Murder on the Cape Fear (8 page)

“
Laura and her father are Captain Pettigrew’s only living relatives. And her father has been in poor health for several years, ever since that hit and run accident.”

“
Oh, I remember that,” Binkie exclaimed. “It happened right out there on Third as he was crossing the street. Traffic moves much too fast on that street. And the driver didn’t stop and was never traced.”

“
Laura’s father had been living in the Captain’s house until the accident. Then he just couldn’t manage in that large house alone. And Laura was in medical school at the time. Now he lives here in the historic district in a small apartment in a private residence. He’s in a wheel chair and has to have nurses. He is why Laura became a surgeon, so she could help injured victims like her father. She has finished her surgical residency at New York University Hospital, and she’s moving here to live in the Captain’s house. She’s engaged to a local man and she’s already been asked to join a local surgical practice. Her father will move into the Captain’s house with her after we’ve remodeled it. Jon and I are outfitting the first floor to meet the needs of a handicapped person.”

“
Tell me again how that lineage goes, Ashley,” Aunt Ruby requested.

“
Captain Pettigrew never married, so he had no direct descendants. He disappeared at the end of the Civil War and his family never knew what happened to him. They believed he went down with his ship because his ship was never heard of again either. Those last days of the war were chaotic.”

“
Laura Gaston is descended from the Captain’s younger sister Lacey,” Binkie said. “I’ve ascertained her genealogy. Lacey Pettigrew married Andrew Gaston, a young man she met after the war. Together they produced two sons: one died in childhood, the other grew to manhood, married and had a family.”

I jumped in. “And sadly most of that family was wiped out during the great influenza pandemic of 1918. Few survived, until today Laura and her father are the last of that line. With his poor health he has transferred his interest in the house to Laura.”

“
Why, I declare,” Aunt Ruby said, “it is amazing that the family managed to hold on to that house.”

“
For that we can thank Lacey Pettigrew. She had the foresight to set up a trust fund with the money Thomas had earned and saved and entrusted to his mother. The trust fund paid for the upkeep of the house and the taxes. She was determined that it remain in the family and as you can imagine that was difficult during Reconstruction. She herself lived in the house until she died, long after Andrew Gaston had passed on and her only surviving son had gone out into the world. Trustees have administered the trust ever since. The trust was almost broke until Laura’s fiancé stepped in and provided the funds to pay last year’s taxes. Vandals had been breaking into the house and the city was about to condemn the property. Laura persuaded them she would repair and restore the house, and she borrowed money based on her future earnings to do so.”

“
Amazing story,” Aunt Ruby said. “Just shows how determined folks can be to hold on to their heritage.”

“
I can’t wait to see how wonderful you make that house, Ashley,” Binkie said. “You and Jon perform miracles. It will be the showplace of the community if I know anything.”

“
Thanks,” I said. “You are both dears and I love you to death. Thanks for lunch and now I’ve got to run along home to check on my house and see if it is still standing or if that dreadful Patsy Pogue has had the house movers come and carry it off to Charlotte, another one of her ‘pickins.”

I walked south to the corner of Nun Street, then turned east toward Third. On the corner of Second and Nun stood the stately Verandas with its tiers of porches, front and back, one of two B&Bs in Wilmington to be chosen by Select Registry. Historically it had been Captain Benjamin Beery’s house. Captain Beery had been a ship builder during the Civil War and had constructed a monitor atop the house from which lookout he spied for Yankee ironclads on the Cape Fear River.

Most times my street is peaceful. The houses have front porches with rocking chairs and wicker furniture and there are flowers blooming profusely in pots and around the steps. A tranquil, shady street that exudes peacefulness.

Like my neighbors, I too had a porch that overlooked the street. And my porch was where the firemen had gathered. I ran the rest of the way to my steps and mounted them in a rush, shouting, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

A pall of greasy smoke hung in the air. “This is my house,” I told the firemen. “Where’s the fire?”

“
Everything’s under control, ma’am,” one fireman told me. “Just a little kitchen fire.”

“
Kitchen fire!” I screamed.

A defiant Patsy stood in the doorway. “If’n you had a decent cast iron skillet like every other good Southern woman, this wouldn’t have happened. But no, y’all got them fancy Cuisinart pans. And they can’t take the heat. I was heatin’ up lard for my fried chicken and just popped into the parlor for a quick peek at Jimmy’s latest find when the dang pan started burnin’.”

