Murder on the Candlelight Tour (18 page)

I munched on coleslaw for a while. "Melanie said you grew up in Wilmington."

"Yes, I was born and raised here. Left for Hollywood when I was nineteen. I wanted to be an actor since my first part in a school play." He smiled. "As it turned out, I was one of the lucky ones. I got a screen test right away. They said the camera loved me. I got better and better roles. I had more work than I could handle."

"What movies were you in? Maybe I've seen some of them."

Flynn dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin, then gave me a wry smile. "I don't think you're old enough."

I faked a smile of my own. "Yes, but they're always running the old movies on TV. I could have."

"They don't run my old movies on TV."

"Hmmm. You must have left Wilmington in about nineteen-sixty. Is that right?"

"About then," Flynn replied. He pushed his plate away. "I don't remember the exact year."

"Then you must have been around when the big railroad robbery happened," I suggested.

"I don't recall, Miss Wilkes."

"Funny, Mr. Flynn, everyone else your age sure remembers it and what they were doing when it happened. Kind of like when they talk about where they were and what they were doing when JFK got shot. It's something you don't forget."

Flynn pushed back his chair. "Well, it's something I forgot." He signaled Joel. "We'd better get back to the office."

23

"I'll have the Super Duper Grouper," I told the waitress at The Oceanic Restaurant. The entre description made me drool: fresh grouper, pan-seared in a crust of cashew nuts and sesame seeds, layered over celery mashed potatoes with roasted red pepper butter. Watching out for Melanie was turning into a superb culinary experience. Whoever said good deeds went unrewarded?

"A simple salad with balsamic vinaigrette on the side," Melanie said with distaste. "And unsweetened iced tea."

In answer to my inquiring look, she explained, "Joel says I'm putting on weight."

"Weight? You? You never gain weight. You've got the most enviable metabolism of anyone I know. Besides, you look fabulous." She was wearing a pistachio green sweater set over chocolate brown capri pants and bronze-colored high-heeled slides. Long legs crossed at the ankles stretched out from under the table.

At one o'clock on Wednesday afternoon we were relaxing on The Oceanic's pier. The sky was blue with marshmallow swirls, pierced through periodically by pelicans and sea gulls as they knifed into the surf for their own lunches. Sea foam bubbled under the pier like soap suds. Further out, surfers rode the waves. On the horizon, a shrimp boat trolled.

Melanie had charged ahead to a table under an umbrella, saying, "I've got to watch my skin. I can't afford blotches."

"What are you worried about? You're beautiful."

She pulled a mirror out of her purse and admired her cameo face. Tossing loose coppery curls, she said, "You're right," and dropped the mirror into her soft leather shoulder bag. "But in California Joel dated Hollywood starlets."

I gave her a good, long, hard look. What had happened to my sister Melanie? Who was this "Stepford Wife" person? This was worse than I imagined.

I'd rehearsed my pitch on the drive over to Wrightsville Beach. In an effort to win her cooperation, I'd forsaken my khaki shorts and construction boots in favor of black silk pants with a belted pink jacket. It had been necessary to advance the buckle into a new notch, but what the heck? I like food. Maybe if I got sex regularly the way Melanie did, I wouldn't sublimate by eating so much. I had on my Holly Golightly sunglasses which lent me an air of sophistication. Melanie scoffs if I meet her for lunch dressed in my work clothes. She claims it's embarrassing to be seen with me. Well, I didn't want to embarrass her today. I had her safety to consider; I was setting my plan in motion.

"I have a favor to ask of you," I began.

She gave me a megawatt smile. "And I've got one to ask of you."

I had a pretty good idea of what was coming, so I said, "You go first."

"Baby sister, my career is on the line." Our iced tea arrived. We waited till the waitress was out of ear shot. Melanie busied herself with tearing open tiny pink packets of artificial sweetener.

