Murder on the Candlelight Tour (4 page)

He waved a navy clad arm at me. His golden blonde hair was brushed neatly to the side, but I knew that shortly it would flop onto his forehead. His face lit up when he saw me.

He jumped up and pulled out my chair. When I reached the table, he kissed my cheek. Over his shoulder I spotted Betty and Wayne Matthews, brunching at a corner table. We exchanged waves.

"How are you holding up, gorgeous?" he asked when we were seated. "Your cheeks are as rosy as poinsettias."

I felt my cheeks with my hands. They were warm. "Binkie and I were out walking. I guess I'm all right. I've got so much to talk to you about." I eyed his drink. "Is that a Mimosa?"

"Yes. How is Binkie holding up? He's such a nice old guy, one of my favorite people. And Ashley, I keep kicking myself. If I'd stayed with you through the evening instead of leaving to see those other houses I'd have been there when you needed me."

"I'll have a Mimosa," I told the waiter. "And decaf." I opened the menu. "Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. And Binkie's like you'd expect him to be. Nervous. Scared. I tried to get him to join us for brunch but he said everyone would stare at him. We were stared at in church. I'm worried, Jon. He doesn't look good. And he thinks the police are watching him."

Jon scanned his menu. "Eggs Benedict," he told the waiter who had returned with my champagne-and-orange-juice cocktail and filled my coffee cup.

"It looks bad for him. He's never made a secret about how he hated Sheldon and wished him dead."

I sensed the waiter's hesitation, could feel his ears perk up. Sheldon's murder and Binkie's involvement had made headlines in this morning's Sunday Star-News. I frowned at Jon and made a slight, negative motion with my head. "I'll have French toast with blackberries," I told the waiter.

After he left, I leaned across the table to confide, "Binkie told me about a murder that took place in my house when it was a brothel. About a madam who killed one of her gentleman patrons for his gold, then hid the gold in my house."

Jon arched an eyebrow. "Gold in your house? Well, where could it be? When we were making the restorations, we were all over the place. The walls, the attic, the basement, everywhere."

"Binkie said something else that's really got me worried. He told me Sheldon robbed the Atlantic Coast Line payroll office in 1960." I studied Jon's face. "Why would he say a thing like that? You know, I remember Daddy talking about the railroad and an old robbery."

Jon leaned forward, his palms braced on the table top. "That was before we were born, but it was such a big event, the town buzzed about it for decades. I remember my dad speculating with his friends. The old-timers still talk about the glory days of the railroad. At one time, the Atlantic Coast Line was the largest employer in Wilmington. The day they announced they were moving to Jacksonville, Florida, is still known as 'Black Thursday' around here. Ashley, Binkie's your best source. He's the history expert."

"I know, but I'd rather not get him started on that subject again. Still, I'd like to know why he thinks Sheldon was involved."

Jon glanced across the room to the Matthews' table. "Well, what about Wayne? With his banking background, he'd have all the facts about the railroad and the payroll robbery."

I gazed across the room at the couple. Wayne Matthews was a good guy, a bit dour for my tastes, but solid and trustworthy. Betty was the outgoing one in that marriage, the high-flier. Wayne was the wind beneath her wings. "Sure, I'll give him a try."

Jon drained the last of his mimosa. "I remember overhearing my dad and his friends discussing the robbery. They said that afterward, everyone was watching everyone else to see who was spending big bucks. You know, some guy who never had two nickels to rub together suddenly parks a Jaguar in his driveway."

"And? Did anyone start spending large sums of cash?"

"No. No one. So the robbers must have stashed it somewhere to be spent later."

"Or, left town with it."

"That's a possibility."

"Well," I continued, "Binkie says Sheldon and his accomplices were the robbers. And that Sheldon used his share to set himself . . ."

Our food arrived, fragrant and hot. The waiter returned with a red-handled carafe and refilled my coffee cup.

After he left, I continued, "Set himself up in the decorating business." I lifted a forkful of sweet berries to my mouth. "This is divine."

