Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

local history stuff?" I asked.
    "Knowledge is power, Miss Wilkes. You know that."
    Jon stared at him as if he was an alien species. I too did not know what to make of him.
    "Well, okay, then. Sarah Green bought 52 acres and continued to buy up land piecemeal until she had created the 150 acre Airlie estate, now Airlie Gardens. Sarah Green and Pembroke Jones got married. Their land holdings and wealth were legendary. They built a mansion at Airlie that had 38 apartments and twelve bedrooms, with a covered tennis court right in the middle of the house. Very lavish.
    "Jones acquired Pembroke Park, north of here on the other side of Eastwood Road on Wrightsville Sound, fenced it as a hunting preserve, and built an Italian villa-style hunting lodge for himself and his buddies. Seemed to be the thing that rich gentlemen did in those days. That area is now the Landfall development. It's called Landfall because that is where Giovanni da Verrazano made his first landfall in America in 1524.
    "Probably the Joneses wanted to acquire this little peninsula too, but Boleyn held onto it. Jones died in 1919 and Sarah already had established her Airlie Gardens."
    Jon said, "Possibly after the stock market crash, Boleyn resorted to making moonshine here. Seems logical to me. Who else would have put those bottles in that shed?"
    "You don't think Boleyn killed your agent, do you?" I asked Agent Randolph.
    "Somebody did. He didn't bury himself in that ground in that shed. It's an old crime, and the killer will be dead by now, but there is closure to be had. My agency doesn't like unsolved mysteries where our agents are concerned, no matter how old the crime."
    "You said yesterday that when those local agents were shot, their dog was shot too. It really upsets me that anyone would shoot an innocent dog. But why did the agents take a cute little Airedale with them when they were out hunting for stills?"
    "Don't know. Could have been for the company. Or the animal might have been a working dog. Might have been trained to smell the mash and help the agents locate the still."
    "Oh, like our modern K9 units," I said. And that reminded me of Nick's new girlfriend who was a trainer of K9 units, and that thought made me depressed.
    I turned away from them and averted my face. Looking across the marshes at the scenic view, I couldn't help wondering what Carol had that I did not. What was she offering Nick that I didn't have to give? The thought that he preferred another woman to me made me question my own femininity, my womanhood. I didn't like the feeling.
    I started to walk back toward the lodge; the men trailed along behind. Agent Randolph was doing the talking. Was he warming up to us?
    "The odd thing is that before Prohibition," he said, "North Carolina produced more wine than any other state. The Scuppernong grapes here were extraordinarily plentiful. Then the state passed Prohibition in 1909, ten years before the nation went dry. From 1909 till 1935, there was so much illegal whiskey dumped in the Cape Fear River, why the fish must have been on a perpetual high."
    Jon laughed.
    I frowned. I too had been dumped. And I didn't like the feeling, not one bit. Resentment was setting in, an ugly feeling, making me feel mean. "Blast you Nick," I swore under my breath.
    Behind me Jon said, "You said you were here on an official case. What case are you working on?"
    "I'm not at liberty to discuss that," Randolph replied curtly.
    After that we walked him to the lodge in silence.
    The structure was in ruins, having been abandoned to the elements for decades. It was a miracle it had not burned. The bones were good, classically Italianate with a low-pitched roof, wide eaves, portico, a few surviving balustrades. Willie and his crew had been removing the crumbling intonaco , a stucco-like material, and repairing the brick substructure. New stucco would be applied.
    Inside there were solid chestnut beams in the great hall, two massive fireplaces, one at each end of the thirty foot hall. Under dirt and rubbish, we had discovered a tile and terrazzo floor. Italian craftsmen had been hired to restore the floor but their first job was repairs to the tile roof.
    The agent gave us a brusque thank you and drove off.
    "He's not talking," Jon said.
    "I think he's working on something that has to do with Mickey Ballantine," I said, and told him about my encounter with Ballantine at Melanie's house yesterday.
    Jon shook his head. "Ashley, what does Melanie do, put an