Murder at the Holiday Flotilla (13 page)

The deputy said nothing but gave Nick a searching look.

Turning to Nick I asked, “I thought Lieutenant Edmunds took you off this case because of your personal relationship with me. And Melanie.”

“
I’m still working the case, Ashley. How would I know that you would be here? Visiting your cousin?” He said ‘cousin’ as if he didn’t believe me.

“
Getting back to the senator’s death,” Smalley said. “Dr. Wood, you’ve got a record of feuding with Senator Henry about that farm over there.” And he pointed out the window. “So now I’ve just got to ask you outright. Did you hire somebody to take out the senator?”

Amy stared at him in astonishment. Then she started to laugh. And laughed so hard she about doubled over.

There’s no denying it: laughter is contagious. Jon and I were chuckling too. The law enforcement types did not see the humor in the question.

Amy composed herself and said emphatically, “No, Deputy Smalley, I did not hire anyone to ‘take out,’ as you say, the senator. How did he die? You haven’t told us that yet. I do hope he was torn apart by foxes.” This she said with perfect innocence.

“
I can’t discuss cause of death with you, ma’am. And what goes on at that farm next door is legal. Hunting regulations are enforced by the state’s Wildlife Resources Commission. We’ve got an overpopulation of foxes and coyotes around here.”

Amy’s face flushed with anger. “If that is so, Deputy, why are foxes and coyotes being smuggled in from other states? If there are so many of them here, why are the operators of those penned fox farms willing to pay smugglers for a truckload of injured and sick wildlife?”

“
Who said that was true? That’s just a rumor,” the Deputy said defensively.

Amy balled up her fists. “A rumor I have seen with my own eyes. I’ve seen those trucks rolling into that farm next door. I’ve seen their cargo being unloaded. I’ve even got pictures that I’m posting on the internet. I’m setting up a website to expose this evil cowardly practice. And I’m naming names.”

“
Ma’am, that simply ain’t true. You’ve been listening to those bleeding heart animal rights nuts.”

“
Well, Henry’s out of business now, Deputy. So if someone did kill him – if he did not die of natural causes and from the questions you’ve been asking, it’s safe to assume he did not – then that person deserves a medal.”

Nick broke in. “What about you, Ashley? Where were you on Wednesday morning at about 10:30?”

“
Oh, that must be the time of death.” I rolled my eyes heavenward. “Why would I have anything to do with his death? I was introduced to the man just once. I don’t even know him.”

“
You did find him dead. You were in the house where he died. So I’ve got to ask the question. OK? Where were you?”

“
At home with my babies. And they can’t vouch for me because as advanced as they are in their development, at three months they aren’t speaking yet.”

13

On Sunday morning Jon and I lingered over coffee in the library. The boys were cooing and kicking in their play pen – “playing” as we liked to call it – and making happy baby noises. Our tranquility was shattered by the shrill screeching of our doorbell as someone twisted it frantically.

“
We have got to replace that thing with something melodious,” Jon said for the hundredth time.

“
On our to-do list,” I said. “Way at the bottom.”

“
Let’s be sure to move it to the top.”

I hurried to the door to find the frantic person – my sister Melanie – chomping at the bit. Behind her Cam regarded me stoically.

Melanie rushed inside. “Have you seen this?” she shouted, thrusting the morning paper in my face.

“
No. We’ve been playing with the babies. We haven’t gotten around to reading the paper yet. What’s wrong?”

“
Let’s go inside and sit down,” Cam said calmly. He moved Melanie along to our library where Jon waited and babies gurgled.

“
Aren’t they precious?” Cam said, going over to the playpen to stare down at them.

“
Just look at this,” Melanie declared, holding the front page of the Star-News aloft for us to see.

The headline screamed: SENATOR HENRY’S OXY OVERDOSE.

I grabbed the newspaper out of her hands. “What’s oxy?” I asked, trying to talk and scan the article at the same time.