"Those people at that meeting on Monday night were vicious. They'll stop at nothing to ruin me. They'll spread lies and innuendo until I'm destroyed. And I need my real estate commissions."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Well, until this furor blows over, I'm going to have to keep a low profile. I can't be seen speaking out in public in support of the resort hotel. I'll lose real estate listings if I do."

"But don't people already know you're invested in the project?"

"No, how could they? Oh, a few people know I date Joel. But they don't know we're business associates. There's no paper trail."

"Are you telling me you gave Joel cash!"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you." She got the same defiant look on her face she used to get when Daddy told her to go back upstairs and put on something decent.

"You mean you're not listed as a part owner of the Palace Street property?" This was so unlike Melanie I was appalled. Normally, she's the most astute business woman I know.

"That's it. And good thing too. Otherwise I'd be connected to the project, and that would surely damage my standing in the real estate community."

I couldn't believe my ears. Joel Fox had mesmerized my sister as surely as if he was one of those cobras in a basket, swaying back and forth until you're hypnotized, then it strikes, and you gulp your last breath.

The waitress brought my entre and Melanie's pathetic salad. I dug in with gusto. She picked at her salad.

I asked, "What do you know about Joel, really? His background in L.A., for instance."

She set her fork down. "Why, he's the best thing that ever happened to me, Ashley. He makes me feel like a real woman."

Unconsciously, she arched her back and thrust out her bosoms. A man on his way to a nearby table caught sight of her and lost his footing. Thank goodness for the guard rail; without it, he would have toppled into the sea.

"I'm not getting through to you," I said. "I'm not talking about his performance in bed, I'm talking about his business performance. Surely you saw financial statements before you invested."

Splayed fingers crossed her heart. "Check up on Joel! Don't be a donkey. Why that'd be like investigating Mama and Daddy." She leaned across the table. "Let me tell you one thing. I trust Joel. I'd trust him with my life."

You may, but I sure don't, I thought. I took a deep breath and dared to ask, "He ever get rough with you? You know, when you're . . ."

"Are you daft? Joel is the sweetest, most tender lover I've ever had. And by far the most fascinatin', with his Hollywood connections and all. Why, I'm basking in the glow of his celebrity. For the first time in my life I know what it feels like to be with a real man."

She leaned a few inches closer. "Let me tell you something else, baby sister. I love him. And I won't hear a word against him." She got a smug smile on her face. "Don't be surprised if he's your brother-in-law someday."

I threw up my hands. Brother-in-law? That snake. But Joel was right about one thing. She'd never believe he'd threatened her. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, defeated.

"Oh, you are precious." She gave me a smile so dazzling, the radiant sky paled by comparison. "Nothing too difficult. Just drop a word here and there among your preservation friends that a luxury resort hotel will raise little ole Wilmington out of the dark ages and into the twenty-first century. Tell them how impressed the famous actors and actresses will be when they come here, and that word will spread and soon we'll be right up there with Atlanta."

Hot-lanta, I thought. Who wanted to be like them? But right now I had a more urgent agenda so I simply agreed, saying, "I'll see what I can do." Under the table top, I crossed my fingers.

"Oh, you are divine, shug. Now what can I do for you?"

Instantly, she frowned, then turned and snapped her fingers. Our waitress trotted over on the double.

"Melanie!" Who's embarrassing whom? I asked myself.

"I'm starving," she complained to the waitress as if the poor girl had forced field greens on her. "Haven't you got some rolls to go with this measly salad?"

The waitress scurried back to the kitchen. This arrogant behavior is Joel's doing, I thought.

"Mel," I said, getting back to pressing matters, "I know it'll be hard for you to understand, you're so brave and all, but, well, I'm having trouble sleeping. Even with the new locks and security system, it's really scary in my house at night. You know how old houses creak and stuff."

She covered my hand with hers. "Oh, you poor thing. 'Course you're having trouble sleeping with all that's gone on in that drafty old barn you live in. I say the sooner we put that place on the market, the better. Right after the first of the year."

