Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

have to yell into their phones? Like the person on the other end is deaf.
    "Not turkey this year," she yelled. "Seafood."
    She was planning Thanksgiving dinner.
    "How about if we smoke oysters in the backyard?" she asked.
    Her voice was grating, like nails on a chalkboard. "I said oysters," she shouted. Shut up, already, I wanted to yell at her.
    Cam turned to Brie. "Brie, I'd love to give you a show at my studio."
    Brie barely lifted her lashes. "You and every other small-time producer," she said with a sneer.
    Cam's eyes widened and he looked like he'd been struck. He was such a gentle soul; to hear him spoken to like that was insulting. I glared at her but she seemed not to notice. She was miles away.
    One thing I can say for Melanie though is that she is a very classy lady. "Bunny, Clay, Brie, I can see this is really hard for you. I know what you must be going through. Your house was a crime scene. I can't tell you how terrible it was for me, finding Joey that way. And now, well, with the way the police are focusing on me -- unjustly I might add -- I'll understand if you are thinking of going with another broker. I can recommend one of my associates. She'll do a bang-up job for you. Not as good as me," Melanie chuckled like a good sport, "but she's very experienced."
    "You don't understand anything," Clay snapped.
    Bunny's nervous fingers shredded a dinner roll to crumbs. "Melanie, it's just that . . .”
    "We can't sell the damned house now," Clay said angrily. "No one will buy a house where there's been a murder." He turned and stared out at the water, as if his rage could turn the tide.
    "We've decided to take it off the market for a while," said Bunny the peacemaker, not wanting to upset anyone. "Just until the fuss dies down, Melanie. You understand."
    Clay glared at Melanie. "And then you can bet your boots, young lady, you will not get the listing."
    "Now, wait a . . . " Cam started to say in Melanie's defense.
    Brie, whose sullen attitude caused her to appear morose, leaned forward so that her face was inches from Melanie's. I had seen her on MTV and major network shows. She was the hottest new star in the music world. When I'd seen her on TV, she'd been all over the stage, trotting back and forth, prancing, dancing, tossing her long mane, the mike in her hand, singing her heart out. How could any one person possess so much energy? Perhaps because she was only seventeen?
    Now all of that energy was fixed on Melanie. "I want to know," she shouted, "why you shot my fiancé?"
    " Your . . . what?" Melanie stammered.
    Fiancé? And that explained something that had been puzzling me, namely, why had Joey Fielding been in the Bitterman house that day? Now I wondered if he had been there to meet Brie.
    Brie was on her feet. "My fiancé," she shouted. "Joey Fielding. The man I loved. The man who loved me. The man I was going to marry and spend my life with. Have babies with. Why did you kill him?"
    The restaurant deck went silent. Everyone stopped talking, listened and stared. And they recognized Brie. In a second she was going to be mobbed.
    I placed my hand firmly on Melanie's thigh. As if to ground her, to hold her down. I increased the pressure of my hand, silently telling her to be careful what she said. To not make a fool of herself.
    I could see the control she was exerting over her emotions. "Brie," she said in a reasonable voice, "Joey was my friend. I did not kill him."
    Tears in her eyes, Brie protested, "During the summer, when I was on my Australian tour, you were there, always hanging around him. Every time I called you were there!"
    "Well, of course, I was there," Melanie said soothingly. "I was his realtor. I found him that fabulous location for his restaurant." She pointed toward Joey's Place with her hand.
    "And Brie, he talked about you constantly. He told me all about the engagement and your wedding plans."
    I could see what those words cost Melanie, but no one else could. No one knew her the way I did.
    For a second Brie seemed unsure of what to say next. "I'm getting out of here," she cried. "Come on, Ali." She turned on her stilettos and marched up the stairs.
    Al Shariff stood up, his angry, piercing eyes glaring at Melanie. "She can't work. She can't sing. She's cancelled her London tour. This is costing her a bundle. And it's all your fault."
    "Wait a minute," Cam yelled. "You can't talk to her like that."
    "Yeah," Jon said. "What don't we all cool off. "
    "Cool off! Do you have any idea