Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

swallowed it, and suddenly didn't feel too good. The horizon seemed to be tilting, like it was listing from side to side. And under my feet the deck seemed to sway.
    There wasn't time to speak or to call to Jon for help. I clamped a hand over my mouth and ran for the stairs and the day head.
    Would I make it? Seasick! I was seasick! I'd never been seasick in my life and I had sailed often.
    I reached the day head, pushed on the door, but it was locked.
    Down the stairs to the lower deck, I thought. I'd find a head there.
    I ran along the lower deck companionway toward the bow, holding my mouth closed with my hand, trying to control the waves of nausea that were wrenching at my insides.
    I threw open the first door I came to. Boxes. A stateroom, clearly, but filled with boxes and no way around them. Crystal's decorating project.
    I flung open the next door. The same.
    Running back the way I'd come, I pushed open a bi-fold door and raced into the master stateroom. Darted through it and into the master head. Where I found relief.
    When the nausea subsided, I stood up and ran water in the sink. Washed my face, found a paper cup and rinsed my mouth. Looked at my reflection in the mirror over the granite countertop. I opened one of the mahogany compartments and found a bottle of mouthwash, splashed some into the paper cup and rinsed my mouth again.
    In the mirror, my face looked pale, my eyes huge. But at least I felt better. I dried my hands, cut through the stateroom, and went out into the companionway. Where I encountered a glowering David Boleyn.
    His arms were crossed over his barrel chest. He gave me a narrow grimace. "You get lost? Thought I showed you where the little girl’s room was," he said.
    Well shoot, what had happened to our gracious host? Where had he misplaced the charm? And why?
    "I wasn't feeling well," I said defensively, although why I should feel defensive I didn't know -- it wasn't like I was stealing Crystal's jewelry. "Walt was in the day head."
    He stood back to let me pass before him and followed me to stairway.
    "It's not like I had a choice," I said. "Didn't know this was off limits."
    I was mad. I didn't feel good, and this jerk was making me feel worse.
    Suddenly he was jovial again. He ran a hand around my waist. "Sorry, Ashley. It's just that those are our private quarters and Crystal doesn't like anybody messing around in her private bathroom. And she's redecorating the other three staterooms and she doesn't like anybody to see the mess. Come on back up and I'll fix you a Bloody Mary that'll fix that stomach of yours right quick."
    The man was mercurial. No wonder Crystal preferred Ali. At least he was consistently sullen.

27

    Back on the fly bridge I found everyone filling plates from the buffet. I saw Jon's concerned face and hastened to assure him I was all right.
    Crystal had provided a spread of cold salmon and lobster, shrimp, dips, salsa, chips, and a large fresh fruit platter. Plus any kind of alcoholic beverage you could think of. We would surely not be wanting dinner later.
    While I'd been fighting nausea on the lower deck, Cam had sailed us past Kure Beach and Ft. Fisher. The quaint village of Southport lay to starboard. In the distance, on the port side, Bald Head Island seemed to float on the water. As we drew near, I saw the marina and the ships chandlery where colorful flags flapped in the wind."
    At that point the river bore us along toward the Atlantic and the infamous Frying Pan Shoals. "She's more than sea worthy," David said, "but we'll turn back here."
    Looking at me, he said, "You're feeling better now, aren't you, Ashley? Don't look so peaked. That Bloody Mary of mine will fix what ails you, whether it be a hangover or heart break."
    With that, he fixed Crystal with an accusing glare, a glare that fairly shouted , I've got your number, sister.
    "I am feeling better," I confessed. "There's Old Baldy!" I pointed and we all turned for a view of the massive stone lighthouse that stood guard over Bald Head Island and the entrance to the Cape Fear.
    "There's a ghost story associated with that island," I said. The Bloody Mary had loosened my tongue.
    "Ashley and her ghost stories," Melanie said with a wicked grin. Melanie had on a cute ball cap. It covered the stitches on the back on her head, but with her long auburn hair pulled through the cap's hole, no one would suspect she didn't have a full head of hair under it.
    "The ghost story is called 'The haunting of