Murder at the Bellamy Mansion (3 page)

“
But why didn’t you go with him?” Jon asked, then paused to sample the wine. “Fine,” he told the bartender perfunctorily, and our glasses were filled.

Melanie took a long swallow before answering. “Because Nelda had her doctor specifically tell Cam that I was not to come. That I would upset her and her condition would worsen. I declare, she must think we’re all idiots. How could her condition worsen if she was dying? What’s worse than that?”

“
Well, what was wrong with her?” Jon asked. “How sick is she? She looked plenty tough to me when I met her at the wedding.”

“
She is tough. A tough old bird. Tougher than all of us,” Melanie said. “She’ll outlive all of us. Supposedly she was having a heart attack and called 911. But I know someone who knows someone who practices at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital so I made inquiries. And she was not having a heart attack. But because of who she is, they are keeping her for observation.”

Melanie slammed down her wineglass on the bar with such force, the wine sloshed over the rim and the bartender hurried over with a towel. “Sorry,” she said distractedly. “And she has threatened Cam that if he leaves, she’ll die.”

I shook my head. Poor Melanie. This was not a good way to start a marriage.

“
Ashley, Jon, that woman won’t rest until she breaks up my marriage. But if she thinks she can do that, she doesn’t know who she is up against.”

“
You’re right, Melanie,” Jon said. “I think it’s safe to say the Hollywood legend has met her match.”

The dining room at the Brasserie du Soleil looks out onto the courtyard at Lumina Station where ocean-borne breezes rock empty white rocking chairs on patios, and whirlwinds tease fountain sprays playfully.

Inside, a CD of a chanteuse singing French songs was playing. The room was paneled in dark wood with mirror inserts. The ceiling was bronze pressed tin, the banquettes upholstered in red and gold cut velvet. Our own brasserie was as charming as any I had seen in Paris.

After we brought Melanie up to date on Willie’s prognosis – that a full recovery was predicted – I said, “Melanie, I definitely think you should fly to New York, check into a very fine hotel so that you have some place nice for you and Cam. That way you can get Cam out of Nelda’s apartment and hopefully out from under her thumb. Then you should kill her with kindness while at the same time you convince the doctors to talk sense to Cam.”

“
I think Ashley’s right,” Jon said, then turned to our server and ordered the Fettuccini Carbonara.

Melanie, who has guarded her figure a lot longer and with more discipline than I have mine, suggested that she and I share a chicken crepe. “It has mushrooms and goat cheese,” she said. “Very tasty so you don’t have to eat as much. And the chicken adds protein.”

Not eat much? I was all for that. Another secret known to thin women: select very tasty dishes to fool the appetite. And don’t forget the protein.

In reply to my suggestion, Melanie said, “As it turns out I can’t leave town right now. I’ve just snared some very, very rich clients.”

So what else is new, I thought.

“
Speaking of real estate,” Jon said to Melanie. “Brian and Jackie Hudson were in Pinehurst. Don’t you work with him? We partied with them on New Year’s Eve. A fun couple.”

And Jackie doesn’t care for sweets so that’s how she maintains her svelte figure, I recalled. I had just learned two tips from thin women. But how long could I refrain from eating dessert? And how long could I manage with half portions? I didn’t know the answer, but I was determined to put myself to the test. My mind wandered, contemplating how my weight-loss plan should consist of kissing Jon every time I got hungry – kiss him until my hunger was replaced by desire. Then forget about food. Hmmmm.

I must have been smiling to myself because Melanie said, “What’s so funny? All I said was that I’ve got to call Brian as soon as he gets back. Does he know that his uncle has been shot?”

“
Yes, we left a message for him at the front desk when we checked out,” Jon said. “But there’s no love lost between those two branches of the Hudson family. He won’t come to the hospital. None of his side will.”

“
For pity sakes,” she cried. “Perhaps we should count our blessings that we don’t come from one of those enormous families where everybody is feuding with everyone else. Now as I was saying, I met a very rich couple in Bimini who are pining away for a Southern mansion. Chinese. They are Chinese. I think they watched Gone With the Wind one too many times. They have this notion that a large, white, columned mansion will somehow transform them into Americans.”

