Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

have a dock here so he could visit his property whenever he wished." I told the agent how David and Crystal Boleyn lived on their yacht. "There are lots of people who live on yachts: 'live-aboard boaters,' they're called.
    "The Boleyns berth at the Wrightsville Marina when they're in this area. The marina offers wetslips , power, water and fuel."
    Randolph stared across Motts Channel. Whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself. A man who kept his own counsel.
    To me the view was inspiring and healing at the same time. I could only admire it and feel deeply contented. The colorful cottages on Harbor Island and Wrightsville Beach seemed to be dozing in the warm sun. The water looked peaceful, yet in places was deceptively swift.
    "Is it always this quiet out here on a Sunday morning?" Randolph asked.
    "Yes," Jon replied. "Willie Hudson, our general contractor, is a Southern Baptist and does not work on Sunday. And the Italian craftsmen who are doing some specialty work for us are Catholic and feel the same. Suits us. We all need a day of rest. Ashley and I become so intense about whatever project we're working on, we tend to go full throttle 24/7."
    Scott looked from Jon to me and I could see he was trying to calculate just how much of a couple we really were.
    "How long have you been working together?" he inquired.
    "Two years," I replied. "My first job was the restoration of the Campbell House on Orange Street. Jon was the architect on the project. Reggie Campbell was a distant relative of Jon's. Then Jon helped me to restore my own house on Nun Street, a rush job because the house had to be completed in time for the annual Candlelight Tour that year."
    "We've been partners ever since," Jon said. "Where are you from, Agent Randolph?"
    "Atlanta. The men in my family have worked for the Treasury Department since about 1900. My own father was one of the ATF agents who cracked the last big illegal distillery in Georgia in the sixties. Guy had a twenty foot boiler and 54 fermenters that held 220 gallons each. The agents blew it up, put him out of business." Agent Randolph smiled for the first time.
    "I thought moon shining was something they did during Prohibition, I didn't know they were making moonshine in the sixties," I said. "Did you, Jon?"
    Jon said no.
    Randolph looked at us like we were ignorant. "Most people don't know any better. Did you know there's been moon shining going on in this country since Colonial days? Early colonists were the first bootleggers, smuggling whiskey to the Indians by hiding flasks in their boots, then pulling their pant leg down over the boot."
    "Hmmm," I said, thinking that was a cute story I'd have to remember. Agent Randolph would not have taken kindly to my thinking his story was cute. He was a deadly serious fellow.
    Randolph continued, "The fact is the government has always levied a high tax on whiskey and tobacco and a lot of folks resent paying the tax. The first Whiskey Rebellion broke out in 1794. But with the onset of the Civil War the government re-imposed excise taxes to help pay for the war. Taxes have only increased since then. Whiskey is considered a luxury, not a necessity."
    This guy was as much fun as a broken leg. "Oh, I don't know about that, Agent Randolph. At the end of some days, a drink is an absolute necessity for me," I said, trying to lighten the mood.
    "I don't drink myself," he said, deadpan.
    I turned to Jon. "Agent Randolph thinks the man we found might have been a revenue agent working here during Prohibition."
    "Is that right?" Jon asked. "And you think he was murdered by a moon shiner who was operating a still on this property? The representative of the Raleigh Bottle Club swears that the bottles and jars we found in the shed had been used for sour mash liquor. Said they had a distinctive odor."
    "Sour mash does have a distinct smell that once you're familiar with it you can detect," Randolph said. "Didn't you say that Increase Boleyn owned this land in 1931?"
    "According to the tax records he did," I said. "Boleyn acquired this parcel of land in 1890. At the time there was a small hotel and some cottages out here that were later acquired by Pembroke Jones when he formed the Sea Side Park Development Company. Jones bought up land around Bradley Creek to develop into a resort. This area was connected to Wilmington by the Seashore Railroad then later the Beach Trolley."
    Randolph looked around and nodded. "Go on," he said.
    "I'm not boring you with this