Murder at the Bellamy Mansion (4 page)

“
The bullet could have been intended for one of his crew,” Sherwood speculated.

“
Who was working with him?” I asked. In all the excitement and worry I had never thought to ask that question.

Nick pulled out a small notebook and searched the pages. “Dwayne Hudson and Lonnie Hudson were scheduled to meet him, but he was alone when shot. The others found him when they arrived minutes later.”

“
Oh,” I said. “Lonnie is his son.”

“
And Dwayne is his grandson, son of Willie’s son Mason,” Jon added. “What a shock for them.”

“
We know about the intricate family relationships,” Sherwood said testily.

Honestly, I wanted to slap that woman so badly my palm itched and I took a second to scratch it.

“
Those two got any enemies?” Nick asked.

“
I wouldn’t know,” Jon answered, taking a step toward our front door, keys in his outstretched hand.

“
You tell us something,” I said. “Whose apartment was the shot fired from?”

“
No tenant,” Nick replied. “Up for rent. Unoccupied.”

“
Well, who had the keys?” I asked the obvious.

Diane Sherwood got all huffy. “You know we can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you.”

But Nick ignored her. After all, we had been husband and wife. I assumed he still trusted me. “The front desk had the keys. But when we got there the door to the apartment was unlocked. The desk clerk admits the painting crew could have left the door unlocked for the carpet people.”

“
Paint crew? Meaning all the surfaces were newly painted,” I said. “And that means that any fingerprints you found were either those of the painters or the shooter.”

Diane Sherwood gave me a withering look. Diane likes to pretend that I am dumb.

“
I hope the apartment’s management and the PD are taking measures to secure the place,” I said.

“
Don’t worry about what the PD is doing,” Diane said.

“
Of course, we’re taking measures,” Nick said. “We’ve got a large uniform presence in the area, very visible, at the apartments and around the Bellamy Mansion. The Carolina Apartments has been secured, the doors to vacant apartments locked, a security officer in the lobby. A forensic team is out too. We still have not found the spent bullet.”

“
Don’t you think the chief knows how important tourism is to this town?” Diane asked.

Jon had had enough. “OK. That’s enough. We’ve got ice cream melting in the car and groceries to unload.”

“
How domestic,” Sherwood commented under her breath but I heard her.

I wanted to shout: Scoot. Scram. Like I did to the squirrel that invaded our birdfeeder.

My good friend Kiki would have said: Be gone or I’ll put a curse on you and turn you into a toad. But then Kiki is a witch. And I am not. If only.

“
Do we really have to go to that party?” Jon asked, after we had put away the groceries and were settled at the kitchen table with Swiss cheese and turkey Panini sandwiches and iced tea.

“
Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I promised Melanie. You could see how discouraged she was.”

“
But what good will it do her for us to be there?”

“
Just moral support, darling. She likes having us in her corner. Melanie is not nearly as confident as she puts on.”

He leaned across the table and kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re a softie, you know that? OK, except for my Granny Campbell and your Aunt Ruby and Binkie, Melanie and Cam are our only family. And we do have to take care of family.”

“
I love you for that,” I said, and checked the wall clock. “Visiting hours at the medical center start soon. I hope Willie is awake. And that he knows us.”

4

The surgeon was leaving Willie’s room as we entered. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and did not look anywhere near as weary as he had the day of the surgery. He seemed to recognize Jon and me because he said, “He’s coming along nicely.” He glanced across the room to Esther Hudson. “Mrs. Hudson is right. Sometimes miracles do happen. And I need all the help I can get, so I’m very grateful for this one.”

Esther Hudson gave him a big smile, then welcomed us with, “Come on in, y’all. Don’t be shy.” Jon and I approached Willie’s bed hesitantly. His head was swathed in bandages. And there were cuts on his face and arms from the flying glass. For someone who had just had head surgery on Thursday, he was remarkably alert.

