Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

dismissively. She was just too headstrong for her own good. Then continuing her story, she said, "Lying right there on the tile floor just inside the door was a gun!"
    "Oh, no!" Then I realized what was coming next. "And you picked it up!" I guessed.
    "I did. I couldn't imagine who had left it there. Again I thought of Brie. Maybe her manager carried a gun and had somehow dropped it. I know that doesn't make sense but I just wasn't thinking clearly.
    "So I picked it up and set it carefully on the hall table, then went in search of whoever was in the house. That's when I discovered Joey."
    A look of horror crossed her face. "He was lying on the floor in the living room. He'd been shot in the head. There was so much blood but I thought he might still be alive. I had to get help right away.
    "I was dialing 911 when the police stormed into the house, guns drawn, and scared me out of my wits."
    "Wait a minute. How did they get there so fast? Someone had to report the crime. Oh, my gosh , Mel, you were set up."
    "You're right. It had to be something like that. And it had to be the killer watching the house, seeing when I went in."
    "And he called the news stations too. How else did that television crew get there so quickly? Did you see anyone hanging around when you drove up?" I asked.
    "Only the construction crew at the house next door," she replied. "There were carpenters all over the area. So, yes, I did see them and guys in trucks. They were making a terrible racket with their hammers and power saws. Enough noise to cover the gun shots."
    "I sure hope the police question them," I said.
    "Why should they? They think I did it," she said angrily. "But Walt is hiring a private detective. We'll get to the bottom of this."
    "So your fingerprints were on the gun," I prompted.
    "Unfortunately so. A Crime Scene technician took my prints and matched them to the prints on the gun. So right away, they assumed I was the murderer. I tried to explain that I'd only touched the gun, that I hadn't fired it, but they wouldn't listen.
    "And then -- and you won't believe this -- remember those two bimbos we saw at Joey's apartment complex on Wednesday."
    "Oh, no," I cried.
    "Oh, yes," Melanie said. "Those creatures saw me on television so they contacted the police and said I had stolen Joey's car. I told everyone my car was identical to Joey's, that I had not stolen his car, but those guys must have wax in their ears. They just wouldn't listen.
    "And they are not even looking for the real killer, that's what makes me so furious. Dear Joey is dead and his killer is getting away, scot free!"

7

    Spunky who is not a timid cat and lives up to his name must have been sensing Melanie's mood because he slunk into the bedroom warily. He looked up at us, crouched, then sprang onto the bed. To my astonishment he stepped into my lap.
    "Pour us another," Melanie said, holding her empty wine glass aloft.
    I settled Spunky in the center of the bed and got up to refill both our glasses.
    "Come over here, baby," Melanie told her cat and reached for him. But when I sat back down he again crawled into my lap. The vibes Melanie was giving off had gotten to even him. Spunky was a cat I had rescued as a tiny kitten. But ungrateful beast, one day he had taken a long, hard look into Melanie's kittenish eyes and recognized a kindred spirit. From then on he howled when she left my house. I had no choice but to give him to her.
    He is now a fat two year old, black with a white bib and paws, like he's dressed in a tuxedo. He sure lucked out when he met the Wilkes sisters because between us, we treat him like royalty.
    Last night, Jon and I had driven to Melanie's house to retrieve Spunky and take him to my house for the night. The three of us settled on the sofa in my library, snuggled for a while, then fell unromantically asleep. The events of the day -- finding the skeleton under those bottles, Melanie's arrest, numerous trips from downtown to Wrightsville -- had just been too much stress and had worn us out.
    At about midnight we awoke. Jon hugged me goodnight and staggered sleepily out the front door, heading for home. Tomorrow was Saturday and we wouldn't be able to work on the hunting lodge, not until Detective Sherwood gave the go ahead. I imagined that Dr. Jamie McAllister and her students would be working all weekend in her lab to solve the mystery of the skeleton we'd found.
    Spunky and I had gone upstairs to bed where I struggled with a fit of insomnia.