“
Well, why not buy up our Southern mansions?” Jon’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “They already own our national debt. What’s a Southern mansion or two?”

Melanie eyed him suspiciously but did not respond. He’d better not rain on her parade, her look said. “Actually, I think they’re already in town. They were sailing for Wilmington when Cam and I met them. They’ll be docked out at the Wrightsville Marina for the rest of the winter. Oh, Ashley, Jon, wait until you see their yacht. It is unbelievable. Incredible. And we’re all invited aboard on Saturday night for an early Chinese New Year’s party. In their culture they start celebrating early.”

Jon and I exchanged glances. A party we’d try to get out of, sure enough. Jon did not like parties thrown by strangers. Neither did I.

Melanie continued, “I’m determined to find them the mansion of their dreams, and see to it that they spend a bundle for it. That’s why I have to call Brian. I’ll need his help with the legalities of selling to foreigners. Exchange rates. Chinese banks. All that legal stuff.”

She grimaced. “I’ll do anything to survive this dreadful real estate market. The depreciation is killing homeowners. Everyone is too afraid to sell, and everyone is too afraid to buy. So I’ve got to get the Chengs’ business.”

She brightened. “I know what I’ll do, I’ll buy them the most fabulous gift. That will make them beholden to me so they won’t go with anyone else, like Faye Brock who is just the sweetest thing and everyone loves her.”

I reached across the table and patted her hand. She was hurting. The market was a dismal mess. “Everyone loves you, too, Melanie. Jon and I will do what we can to help. Won’t we Jon?”

He gave me a startled look, appalled. Was I dragging him to the party after all?

“
I’ll help you find the perfect gift. And I know just the place. The Crescent Moon gift shop has the most fabulous glass art objects. Handmade. We don’t want you giving her that crappy ‘made in China’ stuff.”

I snickered at my own joke.

3

On a seasonably chilly Saturday morning with temperatures in the high forties, Jon and I pulled into Nun Street. The back of his Escalade was loaded with groceries from our run out to the Fresh Market at Mayfaire. The North Carolina based store offered many prepared foods for people like Jon and me who do not cook and who are helpless in the kitchen.

“
As much as I love this car,” he said for the umpteenth time, “it’s a gas guzzler and we’ve got to trade it in for something green.”

“
We’ll take a loss,” I responded again. Actually I felt sentimental about Jon’s Escalade. How many job sites had we traveled to in it? He’d picked me up for our first date in this car.“Can’t be helped,” he replied.

“
Soon,” I said, as I had been saying.

Nun Street was bustling with activity, as if the whole street was still celebrating New Year’s festivities. The spanking white three-story Verandas Bed & Breakfast on the corner of Nun and Second had been lovingly restored by our friends, innkeepers Chuck and Dennis. The inn offered a popular special for their guests at this time of year: a two-night stay entitling guests to a free third night.

Originally the Italianate style house had been built for Benjamin Washington Beery in 1853. Captain Beery owned Beery Shipyard on Eagles Island where he built iron-clads for the Confederacy. With the aid of a spy glass, Beery surveyed the Cape Fear River for Yankee ships from a monitor atop the mansion. After the war, The Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy operated a hospital in the house where they cared for the war wounded, thus giving the street its name.

“
Oh, no!” I exclaimed as we pulled up to my house and I caught sight of the two gun-toting villains on my front porch. “It’s Nick . . . ”

“
And her,” Jon finished.

There, pacing impatiently on the porch of my 1860 Queen Anne house, was my former husband, Homicide Detective Nicholas Yost. And his untrustworthy sidekick, Detective Diane Sherwood. Diane has the hots for Nick. For years she had blamed me for standing in her way. What’s your excuse now, Diane? Duh. Unless, of course, she had landed him.

“
Just when you think things can’t get any worse, those two show up,” I complained to Jon, and we braced ourselves as we got out of the car.