“
Hey, big guy,” Jon said with a cheerfulness he could not possibly feel.

Willie is anything but big. He is in his seventies, small and wizened, and in the hospital bed he looked even smaller and very frail.

“
Hey there, Ashley. Jon,” Willie said. “They’re telling me I’m a wonder. Gonna be the poster boy for head injuries.”

“
Oh Willie, you remember us,” I murmured, taking his hand in my own. “We are so sorry this happened to you. We don’t understand anything that has happened. Why would someone shoot you?”

“
Did you see anything?” Jon asked. “Anything at all?”

“
I still don’t have my memory back ‘bout being up there in that belvedere. Last thing I recall was eating Esther’s delicious hot cakes for breakfast that morning. After that, nothing. Till I woke up here this morning. Your ex was here, Ashley, with that woman detective, asking all kinds of questions.”

Esther harrumphed. “Wanted to know if we had enemies. What kind of question is that? He doesn’t have an enemy in the world and neither do I. We spend our days helping folks, not making enemies of them.”

Willie said, “I’m getting too old for this, Jon. Too old to be climbing round up there in that belvedere. It’s time for me to retire, to turn the business over to the youngsters. I’m thinking on that.”

“
Oh Willie,” I cried again. “What would we do without you? You’ve got more knowledge about how these old houses in Wilmington were constructed than anyone.”

“
But we can understand you might feel that way, Willie,” Jon said. “After the traumatic experience you’ve had you must be re-evaluating everything. But this isn’t the time to make a big decision. Why don’t you wait until you’re feeling like your old self again?”

“
Whatever you decide, we’ll respect your decision,” I said. “You know there’s a strong police presence around the mansion now, ensuring our safety whenever we go back up into the belvedere.”

“
He is not retiring,” Esther said firmly. “Do you know that folks who retire live, on average, two years? I don’t want that happening to my husband. Besides,” she said, turning to Willie, “you’d be underfoot. Won’t know what to do with yourself. No sir, as long as you are healthy, you stick to your profession. Cut your hours if you want, but you are not hanging around the house.”

Casting her warm brown eyes my way, she said, “You know what women say, don’t you, Ashley? ‘Marry for life, but not for lunch.’” She grinned.

Willie glanced at Esther, then back to us. “We’ll talk ‘bout this later when I’ve got my strength and my memory back. Been lying here thinking about the old days, ‘bout my daddy and his daddy before him. There’s something ‘bout getting old that makes you feel closer to the ones that came before you. Don’t know if I ever told you this but it was my great-granddaddy who installed all that fancy plumbing and the gas lines in the Bellamy house.

“
Not mansion, mind you, but house. That’s what the Bellamy family used to call it: house.”

“
I had no idea your family were the original plumbers,” I said. “The plumbing was extraordinary for its day. So far ahead of its time. Imagine, it was eighteen-sixty and they had hot and cold running water, and warm showers. That was just about unheard of.”

“
And it was your family who were the plumbers?” Jon asked with awe.

“
Yes sir. My great-granddaddy Wilfred Hudson. I was named for him. He was a freedman. One of the finest craftsmen Wilmington has ever known. An educated man too. He was taught to read and write at James Sampson’s School for Free Negroes. Then he taught his sons to read.”

“
And his daughters,” Esther interjected.

“
You know the Bellamy Mansion was built by African-American craftsmen and artisans.”

“
We did know that,” I said.

“
There were many whites in those days who resented that too,” Esther said. “But they didn’t get the jobs because they weren’t as talented as our people were. But they were quite vocal ‘bout their grievances. One of the town leaders said he didn’t want any more animosity between the races than we already had, and he put a stop to it.”

“
I see a lot of my father in Lonnie. And Lonnie would like to take over the business,” Willie said. “He’s a good boy, a hard worker.”

“
And smart,” Esther said. “You can give him a bigger role. I’ve got no problem with that.”

