Wilmington, NC 10 - Much Ado About Murder

inside?”
    “In a minute. Let’s just look at the ocean and ignore them. It’s so peaceful out here. The music coming from inside. The waves rolling in on the sand.”
    Just then the peace was shattered by an angry, screeching voice that yelled, “Get up! Get out of that chair!”
    I jumped. Jon bolted upright lifting me up with him.
    A woman stood over Thomas and Angela. I had just seen her inside, dancing with the guest director. Thomas’s mother, Cheri Holbrook.
    Thomas was on his feet. But the half-undressed Angela lay huddled on the chaise, frantically pulling her clothes together.
    “Mother . . .”
    “Don’t you ‘mother’ me, Thomas Holbrook. Straighten up your clothes. And if I ever see you around this tart again, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
    Thomas was rearranging his clothes, pulling down his shirt. In the chair, Angela was sobbing.
    “Mother, you’re making a scene!”
    And she was. Others out on the deck were watching the drama unfold.
    Cheri pushed Thomas toward the glass doors. For a moment I thought she was going to grab his ear and drag him away.
    “The sacrifices I have made for you,” she screamed. “I gave up my own career for yours. Drove you to auditions when you were too young to drive. Coached you, pushed you. Paid your rent. You stupid fool, you have a promising career ahead of you. You should be inside, making nice to Cameron Jordan and Ray Barrett. They can do things for you. But instead you’re out here, fooling around with that piece of trailer trash. Probably getting her pregnant for all I know. And then where will you be? Working at McDonald’s for a few measly bucks to feed a family?
    “No way, young man. I’ve got bigger things planned for you!”
    They reached the glass doors, everyone on the deck standing and watching. Angela had her clothes on now but was still ducked down on the chaise. I didn’t feel one bit sorry for her. Or for Thomas. The two of them were clueless.
    “Let’s get out of here,” Jon said. “I’m not in a party mood anymore.”
    I agreed. “Yes, we’ll say goodbye to Scarlett and Ray, collect Melanie and Cam, and leave.”
    Jon laughed, breaking the tension. “If we can pry Cam away from his fans.”
    We made our way down the outside stairs to Lumina Avenue. The street was dark and crowded with parked cars. Melanie and Cam got into the backseat of our Escalade. Jon got into the driver’s seat and I went around to my side. Two cars away a couple stood in the street. And they were arguing. Loud angry voices drifted my way. The streetlight revealed Cheri Holbrook and Greg Finley.
    “I hold you responsible,” Greg cried. “He could have been killed.”
    “Don’t you lecture me,” Cheri ranted. Then, realizing they were not alone, she glared at me. “What are you staring at?” she demanded. “Mind your own damned business.”
    “Cheri, calm down,” Greg said. “You’re out of control.”
    As I closed myself inside our car, Jon asked, “Who was that? What was that about?”
    I told him what I had overheard.
    “Some of these theater people are strange,” he commented and started the engine.
    “She had to be referring to Thomas and the accident with the knife. But why does he hold Cheri responsible?” I wondered out loud.
    Jon chucked. “Too much drama for me.”
    From the backseat Cam chimed in. “Me too. I like my drama scripted.”
    We all had a good laugh although the fury in Cheri’s voice lingered in my head during the drive home.

8

    Finally closing day arrived. Monday, October 22nd, dawned a perfectly beautiful fall day. Too wired to sleep, Jon crept out of bed to open the shutters at our bedroom window. Golden sunlight steamed in, illuminating his body. Now Jon sleeps naked and girls! I’ve got to tell you, that was one sight to behold. I had to get my hands on all that manliness. So I too crept out of bed. I pressed up against him and hugged his waist. Then one thing led to another until we were tumbling back into bed, stifling our laughter so as not to wake the babies.
    Contented moans escaped from his throat. He pulled me to him. For once, the twins slept in. Some days just start out right.
    By nine o’clock we were up, showered and dressed, and beaming at each other over the twins’ heads as we feed them mushy cereal. Aunt Ruby arrived, all energetic and chipper. “Today is your big day,” she said.
    “It’s an exciting day,” I agreed. “We’re closing on our new house.”

    By eleven o’clock