Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

back to the restaurant and pick up some take out? We can eat on the boat."
    "That terrible man cost me my appetite," Melanie said.
    "Me too," I said. "I'll have a bowl of cereal or something when I get home."
    "Listen, shug , I'm going to spend the night on the boat with Cam. Would you stop at my house and pick up Spunky and take him home with you for the rest of the weekend?"
    "Sure, I'll be glad to."
    I kissed them goodnight and Jon and I headed down the gangplank, crossed over the boardwalk, and walked to our cars in the parking lot.
    "Sure you don't want to go out for a bite to eat?" Jon asked as I clicked the remote and unlocked my car door. He sounded almost shy. The transition from best friends to potential lovers was making both of us a bit giddy. We were on unfamiliar ground.
    I looked into his face and smiled, brushing back a lock of blond hair that fallen onto his forehead. "I'm as beat as Melanie is. David Boleyn did me in too. I just want to go home and crash. I'll meet you at the site early tomorrow morning."
    He kissed me on the cheek. "Drive carefully."

    I drove over the bridge to the mainland in full darkness. It was only eight o'clock but felt much later. I turned left onto Airlie Road and followed the waterway. Across Motts Channel, the Blue Water Restaurant was lit up like a Mississippi showboat, but a few doors down Joey's Place was closed up tight and shrouded in darkness.
    Turning inland I passed the narrow driveway that led to Increase Boleyn's hunting lodge. Bright light cast by a channel marker out in the water backlit the crenellated tower that rose above the tree line. Jon was right. The hunting lodge was architecturally significant, an important landmark to the area. I would put up with the eccentric David Boleyn for the privilege of restoring his lodge.
    Next I passed Bradley Creek Road on my left, then the entrance to Airlie Gardens where, at about the same time that Increase Boleyn had entertained at his hunting lodge, Sarah and Pembroke Jones had entertained at their mansion. There were stories about the lavish parties the Joneses had given, of private railway cars for their New York and Newport guests. The Great Caruso himself had been a guest and had entertained for Mrs. Jones. One tale in particular stood out: elegant dinner parties held on specially built platforms in live oak trees, complete with musicians and spiraling staircases.
    At the intersection, I turned left onto Oleander Drive for the short hop to Bradley Creek and across the bridge. I then made a sharp left into the heavily wooded neighborhood at Greenville Loop Road. Melanie lived at the end of Sandpiper Cove off Rabbit Run in a rambling ranch with bleached cedar shakes, green shutters, and a split rail fence covered with late-blooming rambling roses. Her backyard overlooked Hewlett's Creek and Greenville Sound and she had a private boat dock.
    My headlights picked out the opening in the fence and I maneuvered my car down her sloping, sandy driveway.
    I drive a white van for work with our logo imprinted on the side, the outline of a Greek Revival house, and our company name, Wilkes Campbell Restorations. My own car is a pale blue Toyota Avalon, very pretty, and if a car could be described as feminine, then my car was feminine.
    Melanie's porch light was on, plus a few lights inside, and solar lights lined the walkway to her porch. I removed her front door key from my purse, left the purse on the passenger seat, and locked my car with a click of the remote.
    I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, expecting Spunky to come running to meet me, to feel his furry body warp around my ankles and hear him meowing loudly. Spunky is a sociable cat and does not like to be left alone. But he did not appear. I hoped he wasn't hiding because cats can hide good .
    As I walked down the hall calling for him, I heard the sound of running water. Alarmed, I followed the sound to the hall bathroom. Had one of the pipes sprung a leak? Did Melanie forget to turn off the faucet?
    The door to the bathroom stood ajar and steam plumed around it. The shower? The shower was running.
    The bathroom door squeaked on its hinges as I pushed it fully open. From inside the steam shrouded glass shower, a man's voice called, "Hey, babe, you back? Come on in here and join me."
    The glass door swung open and a very wet, very naked man greeted me with a smile.
    Mickey Ballantine!
    His black body hair was soaked and matted flat against his chest. Water