Jon's usually cheerful brown eyes grew worried. "I see what you mean. I think I'd better have a talk with our Binkie."

"Oh, would you? He sure could use a friend. But, please, be discreet. He's so vulnerable right now. And you know how proud he is."

Jon cut into the Eggs Benedict and said, "Discretion is my middle name."

I dropped my fork. "Good lord, I don't believe it. There's Melanie."

Jon turned in his chair to look where I was staring. "So? What's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I reached across the table and grabbed his arm with both hands, giving it a little shake. "Look who she's with, Jon. That man was the first person at my house yesterday. He carried a silver-handled cane. I have to find out who he is. That cane would make a pretty hefty murder weapon. Wonder if the police have talked to him?"

I fumbled in my shoulder bag for my cell phone. "I've got to call Nick."

"Don't bother."

"What? Of course, I've got to. Binkie didn't kill Sheldon. Someone else did. Maybe that man with his cane."

"Take it easy," Jon said. "Nick is here." He nodded toward the entrance.

I scanned the entrance area. Nick was there. I started to wave, then lowered my hand. The host was leading Nick to a table. My heart did flip flops at the sight of those broad shoulders. He was wearing a tweed sport jacket. Nick always dresses nicely. And he's handsome, with light ash brown hair, penetrating hazel eyes, and two dimples that are only visible when he smiles, which is rarely.

We don't have an exclusive relationship. I am free to date anyone I please. So is he. Why then did the sight of him steering a very pretty, tall, platinum blonde--his hand on the small of her back--make me feel ill? And, why did my heart ache when I saw how he looked at her--a look I thought he reserved for me alone?

Jealousy is a painful emotion. It makes you feel all tingly and itchy and sick. In that moment I forgot all about Melanie and the man with the cane. I wanted to swoop down on Nick and his little friend and do them bodily harm.

Outwardly, I remained cool, stayed firmly planted in my chair and did not reveal the fury and confusion that was overwhelming my senses. I patted my mouth with a napkin, withdrew my mirror and lipstick from my purse, and glossed my lips. As far as love relationships go, nothing much changes after high school. No matter how old we get, we react just as we did when we were teenagers. Angling the mirror just so, I spied on Nick and Blondie. The woman wasn't bad, not bad at all. In fact, she was hot.

I closed the lipstick tube with a pop. Now. Armed to do battle. I said innocently, "Since Nick isn't alone, I think we ought to talk to him over here at our table."

Jon gave me a blank look. Even the sharpest of men can be obtuse. "What do you mean?"

"Just go over there and ask him to join us for a minute. Tell him it's about his case. He won't turn you down."

With the aid of the mirror, I spied as Jon approached Nick's table. They exchanged greetings and shook hands. Nick turned in my direction. Blondie stared. In a minute, Nick was excusing himself to Blondie and following Jon. I dropped the mirror in my purse and pretended to be absorbed with activities on the river. The harbor master had elevated the center span of Memorial Bridge to let an enormous barge pass through.

I looked up when I saw Jon and Nick reflected in the plate glass window. "Hi, Nick," I said.

Nick grabbed an available chair and dragged it to our table. "Ashley, what's up?"

So that's how he's going to play it, I thought. Brusque and business-like. I was hurt. Not even a handshake, not even a light touch on my arm. I cleared my throat. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be working the case."

He sighed. "I'm here on business, Ashley."

Uh huh, I thought, and my hobby is wrestling alligators.

"So?" he said. "You wanted to see me."

"I do, Nick." I pointed to Melanie's table. "See that man over there, the one with Melanie?"

Nick turned where I pointed. "Yes?"

"He was the first tourist in my house last night. He had a cane with a silver handle. That cane might be the real murder weapon. Do you know who he is and have you questioned him?"

Nick regarded the silver-haired man with interest. "No, but I will now. We're trying to locate as many of the people who were at your house yesterday as we can. If that man was there, I want to talk to him."

"Oh, he was there, all right."

"He may have seen something," Nick continued. "We don't have a witness to the murder yet. I'll see what he has to say."