“
Leave the groceries. I’m not inviting the demonic duo into our house,” Jon muttered.

Despite the irritation their presence provoked, I burst out laughing. And stopped to smile up at Jon. “Demonic duo, huh? Wish I’d said that.” My hero. I took his hand as we crossed the sidewalk.

“
Hi Nick. Diane,” I said in a voice that was intended to sound as chilly as the temperature.

As we mounted the steps to the porch, Jon asked, “What can we do for you, Nick?”

“
Ashley. Jon,” Nick said. He didn’t offer to shake hands. Fine with me.

Sherwood nodded, then flipped her heavy, shoulder length chestnut hair. She had on dark glasses, small lenses without frames. In all fairness, she was a pretty woman who worked out religiously. No muffin tops for Detective Sherwood. Self-consciously, I pulled my jacket closer around my middle.

“
We want to ask you some questions about the shooting on New Year’s Day. The attempted murder of Willie Hudson,” Sherwood said. “Can we go inside?”

Jon crossed his arms on his chest and planted his feet firmly on the porch floor. “This is not a convenient time,” he said, yet managing admirably to sound pleasant.

“
We can’t tell you anything anyway,” I said with far less tact. “We weren’t even here, as I’m sure you know.”

I linked my arm through Jon’s. “We were on our honeymoon in Pinehurst.” Now my voice was very pleasant, almost purring, just the attitude I wished to convey.

Nick cleared his throat. I couldn’t see his eyes. He was wearing shades too. But I knew from hours of gazing into them that they were a beautiful hazel. They used to smolder with passion; passion for me. Now I hoped they were smoldering with resentment – and jealousy. Can’t help it. I’m only human.

The man was hot, there was no denying that. He was lean waisted and broad shouldered, with crisp light brown hair. A beautifully shaped face. But whatever love I had felt for him, whatever passion once burned within me for him, was definitely a thing of the past. Dead and buried. The flames doused. In all truthfulness, he had killed the tender feelings I once felt for him. And my love for Jon had buried them. Finished. Finito.

“
We tried to talk to Hudson this morning,” Nick said. “But he’s on pain meds plus experiencing short-term memory loss. He doesn’t remember why he was in the observatory at the Bellamy Mansion or even that he was there.”

“
Did you talk to his family?” Jon asked.

“
Yes. And they said he was working on a job for you two,” Nick replied.

Jon moved closer to me and wrapped an arm around my waist protectively. “That’s correct,” he said, again managing to remain agreeable and cooperative. “Our firm has volunteered to restore the mansion’s belvedere. Willie was getting a jump start on evaluating what has to be done. Now we’re all taking some time off to show our respect for him and his family.”

Nick pulled off his sunglasses, looked from Jon to me with a frown. When Nick smiles, he has adorable dimples in his cheeks. But Nick rarely smiles. That, in itself, should have been a warning sign that he was not the man for me. I love to laugh.

“
We want to know what he was doing up there. And more importantly, we want to know who knew he’d be there at that hour. Eight o’clock on New Year’s Day isn’t your usual time for a contractor to be on a job.”

I wrapped my arm around Jon’s waist, feeling the tension this hostile cross examination was causing both of us, on top of Willie’s near death. “Willie was up in the belvedere because we are going to be restoring the windows there,” I said evenly. “And any number of people could have known that he’d be there. It wasn’t a secret that we had volunteered to do the job. There was an item in the Star-News. And an announcement in Preservation North Carolina’s newsletter. Most everyone in the historic district knew.”

“
And why that hour and that day?” Jon interjected defensively. “Because, as you well know, the mansion is a museum, open to the public, and we have to work around the hours and days they are open. Until recently, the belvedere was on the tour.”

“
Did Hudson have any enemies?” Sherwood asked.

“
No,” Jon said emphatically. “Willie Hudson is a respected leader in his church and in the African-American community. Everyone thought the world of him.”

“
Obviously, not everyone,” Nick said.

Jon and I said nothing.