Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

explained. "How you guys lived here without air-conditioning I can't fathom."
    "It didn't seem so bad at the time," Kelly confessed. "We had fans set up in all the rooms, and took naps in the afternoon. I had a hammock in the backyard under that giant pecan tree and I'd take my English Lit books out there and read and doze."
    She got a dreamy look on her face. "It was wonderful. Grandpa Joe knew I loved the house more than Uncle J.C. or mother. That's why he left it to me. Ashley, would this be a convenient time for us to go through the papers we left at your house? "
    "Sure," I said. "Just let me tell Willie I'm taking off for an hour."
    Since I'd been working downtown every day this week, I'd stop at my house at the end of the day to water the plants, go through the mail, and check the answering machine messages on the land line in the house.
    Kelly saw the disappointed look on my face when I played back the messages and there was nothing from Nick.
    "How long has it been since you heard from him?" she asked.
    "Almost two weeks," I replied. "I'm frantic, Kelly."
    "Oh poor Ashley. I'm so sorry. Isn't there someone else you can call?"
    "I've called every person and number I know of. I've left messages for him at all those places. I just get indifferent replies saying that he'll call." I shook my head in frustration. "Oh let's talk about something else. Come on in the library. The boxes are there."
    I showed her to my red library and left her to sort through the material in the boxes. "I'll be out on the porch watering my ferns. Holler if you want me."
    I filled the watering can from the side spigot and watered my hanging ferns which were flourishing in the moist air. Some of the fronds reached the porch railing. I brushed my hand lightly over the soft fronds and murmured to the plants, one life form communicating encouragement to another.
    Idly I sat in my wicker porch swing and watched as a few cars drove along Nun Street. Surely someone would have told me if Nick was injured, so I had to keep my spirits up and assume that he was well, just very, very preoccupied with -- what? Translating documents? I go up wearily -- my lower back had been hurting -- and returned to the library where Kelly was pouring through one of the photograph albums.
    "I should have shown these to Devin when I could." She turned her face upward to meet my gaze. "Ashley, I can't get over him drowning."
    Nor could I. And Val getting shot. What was going on?
    Kelly continued, "He was always asking about the POWs and here are pictures of them."
    I sat down beside her on the leather sofa and we looked at the pictures together. They were the black and white snapshots of the forties with scalloped white edges. One picture showed six young men dressed similarly in work shirts and dark trousers. Under the photo, Peggy had penned their names in white ink: Eric Baden, Helmut Schultz, Claus Meese, Claude Schroeder, Karl Hoffwitz , Fritz von Loden .
    Kelly said excitedly, "And look what I found among Great-grandfather's papers."
    She handed me an official-looking document. "It's an application for citizenship," I said. "But it's blank, never filled out." We exchanged looks. "Do you suppose one of the prisoners wanted to stay and your great-grandfather was willing to sponsor him?"
    "What else could it mean?" Kelly said. "I've been through the correspondence. Some of those prisoners corresponded with Grandpa Joe for years after they returned to Germany. They must have been very fond of him."
    "How sad for everyone," I said, and flipped ahead through the album. "Oh look here's a snapshot of the gazebo in my painting." I motioned toward the wall where J.C.'s watercolor hung. "He must have painted that when he was a teenager."
    I glanced at the painting on the wall again. "He said it was one of the first things he ever painted. I just love it. There's such a strong sense of nostalgia about it."
    "He's very talented, even as a boy," Kelly commented.
    "You are born with that kind of talent," I said and turned a page. Two women in print dresses were photographed while standing in front of a flowering fruit tree. "And here's your grandmother Peggy with another woman. Is that your great-grandmother Marty? Peggy looks just like the portrait I saw of her on Tuesday."
    Kelly looked over my shoulder. "Yes, that's Marty and Peggy."
    In the picture Kelly was smiling broadly. "She looks happy in this picture yet you said she had a problem with depression."
    "That picture