Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

between me and the door so I couldn't run past them and out into the hall for help. I could make it out onto the deck, but then J.C. would shoot Jon. And maybe shoot me as I ran. And would the police ever discover it was him? He was willing to risk it, take his chances. As he said, it was all or nothing. If he won, he'd sell his paintings at Christie's and be a multi-millionaire. If he lost, well as he'd pointed out, he had lived a full life.
    I was standing near the white wicker glass-topped desk where a lamp glowed softly. On the desk lay the blue and green folder of the map of Wrightsville Beach that Kelly had left there. It was fanned out, flipped over to the Wrightsville Beach side, just as Kelly had left it. Quickly, I grabbed up a red marking pen and drew an arrow pointing to the Oceanic Pier. I whirled away from the desk.
    J.C. snapped the cuffs on Jon's wrists, then turned to me. The map was behind me, my body blocking it from his view.
    "Okay, now you."
    I didn't argue, just slipped the second pair of handcuffs around my wrists. J.C. reached out and snapped them closed, reassuring himself that they were locked.
    "Now we go down the outside stairs," he said.
    Hot, humid air flowed in through the glass door when he slid it open.
    "How did you get in the house?" I asked.
    He chuckled. "Melanie's been handing out keys like they were party favors."
    And he was right. How many sets of keys had Melanie distributed? Five that I knew of. It would have been easy to swipe a set.
    "Now get a move on. Down the steps. Slow and easy. Hold onto the railing. I don't want you falling. And don't try any tricks, Campbell. I've got this gun aimed at the back of your girlfriend's head."
    I followed Jon down the outside steps. We were barefoot but the wood had been sealed and it was smooth under my feet. I was very aware of the gun pointed at my head. I held onto the handrail with both hands and descended cautiously.
    At the bottom, J.C. ordered, "Now cross over the boardwalk to the beach."
    The boardwalk was lighted by a lamppost in the middle where the walk bridged the dunes. The moon sailed in and out of patches of dense clouds. Once on the beach the ocean itself offered a glimmer of light.
    The ocean was noisy, waves crashing, high tide was breaking and J.C. had to raise his voice to be heard. "Okay, you two walk in front. Step lively and head for the pier. And if you think you can outrun me, forget it."
    Jon moved to my side and we started up the beach. "He means it," Jon said to me, "so let's do as he says. For now. But if you get a chance, run. Run as fast as you can to the first house you see."
    "Stop that talking!" J.C. called from close behind us.
    I inclined my head to let Jon know I had heard and understood.
    We made our way north along the ocean's edge. Lights were out in houses, only lampposts remained aglow. White frothy waves pounded the strand and the clouds were a paler blue against the midnight blue sky. Even the sandpipers were asleep, perched on one leg, heads tucked under their wings.
    I thought furiously, fear making me fully awake. Why was he doing this? Why were we a threat to him? He had to be the killer, the one behind the deaths. That was the only explanation for this bizarre behavior. Val's murder, Devin's drowning. But why? What had been his motive?
    It was my room he had come to. And he knew which room was mine, so he'd been there before. My late night intruder? He had no way of knowing Jon would be there. Obviously it was I who posed some threat to him. But what?
    My mind raced with possibilities. Had he wanted to steal his watercolor back from me? That didn't make sense. And was he the one who had stolen his painting from Valentine's gallery? Again why? For the insurance?
    But that would mean he had killed Val, and they had been friends for decades. Then it came to me. He had staged the robbery of the other paintings as a cover-up. But why? It had to have something to do with his own picture.
    Jon was staring at me intently. He had reached the same conclusion. And our deduction could only mean one thing. "He's going to kill us," Jon whispered to me.
    J.C. didn't hear. The ocean's roar covered our whispers. "When I get a chance I'm going for him," Jon said.
    I lifted my hands in front of me, meaning how, how with the cuffs?
    Jon shook his head negatively. He didn't know but we'd watch for our chance.
    The Oceanic Pier loomed ahead of us, stretching far out into the ocean. In the moonlight it looked