Murder at the Holiday Flotilla (15 page)

Melanie and I exchanged an alarmed look but tried to keep our expressions neutral.

“
How interesting,” I said. “Does Regina know?” I spotted Regina chatting with some well-wishers.

Amy shook her head negatively. “I don’t know. But she will soon.”

Melanie was dragging me away. “You’ll have to come to my Christmas party, Amy. I’ll call you.”

Up in the loft we stood at the railing and gazed down into Regina’s large living room. An expanse of windows looked out over the harbor where a stiff wind ruffled the water. Across the bay the Old Baldy lighthouse poked up into the sky.

In hushed tones I recounted the quarrel I’d overhead between Wren Redfield and Senator Buddy Henry on the night of Melanie’s flotilla party. “Regina is lying. Buddy Henry told Wren very firmly that he was not going to introduce a bill for him. At the time I had no idea what they were talking about. But now we know Wren wanted him to sponsor a bill that would allow live casino gambling. Henry was adamant. He told Wren his constituents would kick him out of office. And you know with the ban on video sweepstakes passing the General Assembly and some people feeling strongly that even Lotto is a sin, Henry was right. He would have been kicked out. So why is Regina telling this story?”

“
To make people think that she and Henry were friends? I’ll tell you something, Ashley, you know Regina’s perfect little nose? Well, she had a nose job in the spring. And dollars to donuts she got a prescription for oxy.”

“
Where’s her bathroom? Let’s take a look.”

Melanie beamed. “How’d I get so lucky to have a sister like you? Come on, I know just where the master suite is located.”

After confirming that Regina was not looking our way, we moved from the railing toward a hallway that ran to the front of the house. I rushed down the hall. “Slow down,” Melanie hissed. “You look suspicious.”

“
No I don’t,” I argued. “I look like I have an urgent need for a powder room.”

Melanie opened the door to a spacious bedroom that was done up in pale blue and white. An open door led into the bathroom. We hurried inside.

“
Lock the door,” I whispered. Melanie did.

Then I turned on the sink faucet. “This is no time to wash your hands,” Melanie complained.

I gave her an exasperated look. “If Regina comes into the bedroom, she’ll think someone is really using the bathroom. Not searching it.”

Already Melanie was opening cabinet doors. “There!” she cried. She had opened a shallow wall cabinet and right on the middle shelf was a prescription bottle. The prescription was made out to Regina Redfield for OxyContin. Melanie stretched out her hand to pick up the bottle.

“
Wait!” I hissed. I unrolled some toilet paper and handed her a tissue. “Use that.”

Lifting the bottle out with the tissue, she shook it. “Empty.” She dropped it into her purse.

We almost scurried down the stairs in our haste to leave. Passing Regina with some guests, Melanie blew her a kiss. “Bye, sugar. Now you take me up on my offer to help you with the NCAR, ya hear.”

“
Your house is gorgeous,” I called over my shoulder.

Then we beat a hasty retreat to Melanie’s Cadillac. As we drove out, I looked back to see Regina standing inside the glass storm door, a puzzled expression on her face.

15

The week flew by. Melanie and I took Regina’s empty prescription bottle for oxycodone and our suspicions to Lieutenant Edmunds. Technically, it was Walt Brice who handed over the bottle, saying it had found its way into his possession but that attorney-client privilege prevented him from naming the source. A shallow lie that anyone could see through. Particularly as Melanie and I were present – a coincidence, professed Walt, as I was there to tell the Lieutenant the details of the quarrel I’d overheard between the two deceased men. One dying suspiciously of an oxy overdose, the other where oxy was a contributing factor to the fall.

The Lieutenant kept his own counsel, merely telling us he would look into the matter. I felt sure he was going to look closely at Regina Redfield who had everything to gain by the death of her husband and the senator.

From her husband she would inherit the Redfield marina, the lands, and his wealth. With Senator Henry out of the way, she could use the NCAR presidency she had stolen from Melanie to find a sponsor for her bill, and would not have the powerful and influential Buddy Henry opposing her in the General Assembly.

