Wilmington, NC 10 - Much Ado About Murder

it’s somewhere in the house.”
    “We’ll look.”
    We moved down the upstairs hall and I opened the door to the guest room where the guest director Greg Finley had been staying. “Empty. Dalton had this room cleared out. Furniture all gone. Everything gone. And no guitar. Nothing left for us to do here. Oklahoma! ended two weeks ago. Wonder if Finley’s still in town. I don’t remember where he was from. Do you?”
    “Never heard,” Jon said. “But with that accent he’s got UK in his background. We’ve got to get this mess cleared out. Willie and his crew are ready to start day after tomorrow.”
    “Soon as they can get in,” I said, frustrated with the situation we found ourselves in.
    Next we went out onto the second floor porch. “Those are steep stairs. Dangerous. No wonder Simon fell to his death. We’ve got to fix this, Jon.”
    He put an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Mommy, I’ve got a plan. We’ll enclose this porch around the lower third of the walls. Up to where this railing is now. Instead of open stairs, we’ll frame the opening in, and install a door. We can keep it locked.”
    He moved over to the railing and indicated the open area. “Up here, we’ll have windows that slide open and closed. And screens. The boys may want it for a sleeping porch when they’re a little older.”
    “What a good idea.” I kissed him. “I married a genius.”
    We went back inside the house. “I hear noises coming from the attic,” I said.
    Jon flung open the door to the attic stairs and hollered up the stairwell, “Who’s up there?”
    “It’s me, Greg Finley,” came the recognizable British accent.
    “Well, that answers your question: he is still in town. Come on, let’s see what he’s up to.” Jon led the way up the stairs.
    Greg Finley met us at the top of the stairs, almost as if he was blocking our way. “Just retrieving my things I stored up here.”
    Jon moved around him with me following. The lids of several old trunks were raised, the contents strewn around the trunks.
    “What are you searching for?” Jon demanded.
    “Not searching,” Greg replied. It was clear he was embarrassed to be caught in the act of going through old Montjoy trunks. He picked up an empty box. “I’m helping Dalton out. Packing up his things for him. Thought I’d put them in storage. He was good enough to give me a room. I thought I’d return the favor by helping him out while he’s flat on his back.
    “How is he doing, by the way? Any news?”
    “He’s stable. His doctors are talking about moving him out of the ICU. Taking him off the respirator,” I said, reciting one of Melanie’s daily reports. She checked on Dalton regularly, had developed a soft spot for aging actor.
    I can read Jon’s face well enough to know he was deciding what to do next. I knew he would take the high road, avoid accusing Greg of theft. What could he want with those old documents anyway? The trunks seemed to hold old photograph albums, diaries, notebooks.
    “Look,” Jon said, “it’s good of you to want to help Dalton but we’ll take over from here. We’ve got this entire house to pack up. We’ll bring someone in and take care of all this.” The wave of his arm indicated the heaps of Montjoy history. How did you get in anyway? Do you still have a key?”
    How many keys had Dalton given out to his house? I wondered.
    “The front door was standing open. But yes, actually, I do have a key. Do you mind if I hold onto it for a while?”
    “Actually I do mind if you keep it,” Jon responded but in a mild tone. “I’ll take it right now.”
    Greg looked insulted. “I’m not a thief,” he exclaimed. “But here, have it.” He removed a key from his key fob and handed it to Jon.
    “Thanks,” Jon said. “I’m sure you understand. You’d do the same if you were in my shoes.”
    “Probably.” Greg managed a half smile.
    He looked around the attic, and seemed to be disappointed. “All right, I’m going.”
    We watched him descend the attic stairs, then followed him down to the landing and listened as his footsteps went down the main staircase. Jon snapped off the light switch at the bottom of the attic stairs and closed the door.
    “Another mess for us to tackle,” I complained.
    “Guess we’d better tour the downstairs rooms and face the music there.”
    I laughed. “Are you trying to be funny. ”

14

    Dalton Montjoy

    In his coma, Dalton once again traveled back in time to