Murder at the Bellamy Mansion (15 page)

We made a quick walk around the dimly lit third floor as the rooms here were used mostly for storage.

“
And tell us, Ashley, what was the purpose of that loft area at the front of the house?” Cam prompted.

“
It was intended for the storage of family trunks, which are now on display.”

The camera captured the Victorian-era leather trunks displayed in the loft. Fortunately, the front arched windows shed light on the scene and the crew had set up lights here in the dim hallway.

“
But the children quickly appropriated the raised platform for dollhouses and to put on plays,” I said.

“
One of the smaller trunks is open,” Cam said. “Why don’t we take a peek inside? Perhaps we’ll find some vintage clothing.”

I was unaware that the trunks contained anything. But perhaps Cam knew something I did not, and an attempt to capture the realism of the era by packing the trunk with antique clothing had been carried out by one of the crew.

The cameraman mounted a short flight of steps. Cam and I followed. We had to duck our heads because of the low ceiling – Cam in particular because he is quite tall - but soon the camera lights were shining into the open trunk.

I screamed. A baby! A baby covered in blood. Cam was so startled he took a step backward and fell off the platform. But the cameraman, for some reason unable to stop himself, continued to film.

“
Cut!” Cam yelled from his fallen position on the floor. “For god’s sake, stop shooting!”

My eyes were riveted on the baby. And then I saw it was not a real baby at all, but a doll. A life-size doll. It lay on a bedding of rags. A black baby doll, very old fashioned in appearance. It was made of cloth, and the cloth of its face and arms had been slashed. Sawdust had spilled from the slashes. And the slashes had been painted a vivid blood red.

19

“
Cam, are you all right?” I scrambled down the few steps. The cameraman followed me, a bit subdued, no doubt chastened to have been reprimanded by the boss.

“
Thank god, we were not going live,” Cam said.

Awkwardly, he lifted himself off the floor. His hand went around to the small of his back. “Owww,” he cried. “I think I threw out my back.”

He was angry, and I’ve never seen Cam angry before. “Close that damned trunk,” he shouted to a crew member who had hurried to his side to assist him with getting to his feet.

The man rushed to the loft, took one look inside the trunk, appeared aghast, then slammed the lid shut.

“
OK, let’s wrap this up,” Cam instructed. “Then I’ll get Melanie to drive me to my chiropractor. We were almost finished anyway.”

With the camera no longer filming, we moved slowly down the stairs, the crew member and I on either side of Cam, assisting him to descend. The final segment of the show was scheduled to be of the garden. Cam had decided to produce a separate show on the how to’s of historic restoration at a later date.

“
We’ll come back tomorrow and film the garden,” Cam told his executive assistant when we reached the first floor. Cam was bent at the waist, unable to stand erect. His security officer rushed forward, and eased him onto a lower step on the staircase.

“
Find Melanie for me, will you, Ashley,” Cam called.

I found Melanie and Jon on the rear porch, told her what had happened, and she hurried inside to rescue Cam, with Jon and me close behind. Her pale ivory skin had paled even further. She really adores him, I realized, and I felt so grateful. Melanie’s paramours had been of the lowlife kind, and she had not loved them, but had forged odd obsessions with them. Now she was in a real relationship and I realized I did not have to worry about her love life anymore.

All we had to do was to keep Cam from tripping over his own feet. He was rather ungainly.

“
I have a surprise for you,” Jon told me over coffee on Saturday morning after I had spoken at length with Melanie on the phone.

“
I love surprises, especially the kind you plan,” I replied.

Jon had planned our honeymoon and had kept it a secret until we were in the Escalade, driving away from Wilmington. He had read somewhere that it was a tradition for the groom to plan the honeymoon and for him to keep the destination a surprise from the bride and from everyone else. A custom that dated from tribal days, he explained, when the groom stole the bride away from her tribe and took her to his.

Jon had surprised me with a honeymoon in Pinehurst, home to exotic tribes of golfers. Which had been a glorious, loving experience until we’d gotten the call that Willie had been shot. Willie, happily, had been released from the hospital and seemed to be mending exceptionally well for a man of seventy.

Knowing how Jon loved to plan trips, I asked, “Are we going somewhere? Since Melanie had to cancel the wedding video party she had planned for tonight, we’re free all weekend.”

“
A trip is exactly what I have in mind. There’s too much stress associated with this town right now. So we’re getting out of Dodge. Heading up to Raleigh for the weekend. And we’re going now. Or as soon as you dress and pack.”

He was standing at the kitchen window, watching our pesky squirrel consume quantities of the seeds intended for the birds. Jon was engaged in a battle royal with the albino squirrel who ruled our garden. The squirrel was winning.

“
There he is again,” I said, slipping my arm around Jon’s waist and watching as the white squirrel hung by his toes from a twig, stretching so that his hands just reached the seeds. He stuffed them into his mouth greedily.

Jon had become momentarily somber. “You know, I don’t have any brothers. Cam is the closest thing I have to a brother. I’ve been worried about him. What did Melanie say?”

I gave this sweet man a squeeze. “He’s doing OK. Two visits to the chiropractor and he’s getting his back straightened out. Melanie says he’s such a big baby and he’s getting bored. He’s not a man to be held down easily.”

“
I can understand that,” Jon said. “He’s a high energy man.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his mouth which tasted faintly of coffee. “I’ve got my own high energy man.”

Outside our window, the squirrel was running off a neighborhood cat.

“
When do we have to leave for Raleigh?” I asked.

“
Why? What do you have in mind?” He nuzzled my neck.

“
Not that,” I said, fighting down the desire that was rising from the core of my being.

“
I thought we could stop over at Cam and Melanie’s lodge on our way out of town. Then you could see him for yourself, and maybe we’d break up the monotony for him.”

