Murder at the Holiday Flotilla (6 page)

Mr. Hunk shifted his drink to his left hand and gave Aunt Ruby his right. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Higgins. I’m Wren Redfield. One of Melanie’s realtor friends.”

For someone who had just come out on the short end of the stick in an angry quarrel with a state senator, he had certainly composed himself quickly. He was suave and as Aunt Ruby had predicted exhibited perfect manners.

“
I think I met your wife earlier,” I said. “Regina is your wife, isn’t she?”

“
I am,” Regina said pleasantly, appearing from out of nowhere, then taking possession of Mr. Hunk by linking her arm through his.

“
They’re coming!” someone shouted from outside.

The flotilla was underway. The staging area for fancifully decorated fishing boats and pleasure craft was located nearby at the Bradley Creek Marina, practically at Melanie’s back door.

Along with the other guests, I rushed out to Melanie’s patio. I cast about for Jon, pleased to find he was there and had saved us a chaise lounge under the pergola. Big enough for two. “Hey there, handsome,” I greeted, ruffling his hair. “Let me squeeze in there with you.”

He looked up at me and grinned. “Sorry, Miss, but I’m saving this seat for the mother of my children.”

I squeezed in between his legs and leaned back against his chest. As I rested my arms on his muscular thighs I almost couldn’t blame the sitter for having designs on him. I couldn’t wait to get him home. “Isn’t this cozy. You make a mighty fine cushion, sir.”

The flotilla sailed up the Intracoastal Waterway so close I felt I could reach out and touch the brightly lit ships. “Oh, look, here they come,” I cried.

No matter how often I watch the holiday flotilla, I still get a charge when the first ship comes into view. Everyone was cheering, happy voices rising to greet the Captains and their crews.

A sailboat floated by, its mast decorated as a tall red candle, with the words “Peace on Earth” spelled out in bright green lights on its hull.

There were exclamations of pleasure, oohs and aahs from the guests on the patio and in folding chairs out on the grassy bank. I noticed that strangers had gathered some distance away on the bank overlooking the water. Finding good spots to view the flotilla can become a real challenge. It seemed that people had driven up Melanie’s lane, parked in the grass, and made their way to the water. Well, why not, I wondered. Everyone loves the flotilla.

A large vessel came by showing off Santa and his sleigh and reindeer flying across the mast. All done in colorful electric lights.

There were pirate ships with crew members dressed in pirate garb, a huge inflatable Snoopy, and an entire ship done up like a whale.

But my favorite was a sail boat that was decorated to look like a huge Santa’s head topped with a tall red cap.

When they reached the drawbridge the fleet would sail east through Motts Channel. The judges waited at the reviewing stand at the Blockade Runner’s marina at Wrightsville Beach where the ships would be judged for awards. The entire flotilla would then float the length of Banks Channel to the Coast Guard Station near Masonboro Inlet.

I lost count of the ships that sailed by, most with Christmas music piping out to us. “This is the best flotilla yet,” I told Jon.

“
You say that every year,” he laughed.

“
I mean it every year. It just gets better and better. Oh good, now the fireworks. I don’t know which part I like best.”

Jon kissed the top of my head. “You’re like a kid, Ashley.”

“‘
Tis true. I am.”

I nestled against him and watched the spectacular aerial fireworks display out on the water. There were fireworks shaped like peonies and dahlias and my favorite, the spiders. As they neared the grand finale, I said to Jon, “I hope this noise doesn’t wake the babies. I’m going to run upstairs and check on them. That sitter was kind of flakey.”

“
I’ll do it,” he said, and began to shift me forward so he could get up.

“
No, you stay and be comfy. It’s my turn. Be right back.”

I hurried into the house and down the hallway toward the front and into the formal reception hall. At the grand staircase I grabbed the ornately carved oak newel post and turned to mount the steps. That’s when I saw a man lying on the steps. A thatch of silver hair, jeans, a fisherman’s knit sweater. Wren Redfield. He was lying face down. It looked like he had taken a header down the long staircase.

