Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

were quarreling. The man was Gordon Cushman.
    "Melanie, there's Mickey," I said.
    She stopped and looked where I pointed. "Oh, he's with Gordon."
    "Why does seeing those two together smell like trouble to me?" I asked her. Maybe it was the vibes she was giving off because clearly she was not going to approach them.
    "I'll explain when we get in the car." And she trotted off with a sudden surge of energy.
    With the air conditioner turned up full force, she backed out of the parking slot, and headed back toward the bridge. Even the watercraft on the ICW appeared sluggish as they skimmed the water at a snail's pace.
    "Okay, what gives?" I asked.
    "Gordon is signing over his Orange Street house to Mickey. Naturally, he had to tell me because I'm handling the sale."
    "I don't understand," I said. Kelly was in the backseat and didn't say a word. Maybe she already knew. Melanie told her everything.
    "Gordon owes Mickey a lot of money. Gordon is a hopeless gambler. And well . . . he lost a lot of money to Mickey."
    "Lost money? How?"
    Melanie put on her signal -- very unlike her -- and turned right onto Waynick Boulevard. "You don't want to know the details. I don't want to know the details. I told Mickey not to tell me. What I don't know I can't be asked to tell."
    "Asked to tell by whom? The police? Oh, I see. So all the rumors about Mickey are true. Melanie, you've got to dump that guy! He's trouble with a capital T."
    She reached over and patted my hand. "I know, shug . And I am. He'll be staying through Mama's funeral and then until Thursday. Devin's body was released by the police and the funeral is in Atlantic City on Friday. We've agreed that when Mickey returns to Wilmington, he'll be moving back into his apartment over the club."
    I let out a long sigh. One ray of sunshine on the dismal horizon.
    "So if Gordon's so desperate for money do you think he's the one who stole J.C.'s painting and killed Val? They say his fingerprints were all over the place and he even admits to being there that morning."
    "Why don't they just arrest the guy?" Kelly asked from the backseat.
    "Jon says the police do not have the weapon. And they don't have a witness. So not enough evidence to charge him."
    But something in the case might break, I told myself.

24

    Oakdale Cemetery was as pretty as a park, a beautiful Victorian garden, with spreading dogwoods and tall, dense magnolias. It was not far from the Lauder family home in Carolina Heights and the residents there took strolls through the cemetery and used it like a park.
    Everyone had been devastated when vandals desecrated the cemetery, toppling fragile Victorian tombstones and damaging statues. But restorationists and volunteers had been hard at work and signs of repair were visible.
    Our funeral cortege round along the parkway. Melanie and I and Aunt Ruby were in the back of a dark cool limousine, Aunt Ruby in the middle, Melanie and I on either side of her, clinging to her hands.
    When we got out of the limousine we were escorted to chairs set up under a canopy. It was shady there but the afternoon was hot and sultry and there was scarcely a breath of air. The groups of townspeople who had known and loved my parents and had come to pay their respects wore hats and fanned themselves with handkerchiefs. In their suits and formal clothes they had to be very hot.
    Directly in front of me stood the casket, so solid it looked like it could last for an eternity. Unlike the woman inside it.
    There was a carpet of fake grass under my feet and I concentrated on it as Father Andrew offered the eulogy. Mama had been a long-time member of St. James Episcopal Church so that Father Andrew was able to speak about her from personal knowledge.
    I heard only bits and pieces of what he had to say. I was feeling strange, out of it, lapsing in and out of reality so that at times I felt like I wasn't there at all. When Jon approached and took my elbow I knew it was time to get up and leave. I took a few steps to Mama's casket and placed a long-stemmed white rose on top of the blanket of flowers. "I love you, Mama," I whispered and began to weep.
    Jon led me away. Vaguely I thought that it should have been Nick and then I realized that I'd stopped thinking about him. The present was just so overwhelming there wasn't room in my thoughts for anyone who was not here. People crowded around me, clucking and patting, uttering all the right words. J.C. Lauder approached me and related how he had known Mama