Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

she had been having a conversation."
    "Ashley's got a point," Melanie told Kelly. "And Ashley has lots of experience with homicides. She's been involved in homicide cases in the past. And married to a police lieutenant the way she is, she knows a lot about police procedure."
    This wasn't true but I didn't feel like challenging the point.
    "When am I going to meet Nick?" Kelly asked. "Is he coming home for the weekend?"
    "I hope so," I replied.
    "Have you heard from him, shug ?" Melanie asked gently.
    She knew how worried I was about Nick. "Uh, not yet." I'd been leaving messages for my husband on his cell phone for days and he had not called back, and I was very worried.
    "I'd better call him now, before he hears of Val's murder and my involvement from someone else," I said, digging my cell phone out of my purse. Nick hates it when I get too close to a homicide case. And wouldn't Diane Sherwood love to be the one to break the news to him?
    As I listened to his voice mail message, I watched a throng of onlookers migrate up the ramp to Johnnie Mercer's pier for a better view. Almost ten years ago the landmark pier had been destroyed by two hurricanes. The entire pier, including the piling, had been rebuilt in concrete. You either loved it or you hated it. I missed the old wooden pier but understood why it had to be rebuilt to withstand storms.
    "Nick, it's me Ashley. Listen, something has happened here and I've got to talk to you right away. So call me as soon as you get this message. Love you." I tapped the end button.
    Diane Sherwood came out of the gallery and stood over the three of us as we sat on the bench. "Did you know her well?" she asked.
    "I did," I replied. "She was a good person, very popular with the residents and tourists alike. I can't imagine anyone shooting her. Was it a robbery?"
    "The paintings that were supposed to be on exhibit are not anywhere inside so it might have been a robbery," Diane said, not telling us anything we had not already surmised for ourselves.
    "I told you so," Kelly declared.
    "Officer Meriweather is coming out to record your statements, then you can go. That's what I came to tell you." Looking at Kelly, she said, "You're not planning to return to New York soon, are you?"
    "No, I'll be staying with Melanie for a while. I've hired Ashley to restore my family's house in Carolina Heights, so I'll be around to help her get started. Why? Am I forbidden to leave? If that's the case, I'm calling my lawyer right now. You can't hold me here. I had nothing to do with that . . . that . . . " She pointed to the gallery.
    Diane drew herself up. Every other time I'd seen her in the past she'd been wearing mannish pantsuits with boxy jackets that concealed a gun. Today, even in shorts and a tee shirt, she looked tailored. No sign of a weapon. And she had on sensible boat shoes, not the flip flops most women wear at the beach. "Take it easy, Miss Lauder. No one's holding you. We'd just like to get your statement and we want to know where to reach you." She lifted her chestnut hair off the back of her neck. "Sure is hot. I'd better get back inside."
    "Aren't you out of your jurisdiction?" I asked.
    "I'm staying with Sarah," she replied. "The M.E. We're . . . friends."
    Then she turned and said to me as if an afterthought, "What do you hear from Nick, Ashley?"
    Diane and Nick had worked together on homicide cases for Wilmington PD before he was assigned to Homeland Security.
    "He's busy," I said, feeling defensive. I didn't want this woman to know that my husband was not returning my calls or that I had not heard from him in five days.
    "Well, you've got to admire him," Diane continued, "the way he devoted his spare time for the past year to those intensive courses in Arabic . . ."
    "He's got a gift for languages," I bragged.
    "Then being recruited to translate 'chatter' for the CIA. Lots of guys on the force wish they were in his shoes, I can tell you that. Where the action is."
    Where the action is, but not where his wife is, I thought sullenly. And was Diane Sherwood one of the "guys" who wished she was working for Homeland Security, rounding up terrorists instead of rounding up punk drug dealers?
    She said again, "I've got to get inside. They asked me to lend a hand. Officer Meriweather will be right out." A stream of cool air flowed out from the gallery as she passed through the door.
    "Oh, look, it's Jon," Melanie said, pointing to a figure the police were letting through.
    Thank God, a