At the top of the stairs stood our sitter. She appeared distraught, as if she might burst into tears.

My thoughts instantly flew to my children. “Who’s watching my babies?” I demanded.

She stared down at me, gazing over Redfield’s prostrate form. “They’re sound asleep, Mrs. Campbell. They’re fine. He’s . . . I heard shouting and a thud out here in the hall and came to see what happened.”

Directly behind her in the upstairs hallway was a large Palladian window overlooking the Waterway. From outside came the noise of whistles, followed by bangs and crackles. The fireworks show had reached its finale with a shower of chrysanthemums lighting up the night sky.

I scrambled up the half flight of stairs to Redfield’s side. His head was twisted, turned to the side at an odd angle. Had he broken his neck?

“
Is he . . .?” the sitter asked from above.

I felt his neck for a pulse. Moved my fingertips around a bit on his throat. I’m never sure exactly where the pulse should be. But I felt no pulse, not anywhere on his neck. And he did not seem to be breathing. But a trickle of blood had drained from his nose.

I looked up at Angelina, giving her a long, suspicious glare. I did not trust her. My instincts told me she was trouble. And possibly a liar. How had she heard a fall on the stairs with all the noise from the fireworks? Had she been out here at the window watching the display, ignoring my babies?

“
I think he’s dead. Do you have a cell phone? I don’t know where I left my purse.”

6

“
I don’t need this kind of publicity,” Melanie wailed.

On Sunday morning, my family was gathered at my house, poring over the Sunday Star-News. My dining room smelled of fresh coffee and the Krispy Kreme donuts Cam and Melanie had picked up on their drive in from the Waterway. Aunt Ruby was out in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and Binkie was helping her.

Coverage of the holiday flotilla appeared on the front page with a color photo of the parade of ships. But the death of prominent realtor/developer Wren Redfield nominated the news reports. And of course that the accident had occurred at Melanie’s house during her flotilla party had the news media spinning out of orbit.

We skipped to the Local News section where in-depth reporting of the flotilla appeared. The reporters made much of the fact that Melanie was about to be inaugurated as the president of the NCAR at a dinner-dance to be held at the new convention center. As if accidents never happen to people in public positions.

Jon took the international section and sat down at the head of the table. “Oh my gosh,” he uttered.

“
What?” I asked.

“
Han Cheng. Remember Han Cheng?”

“
How could we ever forget that man,” I groaned.

Once upon a time, Han Cheng had been a client of Melanie’s. He and his wife had been trying to buy a local mansion. But the deal fell through when it was discovered that Cheng was trading in ivory, a loathsome act of cruelty to endangered elephants and prohibited by international treaty. As the Fish and Wildlife officers made their way to Wilmington to board Cheng’s yacht, he and the yacht disappeared in the middle of the night like a ghost ship vanishing in the fog.

“
What’s that dreadful man done now?” Melanie asked.

“
It’s not what he’s done but what has been done to him,” Jon replied, an astonished expression on his face. “His yacht was seized by Somali pirates. He and his yacht are being held for ransom. But the Chinese government isn’t cooperating. And no one knows if his shipping company will put up the money. In fact, the Chinese government is threatening to seize his assets.”

Jon shook his head. “Doesn’t look good for old Han.”

“
I have no sympathy for that man,” Melanie declared.

“
Neither do I,” I said.

Cam grinned. “We’ve got some tough women here, Jon.”

“
Can’t say that I’m sympathetic myself,” Jon said. “Man gets what he deserves.”

Cam said, “It always amazes me how the universe renders justice. You think some lowlifes are getting away with their lowlife deeds, then you learn that their histories have caught up with them.”

“
I sure wish the Fish and Wildlife agency would do something about the blood sport of penned fox hunting,” I muttered.

Everyone at the table had heard me venting about that subject for days.

