But what in the world would Mickey and Devin have wanted in my room? I asked myself. And then to go chasing off down the beach? I shook my head in disbelief.
    Melanie saw my reaction and misinterpreted it. "Men!" she said, arching her eyebrows. "Go figure."
    I decided to tell her what had happened. "We had intruders in the house last night, Mel. Two people came into my room. They scuffled, then they ran out and left by the lower deck. That's what you heard."
    She gave me a long look over the white coffee mug. "What? You must have been dreaming."
    "If only. I had a bad night and couldn't sleep. I was out in the sitting room lying on the sofa so they didn't see me when they broke into my bedroom. Well, they didn't exactly break in. The door wasn't locked. They went into my