“
Oxy. Short for oxycodone. The most popular prescription meds on the black market. It’s a pain pill. Makes you feel euphoric. On top of the world. Remember the time when I was attacked in my house out on Rabbit Run?”

Melanie was referring to an attack by an intruder who struck her on the back of the head, leaving her bleeding and unconscious, and suffering a concussion.

“
Of course I remember. How could I forget?”

“
Well, the doctor gave me a prescription for oxycodone. And it worked like magic. No pain. I can understand how people get addicted. I could feel myself relying on it too much. I threw the pills away.”

“
I didn’t know that.”

“
I thought I told you.”

“
She told me,” Cam said. “I was there when she flushed the pills down the toilet. She’s such a brave girl.” He gave her a hug.

Melanie broke free. She was incensed. “Somehow this investigative reporter found out that I once had a prescription for oxy. I don’t know how he found out. That was what . . . two years ago? And now this reporter is insinuating that I am involved with Senator Henry’s death.”

“
How? Just because you once had a prescription for oxycodone? You and how many other people?”

“
It gets worse,” Melanie said. “The oxy was mixed in with coffee. And the senator ingested it that way. According to his personal physician, the senator did not have a prescription for oxycodone. So someone drugged his coffee with a lethal dose of oxy. Remember when I was showing the house to you and Jack and there was a Starbucks coffee cup on the counter. I thought the cleaning service had left it there. I picked it up and threw it away.”

“
Oh, no!” I exclaimed, getting the full gravity of what she was saying. “The police found it. And your fingerprints are on it!”

“
Exactly. And it gets worse. The chairman of the nominating committee called me first thing this morning. I’m out. They have kicked me out. They took a vote. I will not get to be president. She told me my reputation is in tatters and the NCAR cannot afford this bad exposure.”

“
Oh, Melanie.” I rushed forward and put my arms around her. I knew how much this presidency meant to her. How hard she had worked for it.

“
Can’t we do something about this?” Jon said to Cam.

“
We’re working on it. But how do you deal with rumors and innuendo? Walt Brice is meeting us at police headquarters. We’re going to try to sort this out.”

“
And we want you to go with us,” Melanie said. “You saw that coffee cup. You saw me pick it up. And you know I did not bring it into the house.”

Attorney Walter Brice was waiting for us at the Police Department Headquarters on Bess Street. Then we were ushered into Lieutenant Sol Edmunds’s office. He greeted us formally and did not offer his hand. Today, he was all business.

“
Miss Wilkes, we’ve got a serious problem here. We’ve got the coffee cup that contained drugged coffee. And your fingerprints are on the cup.”

Walt leaned back in his chair and tented his fingertips thoughtfully. “Tell me, Sol, how do you know the senator drank from that cup? How do you know he did not simply swallow a few pills on his own?”

The Lieutenant grimaced. “Technology, Walt. Traces of saliva on the cup’s rim match the senator’s DNA. The autopsy showed the ingested coffee with grains of oxy. And a bit of coffee in the bottom of the cup showed the same.

“
Since this is a state senator’s death, we asked the state bureau for help. They sped up testing in their labs.”

“
Are the senator’s prints on the cup? What about the person at Starbucks who served the coffee? Any other prints?” Walt asked.

“
No other prints,” Edmunds said.

“
What?” Walt roared.

Melanie, Cam and I were an enthralled audience to this exchange.

Lieutenant Edmunds clasped his hands on his desk top and leaned forward toward Melanie. “Miss Wilkes, we’ve spoken to Jack McAllister. He has an alibi for the time of death. He was just leaving Charlotte at 10:30 on the morning of December 1st. His cell phone’s GPS and his car’s GPS confirm his statement.”

Melanie simply stared at him, seemingly flummoxed at all that was happening. Was she going to be charged with murder?

“
Where were you at 10:30 on December 1st?”

Melanie frowned but did not answer.

“
Melanie, you need to answer him,” Walt advised.

