Murder at the Holiday Flotilla (12 page)

I moved closer to him and gave him a kiss. “And she did a mighty fine job of raising you. See how wonderfully you turned out.” I gave him a squeeze. “It’s peaceful out here.”

“
When the dogs aren’t hunting foxes,” he said.

“
Here’s a thought, Jon, let’s give the boys another month to mature, then we’ll take them to Granny Campbell’s so she can see them.”

“
She’ll fall in love with them. Good idea.” He gave me a hug.

“
No necking allowed on my property,” Amy Wood called cheerfully from her front porch.

Amy isn’t much older than I am but she has graduated from Duke medical school with honors, did her internship there, and is now set up in private practice. Her reputation as a pediatrician is sterling.

Amy is on the tall side – taller than I am at five-four but that isn’t saying much. Most everyone is taller than I. Amy has auburn hair like Melanie and green eyes too. But Melanie gets her looks from Mama who was a Chastain, not a Wood, which leads me to believe this tendency toward red hair and green eyes runs in both sides of our family – from the Chastains and the Irish Hugheses. Amy wears her hair in a very short style, I guess because she is just too busy to blow dry long waves.

I’m a brunette with gray eyes and look a lot like my father, Peter Wilkes. I inherited his serious expression, his stubborn curly hair.

“
Come on in. Let me show you around inside.”

The house was Greek Revival in style, white paint over bricks that was peeling and had turned a dingy gray.

“
Only the central section is original,” Amy explained as she held the screen door wide for us to pass through. “The side and back wings are additions, added over time.”

“
Just let me get my camera,” Jon said and returned to the car.

“
Jon has state-of-the art architectural software that he uses to measure houses,” I told Amy. “He takes pictures with a six millimeter camera, then when we get home, he’ll feed the pictures into the computer and this special program will measure the rooms for us.”

“
I don’t know what we’d do in medicine without the advanced technology,” Amy said. I followed her into a small center hallway that ran the length of the house and Jon came in behind me carrying the camera.

Amy gave us a tour of the house and it was as I expected, very run down, plumbing and wiring out of date. But there was fine cabinetry everywhere. I made notes as we toured. Then Amy and I went out into the kitchen for iced tea while Jon took pictures of the house, inside and out.

We sat at the kitchen table. “Jon has filled me in about the deplorable practice of penned fox hunts,” I told Amy. “I admire you for saving those foxes. How can these people call themselves sportsmen? There is nothing sporting about killing a trapped animal. Might as well shoot fish in a barrel.”

“
Foxes are such timid animals,” Amy said. “They hide from people and aren’t a threat to them. They actually help farmers control the rodent population. But Henry’s fox pen is small compared to many in the state. There are about 150 fox pens in the state and the state Wildlife Commission looks favorably upon this practice. The only groups standing up to oppose this cowardly sport are the animal rights groups.” Amy’s face grew flushed with anger.

“
But didn’t you say that transporting wild animals is illegal?”

“
It is, Ashley. A woman up in Pennsylvania tried to do a good deed by moving a deer from a populated area to a forested one. Only thing is she crossed state lines. And she was arrested. It is illegal.”

“
So why doesn’t the Wildlife Commission enforce the law?” I was indignant.

Jon returned to the kitchen. “Where do you think the Wildlife Commission gets its revenue?” he asked. “From hunters. They’ve got a powerful lobby.”

“
Just think,” Amy said, “when this house was built by Samuel Wood back in 1781, hunting was necessary to feed one’s family. Today we have supermarkets on every corner. Deer are so tame, if you stand out by the side of the road at night they’ll come up and eat out of your hand. Still they shoot them, cut off the antlers and leave the carcasses to rot. You tell me what is sporting about that.”

“
What has happened with Senator Henry’s penned farm since he died?” I asked.

“
The papers say it was you and your sister who found him, Ashley. That must have been hard for you. Still, the world, and in particular this part of it, is better off without him. The man was evil.