In my book she was guilty. But the police do not confide in me about how they conduct their cases. From the grapevine I learned that no one had seen Regina since the afternoon of Wren’s funeral reception. Melanie had tried calling her and left messages. Regina never did return her calls or respond to her offer of help in preparing for the presidency position. But let’s face it, perhaps even Regina did not have that much gall.

Melanie was in a dither about her Christmas party plans for Saturday evening. Two hundred guests had been invited, and Melanie’s good friend from high school, Elaine McDuff, was available to cater the party.

“
You know, Mel, as soon as the police charge Regina with murder, the nominating committee will be groveling at your feet for you to come back and save them.”

“
I’ve thought the same thing,” Melanie confessed. “I sure wish the police would hurry up with their investigation. Wonder if they checked her alibi for the morning the senator was murdered.”

We were talking on the phone as we did each day. The restoration business is slow around the holidays as is the real estate business. Jon and I were enjoying a lot of fun family time watching the boys grow. When he had a free moment, Jon worked on the computer program that was converting his photos of Amy Wood’s house into precise architectural drawings. Once the holidays were over, we’d resume work with her on our ancestors’ house.

My phone line clicked. “I’ve got another call. Hold on, Mel.”

The caller was Walt Brice. “Ashley, turn on your TV. The police chief is holding a press conference about Buddy Henry’s homicide. I’ll call Melanie.”

“
She’s on the phone with me now. I’ll tell her.” I clicked back to Mel and repeated Walt’s message. Then I headed for the library and the TV there, alerting Jon on the way.

The chief was standing behind a clutch of microphones outside headquarters. On the scene local news reporters stretched out their mikes toward him too.

Unfortunately we had missed his opening statements but were tuned in to the question and answer period. One reporter asked, “Sir, you said there was a warrant out for Regina Redfield. Does that mean you are charging her with murder?”

The chief was very much in charge and handled the media skillfully. “We are not charging Mrs. Redfield at this time. She is merely wanted for questioning.”

“
Would you call her a ‘person of interest’ in your investigation?” another reporter shouted.

“
That would be fair to say.”

“
What makes her a person of interest, Chief?”

“
Forensic evidence. That’s all I can say except that it’s very important that we find Mrs. Redfield and talk to her.”

“
Find her? What are you saying, Chief? Is Mrs. Redfield missing?”

“
We haven’t been able to locate her. Her staff and colleagues do not know where she is.” He lifted his chin higher and looked directly into the cameras. “So if anyone has information about the whereabouts of Regina Redfield, please call the number that appears on your screen.”

And a telephone number crawled across the bottom of the TV screen.

Jon came in and moved up close behind me, viewing the screen over my shoulder. “What’s happening?”

“
They’re looking for Regina Redfield. She’s missing.”

A reporter called out, “Does this mean that Melanie Wilkes is no longer a suspect in the senator’s death?”

The Chief said, “Ms. Wilkes has a verified alibi for the time of the senator’s death. She is not now, nor has she ever been, a suspect.”

I was holding the phone to my ear, still on the line with Melanie. “Did you hear that, Mel? You’re in the clear.”

Over the phone she let out a whoop of joy. Then I heard Cam say something to her. “Ashley, call me later. We’ve got a little celebrating to do here.”

I laughed. “Sure, sis. Later.” And I clicked off. I felt like doing a little celebrating of my own. And Jon is always up for celebrating.

On Saturday morning, our clan piled into our vehicles and headed out to the airport to pick up Scarlett and Ray. What a merry bunch we were, hugging and kissing, and loading our cars with their luggage. We drove them out to Wrightsville Beach to their beach cottage Bella Aqua. Aunt Ruby and Binkie were going to stay with them at Wrightsville through the holidays. On Monday morning, Cam and Jon were taking Ray on an excursion down College Road to buy a car that he’d leave in the garage under their house. Until then, we were happy to chauffeur them around.

By six o’clock that night, Regina had still not surfaced, and the news media was all atwitter. Her car was not missing but parked at her home, one resourceful journalist had determined. Had she taken a cab to the airport, he wondered aloud on a local news show. A spokesperson for Wilmington PD confirmed that the investigators had checked airline records and no one named Regina Redfield had departed Wilmington by air transit.

