Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

doesn't manufacture or export a dang thing any more . All we do is import goods from China, so sure we need another port to receive all those Chinese container ships with their cheap and shoddy goods!"
    His face grew red and he returned to the helm. "Look folks, it's getting chilly up here. So why don't y'all go on down to the salon where it's warm. I'll bring her into port myself."
    When Cam offered to keep him company at the helm, he blurted, "Don't need no help."
    It was already dark when we docked at the Wrightsville Marina. David came down from the fly bridge and stood at the gangway to bid us each a goodbye. He and Crystal had somehow miraculously settled their differences because they stood together, arms entwined, the picture of the perfect host and hostess.
    As I said goodbye, I added to Crystal, "I saw all your boxes on the lower deck. David told me about your decorating project. Please let me know if I can help. I'll be glad to give you advice, one friend to another."
    "Thanks, Ashley, I may take you up on that."
    "No, you won't," David said firmly. "You got plenty of talent yourself. You don't need no help. Thank you girls for coming. You have yourself a nice night, you hear."
    As Melanie and I hurried down the gangplank she said in my ear, "Well, that was surely the cruise from hell, not to be confused with the social event of the year. More like a party to die for. Die from boredom and tedium. You could cut the hostility with a knife."
    "Crystal has got to get out of that marriage," I said. "That man is a time bomb ready to explode. I can't believe how Ali and Crystal flaunt their relationship right in front of him. Oh, I can't wait till this project is finished so I never have to see either one of them again."
    "So then, why did you offer to help her with her decorating?" Melanie accused.
    "You're right. Why did I? I feel sorry for her. And also because I'm used to being a nice 'little girl.'"
    "Speaking of girl, I hate the way he calls us 'the girls,'" Melanie hissed. "The way he says it so demeaning. You never hear him call Cam and Jon and Walt 'the boys,' do you?"
    Cam and Jon had preceded us down the gangplank and waited on the boardwalk.
    "There are 'the boys' now," I said happily and walked into Jon's arms.
    "What are y'all talking about?" Cam asked.
    Melanie laced her arms around his waist and kissed his chin. "Oh nothing, sugar, just how handsome you are." Turning to me and Jon with a grin, she said, "Did you hear that? My California 'boy' just said his first y'all."

28

    Monday morning dawned seasonably chilly for late November. The air was clear; the sky was blue with little white clouds scudding along from inland. But by noon the sun had warmed the air as it so often does here on the coast. And because I had grown accustomed to my daily constitutional, I was eager to walk. Already my slacks and jeans were fitting better -- not tugging in the wrong places -- and I felt sleeker. My job is surely more active than a desk job but I don't get much exercise; a lot of what I do is stand around and tell others what to do. It's not like I am the one who climbs a ladder to the roof.
    Jon was working from home today. His presence is not always required on the site; neither is mine. So I slipped out to my van where I ate a carton of fat free peach yogurt. I patted my mouth with a tissue then pulled down the sun visor to check my face in the mirror. There were dirt smears on my forehead and I wiped them off.
    My dark brown hair looked a little wilder than it normally does because of the stiff breezes. I pulled a cobweb off a curl, then combed my hair. I freshened my lipstick, and blinked at myself in the mirror. My eyes are gray, but in a certain light they look violet. Jon says they are periwinkle and that periwinkle is his favorite color.
    I drove the short jaunt to Airlie Gardens and went in the back way. The gardeners were taking their lunch break and we waved as I walked by. I had become a familiar figure to them, and knew some of them by name.
    I hit the walking trail at a fast pace. I had the whole park to myself --all 67 acres -- because the gardens are closed to the public during the winter months. Every once in a while an icy blast blew in from the west so I pulled the hood of my sweat jacket up over my head. But as I walked briskly, revving up to long strides, I grew warm and unzipped my jacket.
    I passed the stables and took the Bradley Creek overlook for a short stretch. Then I turned inland