Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

other wet towel on Crystal's forehead. "I think he broke her jaw. That's what knocked her out. She needs medical help."
    "We need help, Melanie. We've got to get out of here!" I said.
    Melanie turned to look at the port lights. "Well, those portholes are too small for us to crawl through."
    I stared at the bi-fold door that led to the companionway. "I'm getting us out of here. But we've got to wait until the fireworks start. I need the noise as cover."
    "What are you going to do?" Melanie asked.
    "I'm going to dismantle that door!"
    "But, how . . . oh, you are a genius."
    The yacht was floating now, underway. The Holiday Flotilla had begun, one hundred plus boats parading from the starting point at the Wrightsville Drawbridge, slowly sailing along Motts Channel to Banks Channel and south. Melanie and I raced to the portholes to look out. There was a nautical light show on the water, and holiday music that could be heard even here inside.
    The boats were decorated with thousands of lights, many had themes, like the Cat in the Hat sail boat. Smaller, spectator vessels hugged the shores, and fifty thousand people lined the banks, watching, cheering. We should have been on Cam's boat, enjoying all of this too. Instead we were trapped with a psychopathic killer and wife beater.
    "I think we're safe for now," I said. "He's kind of trapped in the parade. He won't be able to sail out until the parade is over and the boats anchor to watch the fireworks. Even then, he may be hemmed in, this yacht is so big."
    As we stared out the portholes at flashing lights reflecting on the black water, Crystal moaned from the bed.
    "She's coming to," Melanie said.
    We both ran to the berth. "Crystal Lynne, honey, wake up," Melanie said, sitting down beside her and lifting her hand.
    " Ummmm ," she murmured and fluttered her eyelids.
    "It's Melanie, sugar. Ashley's here too. We're going to get you out of here. Away from that monster."
    Crystal's eyes flew open in terror. "David," she mumbled. "Ouch." Tears flooded her eyes.
    Melanie turned to me. "She can't talk with that broken jaw." To Crystal she said, "I know it's hard for you to talk but we have to know. Did David kill all those people? Joey? Mickey? Ali? Just squeeze my hand if the answer is yes."
    Crystal squeezed Melanie's hand. "Just as I thought," Melanie said, looking up at me from the bed.
    "But why, Crystal Lynne? What's going on here? He wants to kill us too, you know." She flashed me a look of admiration. "But Ashley won't let him. Ashley's going to get us out of here. My little sister has more guts and brains than the two of us put together."
    "Smuggling," Crystal mumbled, but it came out sounding like " schmuglin ." "Cigarettes," she whispered harshly. "Joey. Mickey."
    "Oh my gosh !" I cried. "The boxes! That explains it. My dream. I saw the boxes, then dreamt about seeing words stamped on the boxes. That day I was seasick, I got only a glimpse of them. And there were words stamped on the boxes. The brand names of cigarettes."
    "Ashley, I think you should get started on those doors. I don't think he'll be able to hear all the way up on the fly bridge with the music and the noise of the crowd."
    "I think you're right," I said and lifted the heavy plastic bag to the bed. Melanie was trying to get Crystal to sip some water but most of the water just ran down her chin.
    I removed a hammer and a collection of screwdrivers from Melanie's cutesy tool belt. The belt might look feminine with all the cute flowers painted on it but it held the usual variety of tools.
    The bi-fold doors were held together with polished nickel hinges set on the inside. Lucky for us. Removing hinges from a door, especially new doors like these where there was no build up of dirt or paint, was a piece of cake. I inserted the tip of the screwdriver's blade at the base of the hinge pin and tapped it with the hammer.
    The pin moved up slowly. When about an inch of it protruded from the hinge, I grasped it with pliers and pulled it out.
    "How's it going?" Melanie asked.
    "A breeze," I replied. "How is she?"
    "She's more alert." To Crystal, she said, "Here, sweetie, let me slip another pillow under your head and sit you up."
    The hinge at the bottom is always the hardest because it is near the floor and there is a small amount of space between it and the floor. I had to use the tiniest screwdriver with the shortest handle, and even then it was difficult to fit the hammer under it. But desperation is the