“
Oh, all right. It’s true that I met Senator Henry there at the house at nine. But we left the house at about 9:30. He couldn’t afford it. Why he wasted my time, I don’t know. And I remember locking the house as we left. But later when I showed the house to Jack and my sister, one of the sliding glass doors was unlocked.

“
I think the senator was meeting someone there. I think he used me to get into the house and to have a private place to meet someone secretly.”

I jumped in. “I saw a black pickup truck parked in a neighbor’s driveway. The senator’s foreman Dewey Carter drives a truck just like it. Maybe he’s the one who was meeting Senator Henry at Bradley Creek.”

The Lieutenant said, “I’ll look into it. But if they work together at Henry’s property, why would they need to meet clandestinely at Bradley Creek?”

I was frustrated. Did I have to do all the thinking? “I don’t know. Maybe they were working on something else. And they didn’t want to be seen together. All I know is there was a truck nearby that day that looked like Carter’s.”

Edmunds made a note.

I went on, “And I overheard a quarrel between the senator and Wren Redfield. A violent quarrel. They almost came to blows.”

“
When was this?”

“
On Saturday evening, at Melanie’s flotilla party.”

The Lieutenant got a thoughtful look on his face. “But Redfield died that night. Are you suggesting he came back from the dead to kill off the senator?”

“
Sol,” Walt said warningly.

“
Sarcasm isn’t necessary,” Cam interjected.

Now I was mad. “Of course I’m not suggesting that. I’m simply pointing out that Senator Henry had enemies. So while you are focusing on my sister, you are not focusing on his enemies.”

“
I’m looking at all the possibilities.”

He directed his attention back to Melanie. “You still haven’t answered my question, Miss Wilkes. Where were you at 10:30 that morning?”

“
Well, I don’t want this to get out. It’s something I don’t talk about. Everyone thinks I have such beautiful skin – you know, naturally.”

Walt and Edmunds just stared at her. What was she talking about?

“
If you insist on knowing, I was at my dermatologist’s, having a chemical peel. My little secret.” She twisted her mouth.

The lieutenant sat back, silenced. “I suppose you can prove that.”

“
Of course,” Melanie replied.

He gave a little smile, and looked like he was about to shake his head and mutter: Women!

Then he said, “Jack McAllister also reports that you saw the coffee cup, was angry that the cleaning service had left it behind, and picked it up to throw it in the trash basket.”

“
I was there,” I exclaimed. “I saw that happen too. Melanie did not bring that coffee cup into the house. And if you presume she brought it there earlier, and filled it with poison to kill Senator Henry – a ridiculous notion – why would she leave it there to be discovered?”

The lieutenant smiled patiently. “That is what I am getting at. There was only one set of fingerprints on that cup. Yours, Miss Wilkes. When there should have been at least three: yours, the senator’s, and the employee at Starbucks who poured the coffee.

“
That is why I say, Miss Wilkes, we have got a problem. Who is trying to set you up? Help me figure that out and we’ve got our killer.”

Jon insisted we needed a break from the stress of the murder and mayhem that had infiltrated our lives once again. We tucked the babies into their stroller and wheeled them up Third to Market Street and the Burgwin-Wright house.

“
This is a wonderful idea,” I told Jon as we got in line to tour the house. I gave him a little hug. “You’re so smart. You know what I need before I do.”

The two-story white frame house with double porches was decorated in the holiday spirit of 1770. When our turn came, we lifted the stroller and carried the babies up onto the front porch. Of course, they caused quite a stir, garnering as many accolades as the house itself.

The Burgwin-Wright house was built in 1770 by John Burgwin, at one time treasurer for the colony of Carolina, upon the site of the old town jail. A tunnel led from the jail to the riverfront and was the source of many myths. One such legend was that when Lord Cornwallis departed Wilmington for Virginia, he left patriots behind, locked in the dungeon beneath the house. The story goes that those men were able to escape starvation and death by making their way through the tunnel to the riverfront.