Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

introduced myself as Melanie's sister, her only living relative. If need be I was prepared to act on her behalf, make decisions with her best interests in mind. But thankfully that was not necessary. Melanie was awake. Thank you, Jesus, I whispered under my breath.
    "I had to shave the back of her head to stitch up the wound," the doctor told me. "I know Melanie Wilkes. She was our realtor. She sold my husband and me a house in Carolina Heights. We love it. But she's not going to be happy with me when she sees that bald spot on the back of her head."
    I giggled nervously, knowing that if the doctor was concerned about Melanie's reaction to her head being shaved, then Melanie was not in grave danger. "But is she going to be okay?" I asked, needing to be reassured.
    Jon and Cam leaned in close, hanging on her words.
    "I think she'll be fine in a couple of days. She's young and healthy. But she's got to take it easy. We're transferring her to a bed and we'll keep her overnight."
    She gave me a steely look, a "no one messes with me" look. "Now . . . about the police. They are hounding me about her head wound. I'll tell you what I told them in no uncertain terms: there is no way that head wound was self-inflicted. Somebody hit your sister, and hit her hard, with a heavy object. If I had to guess I'd say it was something like a heavy glass paperweight. There were no wood or rock fragments in the wound. The cause of the laceration was blunt force trauma. Her head was not cut by a sharp or jagged object but something round and smooth. A paperweight. Find it and you'll find the weapon."
    "Melanie does have a paperweight that she keeps on the console in the foyer," I said excitedly. "She keeps it on top of the mail so that when the door opens, the draft doesn't blow papers on the floor."
    The doctor was edging away, on her way to her next patient. "Then that's probably it. I've left instructions that the police may not question her until tomorrow."
    "Thank you, doctor," I called.
    "One of you must take her home with you tomorrow. She has to be looked after," the doctor said.
    "I will," I said.
    The doctor gave us a little wave, trotted off, but called over her shoulder, "They'll let you know when she's settled in a room and you can see her then. But one at a time. She's had enough excitement."
    Walt said, "She wouldn't be able to get into her house anyway. The police will have it sealed; it's a crime scene."
    "And we can't let her see all that blood," Cam said.
    "I'm going to have that carpeting ripped out of there as soon as the police will let me," I said.
    "I'd better be going," Walt said. "Give her my best. Tell her I'll be back tomorrow and that I'll be with her when the police question her."

    Melanie's head was elevated. She looked pale and frightened. I've never seen Melanie feeble before. Never even seen her sick. She had the constitution of a pack horse: strong, resolute, always carrying more than her share of weight. Seeing her frail like this shook me to the core of my being.
    It was after midnight and quiet in the halls. I had told the nurses I was spending the night with her. Cam had already been in to see her, spoken to her softly, told her he loved her. He and Jon were waiting in the lobby for me to report back to them.
    "No one will tell me what happened," she whispered.
    I pulled my chair closer to her bed. I would have climbed up on the bed with her but did not want to jostle her for fear of causing her more pain. She seemed to want to talk.
    "I don't know what happened," she repeated. "Tell me what happened."
    So as delicately as possible I told her that Mickey Ballantine had been killed in her house, and that whoever did it was trying to set her up again by putting the knife in her hand.
    "But this time it isn't going to work," I declared. "You are as much a victim as Mickey. Any fool can see that."
    "Poor Mickey," Melanie said softly. "What is going on, Ashley, what is this all about? First Joey, then Mickey."
    "We've got a killer on the loose," I said. "Now maybe the police will go after the real perp."
    I couldn't help thinking what a fine homicide detective Nick had been before his ambitions had outstripped his good sense. Nick would have stuck with Joey's case, would have followed every lead until he was absolutely certain he had the right person.
    "I didn't see a thing," Melanie said. "I came in through the garage like I always do. I snapped on the lights in the kitchen. I set the bags of take-out on