Wilmington, NC 10 - Much Ado About Murder

had once been home. This had once been his favorite room, where he liked to unwind after a hard day of catching bad guys. Now this room was off limits to him, a gathering place for a family, and not his family.
    For an instant, he gazed at Peter and Jonnie as they stared up at him curiously – the stranger in their midst. I wondered if it was dawning on Nick that this might have been his life. If. If he had made the right choices. Or I could be way off base. The domestic life was not his thing.
    When Nick abandoned our marriage he did so to join Blackwater Security, a free-wheeling private army that sold their services to the highest bidder. At that time they had been located right here in North Carolina. After two name changes and a move to Virginia, they are facing criminal investigations. Nick has a history of making bad decisions.
    He straightened, inhaled, and that guarded expression I detest overtook his face. He was back to being a homicide detective, hiding in his “cop’s mode.”
    “I have news,” he said.
    “Benjamin, let’s you and I take the little ones out to the play yard so they can talk,” Aunt Ruby said.
    “Good idea.” Binkie took Jonnie by the hand and lead him from the room with Aunt Ruby and Peter following.
    “Now what’s this about?” I asked Nick, not even attempting to hide my displeasure. “Do you have news of Dalton?”
    “Here, have a seat ,” Jon said politely although I could tell by his expression that he was as displeased as I.
    “He hasn’t died, has he?” Melanie asked with alarm.
    “Dalton Montjoy is in the ICU. His condition is being evaluated and I don’t know if he regained consciousness. From the wound on the back of his head, his doctors believe he was attacked, struck from behind.”
    “Attacked? His head was bleeding but I just assumed that he had passed out and fallen,” I said.
    Nick viewed me with irritation. “Why would he have remained inside the house inhaling gas fumes? That doesn’t make sense. He would have fled the house, out into the fresh air. The gas company adds a noxious scent to gas so people can smell when they have a leak. Natural gas itself has no odor. The only way Mr. Montjoy would have remained inside that house breathing in those fumes is if he was unable to leave. Unable to leave because he was unconscious from a blow to the head.”
    “That he could have gotten if he tripped and fell and hit his head,” I argued. “He has a bad hip and walking is difficult for him. He could easily have fallen in his haste.” The idea that someone had deliberately struck Dalton and left him to die of asphyxiation was unthinkable to me.
    “Are you saying the police think someone tried to kill poor Dalton?” Melanie asked. “Who would want to kill him? He was well-liked. Popular. Respected in the community. Why, he provided homes for actors with little money.”
    “We think we know who attacked him. That’s why I’m here. To ask you what you know about Simon LeBeck .”
    “Simon?” I echoed.
    “Yes, Simon LeBeck . I’ve been told his behavior has been aggressive. Out of control. That he attacks people. That he can be violent. Mr. Montjoy wondered if he was bi-polar and in need of medication.”
    “But why would Simon want to kill Dalton?” I asked. “They were friends. They were working on a musical together.”
    “That’s what I am trying to find out, Ashley,” Nick said with exaggerated patience. “And I can’t ask Simon LeBeck because he’s dead.”
    “What?” I gasped.
    “Yes, he’s dead too. Fell to his death off that high second-story porch as he was fleeing the house. It’s possible he turned on the gas, struck Mr. Montjoy and left him for dead. Then fled from the upstairs porch. But in his haste to escape, he fell to his death down those treacherous stairs.”

11

    “Where are we going?” I asked Jon the next morning. All I knew was that he had arranged with Aunt Ruby and Binkie to babysit and he was taking me somewhere special. “A surprise,” was all I could get out of him.
    “There’s too much stress in our lives,” he said. “We need to relax.”
    “OK, I’m game.” He took my hand and led me west on Nun Street toward Front. But as we crossed Front Street, we did not stop at our house, but continued down the hill toward the river.
    “The police are still at the house,” I said. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the property. Did that mean they were now treating Dalton’s near