But something very interesting had turned up at the airport, specifically in the long-term parking lot. Buddy Henry’s Ford Explorer!

“
That clears up a mystery for me and it should clear it up for the police as well,” I told Jon when the news show broke for commercials. “And that is, how did Buddy Henry get to the house at Bradley Creek. There was a black pickup truck in a neighbor’s driveway and I suspected Dewey Carter drove the senator out there. But why?”

“
Yes,” Jon said. “Why there? Henry and Carter could have met anywhere in Brunswick County. Why would they have to sneak around at Melanie’s listing house? I never did like that theory of the crime.”

“
It was a weak theory. My money is on Regina Redfield. She had some kind of hold over the senator. She lured him into the house.”

“
But only Henry could have unlatched the sliding glass door,” Jon pointed out. He wagged his eyebrows. “So perhaps he was the one doing the luring.”

“
But Wren had just died,” I reasoned.

“
OK, so maybe the motivation wasn’t sex. Maybe it was money.”

“
Here’s something else, too, Jon. Wren Redfield fell or was pushed down the stairs. And remember at the Airlie light show, Melanie was sure someone had pushed her from behind, pushed her toward the lagoon. Maybe Regina Redfield was trying to get Melanie out of the picture as early as that. If Melanie had a serious ‘accident’ and was injured, she would be unable to assume the NCAR presidency.”

“
Good point. That’s some . . .”

The journalist returned to the screen to say that sources had revealed Wren Redfield was addicted to oxycodone. A couple of years earlier, Redfield had been involved in a head-on collision with a telephone pole outside of Southport. Redfield had been drinking and driving too fast. He had sustained head injuries which caused severe headaches. The source, an unnamed associate of Redfield’s, reported that Redfield had become dependent on oxycodone. When he could no longer obtain a prescription for the meds, he bought them from black market dealers.

“
I wonder if Regina was sharing,” I mused. “That would explain why her prescription bottle was empty.”

“
Or maybe it was empty because she used her pills to spike Senator Henry’s coffee.” Jon snapped off the evening news. “OK, enough about the Redfields and our current crime wave for one night. I want to see you in that new strapless evening gown.” He nuzzled my neck and caressed me in intimate places. “I’ve gotta tell you, babe, you can sure fill out a strapless gown. I’ll be the envy of every man at that party.”

“
Then unhand me, Sir, and I’ll go get dressed. I think I have time for a bubble bath if our little darlings continue their nap.”

Jon grinned wickedly. “Let me help.”

The field beyond Melanie and Cam’s home was crowded with cars and again Melanie had a valet parking the guests’ vehicles. From the house came the voices of a chorus singing popular Christmas tunes. Melanie’s Cadillac was parked in the circular drive and we had been saved a spot right behind it outside the front doors. Again Cam was watching for us and emerged to help Jon unload the babies and their paraphernalia. But first he kissed me. “Merry Christmas, Ashley.” And gave Jon a big hug. “You guys look great. The nursery is all set up and ready for these little buggers. And this time, Melanie’s got a professional nanny up there. Here, let me get that for you, Jon.”

The men and the babies led the way and I followed into the lodge that looked so much like Biltmore at Christmas. There were green swags and garlands and gilded Christmas trees that reached the high ceiling. Lights glittered everywhere. It was like a fairyland.

A maid took my wrap as Melanie rushed out to greet me. She was flushed with happiness and looked beautiful in a sparkling white evening gown. My gown was red. We posed for the photographer Wrightsville Beach Magazine had sent to cover the party. Then she steered me off to the side and just about gushed, “Oh, shug, there’re all here. The entire nominating committee. Perhaps ‘groveling’ is not the right word, but they surely do want me back. The chairman said she never stopped believing in me and knew that the allegations were nothing more than media hype, but she had no choice. She was forced by NCAR’s high standards for their officers and just had to replace me. Now the spotlight is on Regina and it is not a flattering spotlight at all. Everyone is expecting her to be charged with murder. You heard the Chief say they had forensic evidence connecting her to Senator Henry’s death.”