Murder at the Holiday Flotilla (9 page)

Turning north, I called, “Isn’t that your house I see in the distance?” There was the red tile roof of Melanie’s lodge peeking out of the tree tops.

“
It is. We’ll be neighbors, Jack.”

Jack joined me at the end of the pier and we turned back to admire his maybe future house. “What’s your opinion, Ashley?” he asked. “Is this worth six mil of my hard earned money?”

“
I think it’s magnificent. And I’d say that even if Melanie were not the listing agent. There’s not enough money in the world to buy this view. It’s priceless.”

As his eyes roved over the impressive structure, Melanie recited some facts.

“
Eighty-five hundred square feet, Jack,” she said. “Three levels. A four-car garage on the lower level. Double decks on two sides. Twenty foot ceilings on the upper level.”

She placed a hand on his arm and leaned into him. “And wait until you see the view of the water from that observatory.” With her other hand, she pointed to a glass cupola that topped the roof like a glittering crown.

“
I’ve got to admit, it’s some house, Melanie. And we’ve been looking for the right house for . . . how long now?”

“
Almost a year, Jack,” she said pleasantly, as if she had all the time in the world for this hard-to-please man to make a decision.

He continued along his train of thought. “Now as I explained to you yesterday on the phone, with the depreciation in property values, six mil is just too much for any house. Unless it’s the Taj Mahal.”

Melanie turned to him and chuckled. “Who wants to live in India, Jack? While the Carolina coast is the perfect location. And you know what they say about real estate . . .”

“
Location, location, location,” he sang with a grin.

“
Look, Jack, you’re a practical business man. So am I . . .”

Jack gave her a once over. “Nobody would ever confuse you for a man, Melanie.”

I smiled to myself. Okay, Melanie, I thought, enough of this flirtatious banter. If you want to sell this house, you’d better get serious and stop the flirting.

She must have read my mind because she said, “Jack, listen to me, once this recession is over – and it will end – inflation is going to kick in and this place will be selling for twelve mil, not six. And in about two years, a tidal wave of baby boomers is going to hit this coast like a tsunami, and the cost of nice houses is going to go through the roof. You mark my words. I attend the conferences, the workshops, where economic forecasts are laid out for us by the experts. You’re one yourself. You know I’m on target here.”

Jack folded his arms over his chest. His chin tipped perceptibly. “Yeah, you’ve got something there. Well, okay, what are we waiting for? Show me around inside.”

9

We strolled off the boat dock and up the paved path that was bordered with tall, willowy sea grass swaying in the soft breeze.

“
Two acres,” Melanie told him. “The nearest neighbor,” and she pointed to a closed-up looking house a distance away where a black pick-up truck was parked in the driveway, “lives up in New England someplace and doesn’t get down here much. The perfect neighbor.” She smiled sweetly at him and he returned the smile, his eyes conveying all sorts of admiration and invitations.

Mind your own business, Wilkes, I told myself.

The circular driveway was nicely landscaped and we trotted across it to mount a set of shallow flagstone steps that led to a broad sheltered front porch.

A large green Christmas wreath hung on the oversized, elaborately paneled front door. Melanie inserted a key in the lock and the front door swung inward.

“
Now, isn’t this a breathtaking entrance?” she asked.

I couldn’t agree more. A grand staircase curved upward, following the contour of a bowed, windowed wall that overlooked the driveway.

“
Look at that,” I said, indicating a cat walk on the second floor that curved around in front of the upper windows.

Jack was silent, gazing, considering. He didn’t have to speak. I could tell from his expression that he was as smitten with Melanie’s house as he was with Melanie.

“
Come on, wait till you see this,” Melanie invited. Jack and I followed her lead, and strolled down a hallway that looped around to an immense open area. “Look at this, Jack. Some party room, huh? Kitchenette, lots of room for entertaining. Sliding glass doors all around.”

She went to unlatch one of the doors, fumbled with it, looked puzzled, then slid the door open easily. We stepped out into the sunny November air. “The wood decking is specially treated so that it never gets hot under your bare feet in summer.”

“
Nice pool,” Jack said, admiring the dazzling blue water of the kidney-shaped swimming pool that was surrounded by decking. “And what’s that body of water over there?”

“
A salt water stream,” Melanie responded. “Your very own. On your very own property.” She beamed at him like he was just too smart for words.

I trailed along behind them toward the Waterway side, as Melanie said, “You’ve got views in three directions.”

To myself I thought, if the views of the incredibly breathtaking Intracoastal Waterway did not close this deal for her, short of sleeping with him, I didn’t know what else she could do. This land was a little piece of heaven on earth.

“
Man, there’s nothing like the sight of water stretching in all directions to bring down the old blood pressure.” Jack had mellowed out.

“
You’ll live to be a ripe old age out here,” Melanie told him as she stepped back inside the house. Then she showed us the guest bedroom wing: three bedrooms, each with its own private bath and dressing room. “Guest wing, or in-law quarters, kids’ quarters, however you want to use this space.” She winked at him. “Take your pick; you can do a lot of swinging in this house.”

“
How many bathrooms altogether?” he asked, ever the executive.

Melanie considered for a moment. “Too many to count. Let’s just say, you’d better stock up on the toilet paper.” Her laughter was light.

I let my fingers trail over a console table under an ornate gilt-framed mirror that stood on the landing between the first and second floors. For some inexplicable reason the previous owner had left behind a few items of furniture. But I had learned enough about real estate sales from Melanie not to be surprised by the frivolous things her clients did.

“
Naturally, your own furniture will be far superior to this,” Melanie commented. “Shirley has exquisite taste.” Shirley was Jack’s wife whom he often seemed to forget existed.

We took the stairs to the top floor where there was an astonishingly huge great room full of incredible light with an adjoining open kitchen.