I ignored that part. "Do you think you could sleep over for a few nights? I really need you."

"Sure thing. I'll pack some things and be over tonight." She gave me a self-satisfied smirk. "This works out real well. Poor Joel's had to work nights lately. He's been real worried about me, afraid that I'm lonely. Now I'll be able to put his mind at ease. Don't expect me till around ten tonight though. The local realtors association is holding its annual Christmas party. We're taking over the Bridge Tender Restaurant."

As I drove out Waynick Boulevard on my way back to the mainland, two Wrightsville P.D. cruisers sped past me toward the south end of the island. Then on the bridge, a convoy of Wilmington P.D. blue-and-whites roared toward Wrightsville. Now what? I wondered. It had to be mighty important for Wrightsville P.D. to invite Wilmington P.D. onto their turf. Should I turn around? Follow?

More immediate concerns crowded out the image of speeding blue-and-whites and flashing lights. I vowed to destroy Joel Fox's face, his career, and if I could manage it, his ability to sire children.

At home I played my answering machine. I'd left several messages for Nick to call me. His reply was curt. He was up to his eyeballs with the murders and would call when he could. I'd planned to tell him about Joel's threat. "Oh, what's the use?" I muttered. He's acting true to form. When will I ever learn?

There was a message from Binkie. "Ashley dear, an assistant district attorney called to tell me that at Detective Yost's recommendation, they're dropping the charges against me. But he instructed me not to leave town. I'm feeling rather kindly toward your friend Nick right now."

I smiled. And so am I, Binkie.

Next I fixed formula for little Spunky, held him in my lap, and fed him from a bottle like a baby. He was soon asleep and I returned him to his basket.

At the library table, I turned on my laptop. Like climbing back on a horse after you've been thrown, I was determined to conquer my fear of the library. With Melanie insisting I sell, I realized how much my home meant to me. I argued with myself that good people had lived here, good people had done good things here, and didn't that compensate for the evil? Maybe when all this was over I'd ask Father Andrew to bless my house.

The library was cozy and warm, the heart of the house. We'd painted the walls with red paint and Rachel had stenciled Dutch metal-leaf designs to suggest tooled leather. Heavy velvet draperies, tied back on either side of lace curtains, allowed a fair amount of sunlight to seep in. Shoulder-high built-in cherrywood bookcases flanked the fireplace, and there was a compartment for firewood.

The floor was temporarily bare. The police had not yet returned the rug on which Sheldon had drawn his last breath. Don't dwell on that, I chastised myself. You've got to get past it.

The red light on my new security panel glowed with holiday cheer. The new locks, although not period pieces, twinkled with a polished brass patina. I wasn't giving a key to anyone, although I would have to lend one to Melanie. But I planned to be at home each night when she returned so I could personally reset the alarm system and not have to give her the code. How our relationship has changed, I mused. While we were growing up, she'd been my protector. Now I was hers.

During the previous night, as I tossed and turned and mulled over all the horrific events that had occurred since December 1st--a mere twelve-day span--I'd come to the conclusion that either Rachel had given Eddie a key to my house, or more likely, he'd "borrowed" hers and made a copy. That's how he got in that Monday morning a week ago, not knowing that I'd be here too. And if it turned out he was the murderer--and I thought it would--that's how he got in when he killed her and attacked me.

Without Nick to fill me in on the latest developments in the murder cases, I was forced to rely on newspapers and television. So far, there'd been no report of the police apprehending Evil Eddie.

Not expecting much, I went to the Google search engine and typed in "Earl Flynn." To my astonishment, up popped a website. I clapped my hand over my mouth in astonishment when I saw what it was. Flynn had been a porn star, called "Eros" Flynn. The site had been set up by an unabashed fan who called herself, or himself, Psyche, the mythological wife of the mythological Eros. I figured she, or he, must be as old as Mama because the last movie Flynn starred in was made in 1975.