Melanie pushed the State and Local news section away in disgust. Cam picked it up and flipped through the pages idly. “I see the gaming industry is looking for ways to get around the ban on video sweepstakes parlors.”

Our General Assembly had added a ban on video sweepstakes parlors to the ban on video poker games in an attempt to save gambling addicts from their own weaknesses and financial ruin.

“
Just so they don’t take away our lotto tickets,” Cam said with a grin.

Melanie’s cell phone sang to her. She took the call, wandering away from the table. “What?” she exclaimed. “You can’t mean that. How was I supposed to prevent a fall?”

So someone was calling her about the accident. I had been expecting that to happen. Last night after a frantic call to 911 the EMTs arrived. They confirmed that Wren was dead. And that it appeared his neck was broken. The medical examiner had to be sent for, standard procedure in an unexplained death.

Before they arrived, I slipped past Wren’s still form to go upstairs to be with my babies. I knew that once the EMTs arrived, I would be unable to use the stairs. Jon wasn’t able to get by. He and I communicated by cell phone from upstairs to down. The children slept through everything. The sitter had drifted into their room, looking dazed. In spite of everything, I felt sorry for her. She was young. Had probably never seen a dead person before. While I, on the other hand, am notorious for making these discoveries, much to my dismay. I seem always to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She sat down on the bed and began to sob. “He came on to me.”

“
Who?” I cried in alarm. Was this twit about to accuse Jon of sexual harassment?

“
That old man. He has gray hair. And he came on to me!”

“
The dead man? What did he do?” I asked.

“
He came in here and acted all friendly. And me, I like to be nice to everyone. But I sure wasn’t attracted to that old man. He has gray hair!” she repeated as if gray hair meant ninety.

“
What happened?”

“
Well . . .” She buried her face in her hands for a moment, her blonde pony tail falling forward. Then she lifted her gaze to mine. “He kinda cornered me and tried to kiss me.” She made a face of disgust. “He was slobbering all over me. I think he was drunk.”

“
What did you do?” I asked.

She gave me a defiant look. “I yelled at him to leave me alone. I pushed him out the door. Like, it wasn’t hard to do. He was unsteady on his feet. Stumbling around. Then I closed and locked the door. Then in a little while, I heard shouting and like some thumping noises so I looked out. I thought I heard a woman screaming but that might have been like, you know, the fireworks. I . . . well, I’m sorry, Mrs. Campbell, but I remembered there was a big window in the hallway and I wanted a peek at the fireworks. You can’t see them from this room. Just a little peek. I would have listened for your babies.”

“
So you left them?”

She looked down at her hands then shrugged her shoulders. “Just for a second. When I went out in the hall, I saw him there. Lying on the stairs. And then you came.”

“
I understand,” I said. What was the point of arguing? “You shouldn’t have left my children. But what’s done is done.” And you’ll never sit for my children again, I vowed.

“
Tell me, Angelina. Did you see anyone else around?”

She shook her head solemnly. “No one. Not a soul. Everyone was at the fireworks.”

Surely the medical examiner would order an autopsy, I thought. Surely they’d at least check his blood alcohol level.

“
Oh, I could just pull my hair out, I’m so mad,” Melanie cried.

Cam got up from the table and went to her, put his arm around her shoulders and led her back to the table. Aunt Ruby and Binkie came in with platters of eggs and turkey bacon. “Are they tormenting my sweet girl again?” Aunt Ruby asked Melanie.

“
Sit down here, babe,” Cam said and pulled a chair out for her.

“
What’s wrong?” I asked.

“
That was the chairman of the NCAR nominating committee. They have very strict standards for their presidents. Everything has to be kosher. Why they even audited the books at my office for pity sakes. Anyway, according to her, undesirable publicity for the NCAR president reflects badly on the NCAR. Further publicity will not be tolerated. I’ve been warned to keep a very low profile from now on.”