Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

car?" the other inquired.
    "Uh, no," Melanie replied, pushing her dark glasses firmly onto the bridge of her nose with a perfectly manicured fingertip. "Just turning around." She tossed them a little wave, shifted into reverse, and backed out of the slot.
    "Let's get out of here," she groaned as the girls clopped off toward a sparkling aqua pool.
    The Mercedes sped out of the complex with a deep-throated purr and the squealing of tires. "'Ma'am!' The nerve of that skinny-assed hussy. She called me 'ma'am.' This is what I was afraid of. Joey's set himself up in an apartment with coeds for neighbors. Oh, now I'll never get him back. How can I compete with that? They're ... so young."
    And to my surprise, she started to cry. Melanie never cries. Melanie is brave and strong, she is single-minded and focused. So who was this alien-being that had invaded my sister's body? Not my popular, exceedingly confident sister. Somehow Joey Fielding, who wasn't that exceptional in my opinion, had succeeded in doing what no man had ever been able to do: turn the unattainable Melanie Wilkes into a whiny, sniveling doormat.
    I wanted to grind him to pulp under my heel, crush him for the insect that he was.
    "Pull over," I commanded. "You're in no shape to drive. I'm driving and I'm taking us for a drink."

    "Now what did you mean when you said that you and Joey Fielding 'got close' this summer?" I asked over tall, icy Vodka tonics. "Melanie, you didn't have an affair with him, did you?"
    She hesitated, then had the good grace to look guilty to be caught in an indiscretion. "He was too cute to resist." She smiled, remembering, then lifted her glass and took a long swallow.
    The sun was setting and with it the temperature was dropping. I hate the way the sun goes down early in November, especially after we switch from Daylight Saving Time. I miss summer's long-shadowed long evenings. I'm a summertime girl. Born in the summer; love the summer.
    We were sitting outdoors on the patio at Boca Bay on Eastwood Road, enjoying the last of the daylight. A small waterfall splashed pleasantly off to the side; colorful koi circling happily in a koi pond.
    At first I'd wanted to take Melanie to the Bridge Tender Restaurant so we could have our cocktails out on the deck overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway. But the Bridge Tender is directly across the channel from Joey's Place, in clear but distant sight, and with her predilection for spying on him, I worried that Melanie might whip out a pair of binoculars from her purse and scan Harbor Island for glimpses of the object of her obsession.
    "So you were sleeping with Joey at the same time you were sleeping with Mickey Ballantine," I accused. I always knew Melanie's "anything goes" philosophy where men were concerned was going to get her in a jam one day.
    "Well, what do you care? You disliked Mickey with a passion. Remember?"
    It was true. I did not like Mickey Ballantine. "Bad News Ballantine" was my name for him. And even though I owed him a debt of gratitude, that didn't cause me to suspend judgment and trust him. Mickey Ballantine, as I'd warned Melanie often enough, was bad news. And now it appeared Joey Fielding was bad news as well.
    "I wasn't exactly sad to see him leave town, if that's what you mean," I replied.
    Melanie got busy stirring her drink with a swizzle stick. Her silence spoke volumes.
    I pushed forward in my chair and glared at her. "No! Please do not tell me Mickey's still around."
    Melanie glanced heavenward as if for help.
    "But the police want him. Mel! There's a warrant out for his arrest. The police aren't stupid. They know he was running illegal gambling from his nightclub." I regarded her shrewdly. "So where's he hiding out? Do you know?"
    "I might," she said slowly. "But don't misunderstand, Ashley. I am not seeing him. You were right about him all along. He is trouble."
    "With a capital T," I said. Then a dreadful thought occurred to me. "Does he happen to know that you were having a thing with Joey Fielding at the same time you were seeing him? Because, Melanie, Mickey is not the kind of man to stand for that. He'd seek revenge. It would be a matter of honor with him."
    No good will come of this, I told myself, and tried to quell the gut-wrenching premonition that trouble -- real trouble -- was homing in on us as stealthily and inexorably as a man-eating shark.
    For a second Melanie looked alarmed. "No," she said thoughtfully, "I'm sure he doesn't know."
    "All right," I