Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

worse than I had realized.
    "Well," she said, going on the defensive, "I might have swung by there once of twice when I was out late."
    Uh huh, I thought. Oh, Daddy, I wish you were here. I need you to help me handle her. But Mama and Daddy now reside in heaven, Daddy departing when I was a freshman at Parson's School of Design, then Mama following a mere three months ago. They were reunited there, I knew. They'd left us girls behind to fend for ourselves but it now seemed neither of us was capable of doing a good job of that.
    "The last time I saw Joey Fielding was during last spring's Azalea Festival," I said. "You were showing him houses in the historic district. And Jon and I toured the Murchison House on Third Street when it was the Designer Showcase House with you two, remember? I thought Joey was going to buy an old house and hire me to restore it for him. That's what he said. But nothing came of that promise."
    Melanie executed a sharp right into an apartment complex at Monkey Junction. "When Joey's TV show was cancelled," she explained, "he decided he wanted out of show biz altogether. And I can't say I blame him. It's a risky business for an actor. So he took his earnings and I found him the perfect piece of commercial property on Harbor Island near the Wrightsville Marina. He remodeled and I got him a great designer. The restaurant is fabulous. Celebrity-owned eateries are big drawing cards. Plus he had the good sense to pay top dollar for a fine chef so the cuisine is superb. The yachts pull in and tie up and they attract the tourist crowd. Now he's got a huge success on his hands. And I helped him accomplish that. But is he grateful? No!"
    She whipped into a parking slot. "His building," she breathed, eyeing the towering three-story structure. With the motor idling, she put the car into park, then draped her arms over the steering wheel as she leaned forward. "Remember that song, 'On the Street Where You Live'? I know what that man was feeling, strolling back and forth in front of Eliza Doolittle's house. Why, I feel better just being here where Joey lives."
    "Melanie, what is wrong with you!" I practically shouted. "I've never seen you act so pathetically. Aren't you embarrassed? What happened to your pride?"
    "Oh, pride, schmide !" she declared hotly. Then she surprised me by wailing, "He's dropped me, Ashley. He won't even return my calls." She turned on me suddenly, yanking off her dark glasses. Tears swam in her green eyes, making them sparkle. "And I'm so crazy about him. Oh, he's nice enough when I'm in the restaurant, always comes over to my table and chats. He seems so happy to see me. But he never makes a move in my direction."
    She balanced the glasses on her nose and peered at me over the tops. "We worked so well together, had so much fun, finding the right property, the right decorator. He flirted outrageously with me. And, well ... we got close. Now he treats me like I don't exist. Not even a dinner invitation. Every time I thought we were headed somewhere, he'd back off. Oh, it is all just so frustrating!"
    She beat the steering wheel with her fists.
    "I'm sorry," I said. I knew just how she felt. Hadn't I spent a year yearning for Nick until finally fate threw us together and we began the love affair that led to our marriage?
    "What's wrong with us Wilkes girls?" I asked. "Have we got longing confused with loving?"
    She gave me a level look. "Things aren't working out for you and Nick, are they, baby sister?"
    "No. The atmosphere in my house is as chilly as a sub-zero refrigerator."
    Movement caught our eyes and both we looked up. Two girls came out of the second-floor apartment directly across the breezeway from Joey's apartment. Wiggling and giggling they descended the open staircase.
    "Joey's neighbors," Melanie whispered. "And look at them, will you?"
    The girls seemed young even to me and I'm only twenty-six. At the most they were nineteen, sun kissed and gorgeous. They had beach towels draped from their arms and beach bags slung over bare shoulders. They wore bikinis and high-heeled slides. Lip gloss and sun lotion. And nothing else. Long shiny sun-bleached hair bounced around their shoulders as they sashayed nubile bodies across the parking lot in our direction. They looked like freshmen from UNC-W.
    They eyed the car, identical to Joey's which they surely would recognize, then they approached us. "Looking for someone, ma'am?" the blonder of the two asked Melanie.
    "Is this Joey's