Wilmington, NC 04 - Murder At Wrightsville Beach

he was old enough to get his own place. Then, over the next fifty years or so, he brought them out one by one, claiming them as his own work. As Babe said, her grandfather must have known but what could he do? Expose the only child he had left as a fraud? And Babe was too young to think much about missing paintings when he removed them from the house."
    I said, "While we were waiting for you to call with Meriweather's decision, Kelly and I went through the boxes we'd moved from my house to the beach house. We got a magnifying glass and studied the signature on the drawings Claude had made for Marty. The signature was faint but legible. 'CLAUDE' it read. No last name, just 'CLAUDE' in block letters, all caps.
    "That's why J.C. entered my rooms that night. He was looking for those drawings but at that time they were at my house in town."
    "And Devin must have been watching for something to happen, and so he followed J.C. into your bedroom."
    I rubbed my arms. "Gives me the shivers."
    "We're here," Jon said as he parked in front of the Lauder house behind two Wrightsville cruisers. "The similarity in names made it easy for J.C. He had only to put a period after the 'C' and prefix it with a 'J' then add an 'R' at the end of 'LAUDE.'"
    "But eventually Val detected some irregularity with the signature. Maybe a difference in the paint, something. I wonder why she never saw a discrepancy before."
    "We'll never know," Jon said. "Probably she wasn't looking. Took J.C. at his word. Why wouldn't she?"
    "You know, I heard an NPR discussion on sociopaths. And J.C. had all the characteristics: manipulative, a flatterer. Discerned your weakness and zoomed in on it to take advantage of you. He perceived that Melanie was insecure about her looks and that was why he was always complimenting her about them. Melanie is the prettiest woman in Wilmington. When she's ninety, she'll be the prettiest woman in Wilmington. Still her strength is her weakness. She's insecure about her looks. I know that because I know her so well but few people do. And J.C. was canny enough to pick up on it.
    "They say that one in twenty-five persons is a sociopath, no conscience, no guilt. They'll do anything to get what they want. J.C. was that one in twenty-five."
    "There's just one thing that's bothering me. Why did he go after you? Why not Kelly? Or Babe?"
    I shrugged. "We'll never know for sure, but Kelly had told him about the papers she'd removed to my house. Perhaps he thought that because I was experienced at analyzing old documents I might spot something that Kelly would overlook. And," I said grimly, " he might have had plans to take care of Kelly and Babe. Another brick tossed out of the second floor window at the house. A push down those basement steps would have done it."
    "By why not remove the drawings and the albums from the house himself?" Jon persisted. "Destroy them."
    "Ah. Kelly had the locks changed after Grandpa Joe died. She'd heard that thieves often rob a house while the family is at the funeral service. So she had solid locks installed on the doors and windows. And J.C. did not have a key; there was no reason to give him one. Grandpa Joe left the house to Kelly. J.C. had no interest in it."
    "Okay," Jon said, " Meriweather's waiting. Let's get this over with. Are you sure you want to be there? If we're right, this will be grisly. You'd be better off waiting here in the car or on the porch."
    "I want to come," I said and reached for the door handle. "I'll just sit on the steps."
    Meriweather and three unformed officers plus Diane Sherwood greeted us and they looked as grim as I felt.
    Willie Hudson had been summoned and he climbed down out of the cab of his truck and unloaded the tools we would need from the truck bed, then led the way into the house. He and Jon showed the police to the basement. I trailed after them, superfluous. After I had informed them of where to look, I wasn't needed.
    I sat on the basement stairs and watched as they dismantled the beautiful knotty pine tongue-and-groove paneling. Willie joined me on the steps. "I ain't got the stomach for this."
    The sound of splintering wood was followed by a loud exclamation from one of the cops. "He's here!" he shouted. "What's left of the poor devil. "
    As I observed their excitement, I wondered how the family had not known that a man had been buried in their basement. Wouldn't there have been an odor? I asked myself. But the house was solid and the ceilings were high, and as