“
His farm? All is quiet. No more foxes smuggled in from other states.”

“
But that is illegal, you said.”

“
Sure, but local law enforcement looks the other way. These are good old boys whose idea of a wild animal is a dead wild animal, or else in a zoo.”

I just shook my head, speechless.

“
Henry’s farm is small as these fox farms go. One man owns a farm that pens 50 foxes. The foxes are bait, live bait, enclosed by fences. They have been caught in steel-jaw traps, injured, then crowded onto trucks, and driven into North Carolina to be sold to these blood sport operators. Finally, their fate is to get ripped apart by a pack of dogs. All so the owner can make a few measly bucks in field trial dog fees without working like the rest of us do.”

“
I’m so glad you saved those three little foxes the other day,” I said sadly.

“
Tell me, Ashley. Jon. You’re the parents of infants. If you had just watched your dog rip a fox to shreds, would you then want that animal in your home, near your babies?

“
Definitely not,” Jon said. “I’d never trust a dog that had been trained to kill for blood sport.”

“
Of course you wouldn’t. Well, at least that asshole Dewey Carter is gone. Excuse my foul language. Henry’s not alive to pay Carter so he split. Mrs. Henry sure will not. I called her the next day and was surprised when she took my call. Supposedly, she was in mourning. I offered her good money for that property. She’s very agreeable. She told me the whole idea struck her as distasteful.”

“
Distasteful? That’s a mild word,” Jon commented.

My mind wandered. My memory had just been jogged. The black pickup truck that was parked in the neighbor’s driveway out at Bradley Creek? Wasn’t it similar to the one Dewey Carter drove?

Amy was saying, “She and the senator didn’t have much of a marriage. She traveled a lot. Guess she found him distasteful too.” Amy laughed for the first time.

“
That land was part of the Wood family acreage. It used to belong to my grandfather. But then granddad got a little senile and sly old Henry took advantage of him and got him to sell that tract of land for a pittance. Granddad is turning over in his grave to think how his land has been desecrated. Granddad was the local family physician, a kindly man, who treated his neighbors whether they could pay or not. And to think folks here actually voted Buddy Henry into office.”

Jon said, “The state senate and house both have introduced bills prohibiting penned animal hunts. One got approval, but then died in committee. The committee is the state wildlife committee. We all need to call our state representatives and express our outrage.”

“
We’ll call on Monday,” I said.

“
Good,” Amy said. “We need more people like you and Jon.”

“
In all fairness, Amy, most people don’t know this is going on. I didn’t until I was here the other day and saw with my own eyes.”

“
You’re right, Ashley. When people find out they’ll be as outraged as we are. Fox News did an expose on the practice in Georgia and that sure started a movement to end this cowardly practice. Cowards, that’s what they are.”

“
I had no idea. I’m glad you’re getting your land back in the family,” I said. My family, I thought.

“
I’m going to clean up that hellhole, plant trees and shrubs over there and turn it into a wildlife sanctuary. I’ve even got a friend who’s a vet and a couple of volunteers eager to work on this project with me.”

“
Good for you.”

“
Excellent idea,” Jon said.

I took a deep breath and plunged in. “Amy, I have something else I’d like to discuss with you before we get back to your plans for restoring the house. I have reason to believe we are descended from the same ancestors, Samuel and Elizabeth Wood. According to a historian, they are my – and my sister’s – ancestors too. Our g5 grandparents.”

I had made notes of my Wood family tree and I read the list to Amy.

“
You’re right, we are related, Ashley. And that delights me. Imagine, discovering we are distant cousins. That’s great. So you are descended from Margaret Wood. Well, I am descended from Margaret’s brother Hastings Wood. Hastings’ son was David – a name used often in this family – and David’s son was Kinard. That was my grandfather. His son, my dad, was Kinard Wood Jr. My grandfather practiced medicine as I said, until he got too old to practice.”

“
And that’s when Senator Henry cheated him?” Jon asked.