Nick started to move away. I scrambled out of my chair to follow. Now I had a new worry: had my ploy just backfired? Was I making things worse for Binkie?

Jon grabbed the check from the table. "Hey, wait up, Nick. Ashley and I'll stop at their table and say 'hey' to Melanie. That way, your interview won't look too obvious."

I gave Jon a dirty look. He shrugged his shoulders like, Who, me? "Men," I muttered under my breath. I thought they were supposed to be the risk takers. While he and Nick were deciding who should go first, I stepped in front of them and led the way.

Melanie looked up as we approached her table, irritation plain on her pretty face. Now what's she in a snit about, I asked myself. I listened intently as she made the introductions, catching the new man's name.

"This is Earl Flynn," she said brightly. "Earl's an associate of Joel's. We've been out looking at houses." She patted Flynn's forearm and batted her eyelashes at him. "Something suitable for a man of his stature." She flicked her gaze at me, icicles glinting there.

Aha! So that's who he is, I thought. Melanie's hot prospect. And Joel's associate?

Flynn appeared to be in his fifties and had that fit, outdoorsy California glow. A full head of silvery hair framed prominent, handsome features. I wondered if he'd been in show business too.

Nick took charge. "Mind if I sit down for a moment?"

Melanie and Flynn exchanged looks. "Why, ah, not at all," Flynn said.

Nick snagged a vacant chair. "Ashley and Jon were just leaving." He cast a meaningful glance our way.

"Yes, we're leaving, aren't we, Ashley?" Jon gave me a nudge. "Nice to meet you, Flynn."

I lingered at Melanie's side long enough to hear Nick say, "I'm a homicide detective, Mr. Flynn, working the Sheldon Mackie murder case. I'm talking to people who were at Ms. Wilkes' house yesterday."

6

"I've never been so humiliated in my life!" Melanie hissed in my ear.

We were standing on the boardwalk outside Elijah's, Melanie teetering in high heels. Jon stood off to the side, arms crossed, studying contrails in the sky.

I scarcely listened. Melanie was not the focus of my attention right then. A short distance away, on Elijah's front porch, Nick and Earl Flynn were shaking hands. I took the opportunity to check out "blondie." Her makeup was flawless. She was well dressed--calculatingly so. I guessed she'd had her colors done, and she wasn't deviating from the formula by one scintilla of a hue. With her light skin and platinum hair, it would be easy for her to fade into the landscape. How I wished she would. But the right colors brought her out, enhanced her paleness.

Her hair was cut in one of those straight, forward swinging bobs, a style I wish I could wear. But forget it. My hair would just spring into unruly curls. She wore an expensive--I shop the designer boutiques enough to know expensive when I see it--raspberry jacket, superbly cut, over a matching silk blouse and gray silky pleated trousers. She was covetously thin so that the pleats fell in deep folds just as the designer had intended. I glanced down at my own poochie tummy bulge. I had to stop eating so much.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She slipped her hand into her shoulder bag--soft, squishy, gray suede--and retrieved a pair of glasses with silver frames and pink-tinted lenses. She slipped them on, glanced my way, and caught me in the act of gawking.

I looked quickly away, but not before I recognized her. She was the fourth person to enter my house yesterday afternoon. When I looked back, Blondie was smiling my way, trying to catch my eye. I pretended not to notice. I wasn't feeling friendly and I knew exactly why.

Instead, I turned to Melanie, whom I'd been tuning out, and who was lecturing me. "You were behind that little charade. I just know you were. I was so embarrassed. Here I am trying to make a sale, not to mention trying to make a good impression on Joel's California associate, and you get that detective of yours to hound him down like a criminal!"

Hound? "Aren't we being a tad melodramatic?"

But Melanie is nothing if not mercurial. Nick, Earl Flynn, and Blondie joined us. In an instant, Melanie was all smiles and Southern charm. Jon murmured something innocuous about the weather to Flynn, but I wasn't listening to him either. Instead, I was registering the way Nick was presenting his new friend to us, like she was someone very special.