Lonnie was at least fifty-five, hardly a boy, but I suppose you are always a boy or a girl to your parents.

“
Now Mason’s got it in his head that he’s gonna get taken on at the new state port they’re fixin’ to build down at Southport. Says there’s gonna be lotsa money to be made on that project.”

“
The last I heard,” Jon said, “they haven’t even come up with funds for the reconnaissance study yet.”

At four that afternoon I met Melanie at the Crescent Moon gift shop in the Cotton Exchange down by the river. My sister Melanie is a heart stopper with her long flowing auburn hair, big green eyes, and ivory complexion. At twenty-one she had been voted Miss North Carolina, representing our state in the Miss America beauty pageant. She hasn’t changed much since then, still has her killer figure, and knows how to dress.

She has had more boyfriends that I can count. Many of them were bad boys. And then darling Cameron Jordan came to town, cast one look in her direction, and fell really hard. It took Melanie a couple of years and a few disastrous experiences for the bad boys’ appeal to wear thin, and for her to finally appreciate what a prince she had in Cameron Jordan.

Melanie and I do not look anything alike. I look like Daddy, the late Superior Court Judge Peter Wilkes, with his dark hair, gray eyes, and serious expression.

Melanie is the spitting image of Mama, Claire Chastain Wilkes, of the Savannah Chastains.

Mama and Daddy reside in heaven now, having left us girls behind to look after each other. Thank god, I had Cameron to help me manage Melanie. She can be rather a handful - unpredictable and headstrong.

Today she had on a little dress with a matching coat, in a carmely brown tone. While I, not having much time to dress that morning, had thrown on a hoodie and sweat pants. But at least in a sweet pink that complimented my skin tones.

The gift shop was filled with light from two large windows, and the glass shelves were backlit so that everything seemed to sparkle and shimmer. As we strolled around the shop, admiring displays of hand-blown glass art objects, she said, “You look good with long hair, Shug. Didn’t I tell you that length would help straighten out the curl? You have just enough natural wave and curl for it to look pretty.”

I grinned. I was feeling on top of the world after my visit with Willie and knowing he was going to make it. “Yes, big sister, you are always right.”

She examined me closely. “I declare, Ashley, you are positively radiant. There is not a skin care product in this world that can give you that glow. That glow comes from getting good sex, and lots of it.”

“
Melanie!” I exclaimed, glancing around to see if the other customer in the store had heard her.

“
Don’t ‘Melanie’ me. I’ve had enough good sex in my life to recognize the result.” Then she pouted and gave me a look of utter chagrin. “Just wish I was getting some now. Here it is supposed to be my honeymoon, and what am I doing? Sleeping alone. A pox on that Nelda Cameron!”

The other customer left the shop and Joan and Mike Loch, the owners, hurried up to greet us. “Melanie Wilkes! And Ashley. How are you girls?” Joan said. “Only you’ve got new last names now. I’ll have to remember.”

“
That’s all right, Joan,” I said. “Both Melanie and I are keeping our surnames. Wilkes we were born and Wilkes we shall remain.”

“
Sure enough,” Joan said. “Times have changed.”

“
Are you guys still living on the river?” Melanie asked.

Joan and Mike, a glass blower himself, live on a boat, a forty-two foot Jefferson Sundeck, docked near the Port of Wilmington.

“
Because if you ever decide you want more space and a backyard, it is a buyer’s market out there. You can practically steal a house.”

“
Melanie,” Joan said sweetly, “I promise you if Mike and I find time away from this shop to go house hunting, it will definitely be with you. Now what can I do for you? Are you looking for something special?”

“
Very special,” Melanie replied. “I want the most impressive piece of glass art you’ve got in the shop. It’s for a very important client.”

“
Well, then,” Mike told us, “you are standing right in front of the best. These are the works of our premier artist Rick Satava. Aren’t they phenomenal? They are glass jellyfish. Rick uses ancient techniques to create original designs in handblown glass.”