“
The ceiling is twenty feet high” Melanie said. “And these are cork floors. This house is environmentally friendly - green. You don’t know how popular that will make you with the right people. Their esteem for you will soar. The built-ins are knotty cypress but the wood is recycled, rescued from an older home that was coming down. The builder of this house is not guilty of destroying the rain forest. Your conscience can rest easy living here.”

Jack leaned his tight buns against the granite-topped island that separated the kitchen from the great room.

“
Now who left that there?” Melanie asked in irritation as she eyed a Starbucks paper coffee cup. “Honestly, you can’t rely on anyone these days. Those sloppy house cleaners.” She walked over to the offending paper cup, grabbed it up, and tossed it into a plastic-lined trash basket.

“
Who was the builder?” Jack asked. “And exactly how old is this house?”

Melanie seemed not to have that information at her fingertips. “Why don’t I fax the pertinent information to your office?” she suggested, and Jack nodded his assent.

“
Did you say this was a foreclosure sale?” he asked.

Good question. So he was seriously interested.

“
No,” Melanie replied. “It’s a trustee sale. A bank in Dallas owns it. The original owner fell into hard times. This is but one of his remaining assets. Man owned property all over. The bank contracted with me to appraise and sell this property. The owner owes just about eight million on it but because of this current market, we’ll let it go for six.”

Jack’s salt and pepper eyebrows shot up on his forehead and I could see dollar signs flashing in his eyes. A deal, he was thinking to himself. Now he was wondering if he could talk her down. Na uh. Melanie had already calculated her commission.

“
Follow me,” she instructed. “You’ve never seen a house with anything like this.”

She led the way up a circular staircase. Surely she knew he was gawking at her legs.

“
Isn’t this something!” she sang out.

“
Oh, wow!” Jack exclaimed.

“
Oh my stars,” I said.

We were in the cupola, glass on all sides, water and small green islands as far as the eye could see. “And there’s the Atlantic.” Melanie pointed to glimpses of the ocean visible beyond the barrier islands.

“
Okay, I’ve gotta admit, Melanie, this house is rare. My wife will love it. My kids will love it. And when we entertain . . . well, we’ll be the envy of everyone we know.”

“
That’s a given, Jack,” she said and gazed at him so adoringly you’d have thought he was buying it for her and she was going to move in here with him.

We descended the stairs and returned to the second floor great room where Melanie contemplated his expression. Was he sold? He seemed to be to me. I scarcely breathed, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

He was grinning from ear to ear as if the word “yes” was about to slip off his tongue.

Melanie looked like she was going to break out in her cheerleader’s twirl, whooping and leaping into the air. But she remained still. “This one is special, Jack. It’ll go fast.”

Always helps to inject a little fear.

Jack nodded slowly. He had met his match. And he was hers.

“
Let’s check out the master suite,” Melanie said, “It’s immense and there’s a hot tub on a private deck off the bedroom. Just think of what that will do for your love life.”

Cater to the old libido. “Then we’ll talk,” she said, but Jack was far away, picturing himself and a couple of topless beauties in that hot tub. Mrs. Jack would put the kibosh on that little fantasy.

Just then Melanie’s blackberry played a merry tune from inside her purse. “I’d better check this,” she told him. “You go on ahead. It’s just around the corner and up a couple of steps.” She pointed and Jack went on ahead.

I stepped over to the window wall while Melanie set her purse on the granite-topped island, digging into it for her link to the internet and the world. “I’ll just check to see who this is,” she told me. “Make sure it isn’t someone I have to take right away.”

She hadn’t even clicked the phone on when we heard Jack bellow from the adjoining wing, “What the hell? Melanie, you’d better get in here!”

She raced up the short flight of steps to the master suite with me at her heels. What could be so urgent, I wondered. A water leak? Damage from vandals? My mind raced.

We found Jack standing in the center of the immense bedroom, jacket parted, fists on hips, glaring his outrage.

The room was devoid of furniture except for the king-size four-poster bed with a floral coverlet that for some reason had been left behind.

A man lay on the bed, flat on his back, fully clothed, toes of black loafers pointing heavenward.

“
Is he asleep?” Melanie cried, alarmed. “And how did he get in here?”

“
Asleep? With his eyes open?” Jack asked, clearly pissed at this turn of events.

I moved toward the bed. Sure enough, Jack was correct. The man’s gray eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses were wide open. But glassy. Staring unseeing at the ceiling.

“
Something’s wrong with him,” I said. “Is he . . .?”

“
Dead?” Jack finished. “I think so. Or close to it.” He narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on Melanie. “You know who this is, don’t you?”

“
I’m afraid I do,” she replied.

“
This is not good,” I said.

“
That’s Buddy Henry,” Jack said. “State senator from Brunswick County. The man’s trouble. Always has been. What the hell’s he doing here?”

Melanie did not reply. I remained mute. But hadn’t she confided on the drive out that she had shown the house earlier to a local wheeler-dealer. That sure described Henry.

Her blackberry was still in her hand. “I’ll call 9-1-1.”

“
Hold on, Mel,” Jack said. “I can’t be here when the cops come. I can’t afford this kind of publicity. Not in my position. The banks are getting enough bad press these days. The media would have a field day if they knew I was here. What would the stock holders say? What would my board of directors say? No way am I getting involved in this . . . whatever happened here.”

We must have looked shocked because he went on, “Now, I’m out of here, girls. I was never here. You got it? You two came alone, checking on your listing or whatever when you found him like this.”

Already Jack was starting for the door. “I like the house. You knock it down to four and a half, and we’ve got a deal. I’ll take it off your hands. But first clear up this mess. And if you breathe a word about me being here, the deal is off.”