“
Yes. I was away at med school. And Daddy died young. An accident. Granddad left this house and land to me. You and your family should feel welcome to come here to visit and explore the grounds anytime.”

“
Amy?” I asked holding my breath. “Have you ever heard a rumor about a family treasure?”

“
A family treasure!” she laughed. “That’s a hoot. Yes, I’ve heard that talk. Nonsense is what it is. The Woods were always as poor as church mice. Treasure? Wouldn’t I love that.”

“
It’s probably just my imagination. I thought that when I was a kid my father said we had a treasure. But Melanie is older and she swears he said no such thing.” I laughed nervously. Lying does not come easily to me. “Just a childish idea but I felt like I had to ask you anyway.”

Amy just shook her head mildly. “I sure wish there had been some wealth in this family. Now who . . .?

A car had pulled up outside the kitchen windows. A county sheriff’s car. A deputy got out of the driver’s side. Another man – a very familiar man – got out on the passenger side.

Jon moved to the window. “Good Lord, how did he find us here?”

“
Oh, no, not Nick!” I moaned. “I’m starting to feel like I’m being stalked.”

Amy moved up beside me to stare out a window. “Who’s Nick?”

“
My ex,” I groaned. “Nick Yost. A homicide detective with Wilmington PD. Guess he’s here courtesy of your sheriff.”

“
I don’t have to let them in if they don’t have a warrant,” Amy offered.

“
No. Go ahead. Let them in. Let’s see what this is about.”

Amy went out onto the screened kitchen porch, they exchanged a few words, and she showed them into the kitchen.

Nick took one look at me and frowned. “I thought that was your car out there. How do you do it, Ashley? You show up at every crime scene.”

“
I wasn’t aware that my cousin’s house was a crime scene, Nick,” I said smugly.

He looked from me to Amy. The sheriff’s deputy introduced himself as Deputy Ernest Smalley. “Detective Yost has a few questions for you, Dr. Wood. So do I. Concerns the death of Senator Henry. Can you tell me where you were on the morning of Wednesday, December 1st?”

Amy crossed her arms over her chest. In a firm but controlled voice she responded, “I was in my office, seeing patients.”

“
Can anyone confirm that?” he asked.

“
My staff and my patients,” she replied as if she was speaking to a child.

“
And what hours were you there? Seeing patients?”

“
From eight a.m. until six p.m. I grabbed a sandwich at my desk at about noon. Never left the office until evening. Satisfied?”

“
You mind if I call your office.”

“
Not at all, Deputy. Speak to anyone on my staff.” Her tone was sweetly sarcastic. She gave him her office number.

Nick broke in, “The sheriff’s office here had a complaint about you. That you threatened the senator’s life. And the investigation of his death is being handled by the Wilmington PD.”

“
From that jackass next door, Dewey Carter, no doubt,” Amy said. “No, Detective, I did not threaten to kill the senator. Doesn’t mean I’m not happy that he’s gone. I am.”

“
Amy,” Jon interrupted, “maybe you’d better not say any more.”

Now Nick noticed Jon and grumbled a hello.

I said, “Wait a minute, Nick. Why is the PD investigating his death? Do you have autopsy results? Oooooh, you must. You asked her where she was on Wednesday morning. So you must have time of death. And for you to come all the way out here . . . his death must have been suspicious. Was he murdered?”

I knew I wouldn’t get a direct answer from Nick and I didn’t. “You know I can’t discuss the details of a case with you. But where were you on Wednesday morning? And you too, Jon?”

Jon was angry. “I met with a prospective client at ten. I was with her until 11:30. Then squeezed in a work-out at the Y. And grabbed a quick lunch at Le Catalan. I got home about thirty minutes before Melanie picked up Ashley. All verifiable, Nick. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Deputy Smalley looked from one of us to the other. What had he stumbled into?

I looked at him and smiled a fake smile. “Hasn’t Nick bothered to tell you that we have history? We were once married. Now we’re divorced. I’m married to Jon.”