“
Good idea. Now let’s get back to my idea,” he said, pulling me close. He eyed the wall clock. “Let’s see, an hour and a half to Raleigh. How long will it take you to pack?”

“
To pack and dress? An hour,” I murmured into his ear. “So how much time does that give us for my idea and your idea?”

He resumed nuzzling my neck and untied my robe. “Is an hour enough?”

“
No. But I’ll take what I can get.”

By noon we were on the road, heading up I40 to Raleigh.

“
OK, now tell me exactly where we are going,” I said. “I doubt that I packed the right clothes.”

“
How could you not have the right clothes?” he asked. “You packed your whole closet.” The back of the Escalade was loaded with our luggage. I do tend to pack more than I need.

“
It would have helped if you had told me exactly where we are going.”

“
Do you really want to know?”

“
Yes,” I replied, sliding my hand along his thigh.

“
OK. I know they are way before your time. Mine too. But I got us tickets to see The Pointer Sisters with the NC Pops tonight.”

“
Maybe before our time, but remember, Daddy left me his Seventies cassette collection. How do you think I found ‘At Last’ by Etta James?” “At Last” was our song. They played it at our wedding as our first song to dance to. “And anyway, I love the Pops. And I love William Curry, the conductor. And perhaps the Pointer Sisters were before my time, but I love ‘Slow Hand.’”

“
Who else do you love?” Jon laughed.

“
Oh, a tall handsome fellow named Jon Campbell,” I replied.

As we drove past the Burgaw exit, I sang to him.

I’ve got a man with a slow hand

I’ve got a lover with an easy touch

I’ve got somebody who will spend some time

Not come and go in a heated rush

I’ve got somebody who understands

When it comes to love, I’ve got a slow hand

Jon rolled his head back and his laughter filled the car and lifted my spirits even higher.

“
I’m glad we’re getting away. Too much stress at home. And Melanie and Cam have got to take it easy this weekend, so there was really nothing we could do for them. But wasn’t it sweet how touched he was that we stopped by to say hello?”

“
Cam’s a great guy. And we’ve got all the windows out at the mansion and the plywood inserted, so our timing worked out fine,” Jon said.

“
But even with his bad back, Cam managed to supervise the filming in the garden yesterday,” I said. “So that’s wrapped up”

I continued, “At least we didn’t have to call the police over a doll. Imagine the dressing down we’d have gotten from Nick and especially that officious Diane Sherwood if we had called the police to report a doll victim. But, lordy, Jon, that doll sure startled me. And when I screamed, Cam jumped back, and then fell off the loft.”

“
What do you think that was all about?” Jon asked. He was as puzzled as I.

“
We’ve got a nut case hanging around the mansion, that is what I think,” I said. “And he’s dangerous. But what the significance of a rag doll made to look like a slashed and bleeding black baby is, I’ll never know. I’ve given up trying to understand this situation, but I’ll tell you one thing: I’m glad we’ll be working at the shop next week.”

“
For the next two days, we’re putting all that behind us,” Jon said. “And hope that when we return home, the nut case has moved on.”

“
Or been caught,” I said.

“
Better still. Caught.”

I lowered my seat back. “I’m taking a snooze.” And closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew I was dreaming. A small African-American baby was being stuffed into a trunk. But then the scene shifted, and it was me being stuffed into a trunk. And the lid was being closed. Closing out the light and air.

I awoke with a scream.

“
Ashley!” Jon cried in alarm. “What? What?”

I took a deep breath and blinked my eyes a few times. “Nothing,” I said softly. “Just a dream. But oh Jon, it was awful.”

He took my hand in his. “We’ll talk about it later. Now I need you to help me with the GPS.”

We exited into Cary not far from the airport. And soon we drove onto the wooded property of the five-star, five-diamond award winning Umstead Hotel. We were arriving just in time for Afternoon Tea.

Inside, the décor was serene, contemporary, but with a distinct Art Deco influence. Our room was elegant and comfortable. After we unpacked, we took a few minutes to browse through the hotel, stopping in the art gallery to admire the works of Scott Upton. His technique consisted of mixing bright acrylic paints with silver and gold leaf so that the paintings were hauntingly reminiscent of nineteenth century landscapes. Then we went into the lounge for a repast of hot sweet tea with dainty sandwiches while a harpist played in the background.

“
This reminds me of high tea at the Waldorf, especially the harpist. They always had a harpist at the Waldorf. Mama used to insist on going there when she and Melanie visited me.” I’d studied at Parsons School of Design and Mama used to love her visits to me in the Big Apple.

After tea, we took a walk around the grounds. “Trees are just so beautiful even without leaves,” I said. “Their silhouettes against the winter sky are very artistic.”

Jon took my hand. “Glad it’s not raining. Or worse, snowing.”

“
We haven’t had our annual winter storm yet,” I said.

“
It’ll come before spring. It always does.”

“
I sure hope it doesn’t snow on Scarlett and Ray’s wedding day,” I said.

“
It wouldn’t dare.”

Back in our suite which was decorated with classic elegance, I said, “There’s a deep soaking tub in the bathroom. That’s where you’ll find me.”

“
Me too,” Jon said, unbuttoning his shirt.

“
Let me do that.” I removed his shirt and ran my palms up his chest. Then I buried my face against the warmth of his flesh. “This getaway was such a good idea. So quiet and peaceful. Just pray the phone doesn’t ring.”

“
We’ll turn them off.”

Later, as we were dressing, I said, “Jon, I don’t have an appetite for dinner. The tea and sandwiches were enough for a while.”

“
I’m not hungry either. Why don’t I place an order for a late, light supper for after the concert?”