The fireman who had helped rescue Jon and who had attended Binkie’s book signing chimed in, “Good thing you’ve got smoke detectors all over the house because they went off and your neighbor called in the fire.”

A fire in the kitchen! Smoke all through the house! And what was that about a “find” in the parlor?

I pushed past Patsy to see the damage. If my hands could have fit around her neck, I would have wrung it.

The first thing I saw through the drifting greasy smoke was that my authentically restored parlor was cluttered with junk. I have decorated my house meticulously with inherited antiques, fine selections from the Castle Street antique district, and with choice items from The Ivy Cottage. My sweet little Victorian ladies’ chairs and swooning sofa were almost obliterated, piled high with junk: picture frames without pictures or with cracked glass, chipped vases and crockery, and items I couldn’t even identify.

The middle of the room was heaped with furniture: a table missing a leg laying on its side, a corner cabinet with broken doors, and a console table with a hole where the drawer should have been. All of it incredibly dirty, and no drop cloth spread under the junk to protect my oriental rugs. I remembered a story I had heard about one of those hoarders . The woman dragged a rug inside her house only to discover it was full of fleas.

My hands balled up into fists and I started to shake. Filled with mounting rage, I made my way into the kitchen. My camel and green antique gas stove that I’d had refitted so I could cook on it was black with soot. My Cuisinart frying pan was nowhere to be seen, but the kitchen sink was stopped up, filled with greasy water, and the cabinet above the sink was charred.

“
Never try to put out a grease fire by pouring water on it,” the fireman behind me said. “Just makes it worse. The fire flamed up and scorched your cabinet. We carried the flaming pan outside and poured sand in it.”

I gave him a look like he was crazy. I hadn’t done this. Why was he lecturing me? I had bought the pans because I was hoping to prepare meals for Jon and me. But now, seeing this kitchen disaster, I reaffirmed my commitment to restaurants and take-out food. Both were solidly back in my life from this day forward. No home cooking for me.

I hurried past the fireman and out into the hall, cursing her name. “Patsy! Patsy!” I was going to throw her out on her huge rump and her skinny-assed husband on his too. But Patsy was nowhere to be found. And their pickup truck that had been parked in front of my neighbor’s house was gone as well.

The firemen were leaving. “Keep the doors and windows open and let this place air out,” one advised.

Instantly my temper flared again and I was about to say something rash when I realized none of this was his fault. The firemen had just tried to help.

“
Thank you for coming,” I said. “I’ll let it air out.”

I sank down into the swing on my front porch and watched them drive away. I even managed a grateful wave. Then I got out my cell phone and dialed Melanie. This was all her fault.

“
You’ve got to get that woman out of here,” I screamed when Melanie answered the phone. “She practically burned down my house.”

“
Ashley, don’t get your knickers in a knot. I just got off the phone with Patsy. She told me there had been a little accident and that you had over-reacted and I can hear in your voice that you have.”

“
Over-reacted? Melanie! She almost burned my house down! There is greasy smoke everywhere and my cabinets are scorched, my sink is ruined.”

“
Your sink? I thought the fire was in a skillet.”

“
Oh, forget it. Just get that woman out of here.”

“
You’ve got to stop carrying on like a drama queen, Ashley. You are being much too theatrical. Now listen, I was just about to call you. The Verandas had a cancellation for tomorrow so Patsy and Jimmy will be out of your house tomorrow afternoon.”

“
No, Melanie, today! Right away! Right now! I am going up to my room and I’m tossing all of their stuff down the stairs and out into the street. That is how much I despise those people.”

“
Oh, Ashley, you do make such a fuss over everything. I have nowhere to put them. It won’t kill you to wait one more day.”

“
What is the hold up, Melanie? Why won’t the police let them go back to Charlotte?”

“
Oh some silly mix up over Jimmy’s identity. He was a victim of identity theft last year and it still has not been sorted out. And with all the national attention to the stabbing in the bookstore, the police are being very, very careful. Dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s.

“
Now listen, shug, just one more night and I’ll owe you big time. Patsy says Jimmy will clean up your house like new. And she’s having Cam and me over there tomorrow night for dinner so I’ll check on everything myself. Plus, she says she’s found the perfect house downtown and she is ready to make an offer.”

“
Oh right!” I said sarcastically. “She is delusional and so are you. She says she’s buying Captain Pettigrew’s house and for the last time, that house is not for sale!”

“
Now don’t go making decisions for your client, Ashley. I think Laura Gaston will come around when she hears the dollars Patsy is prepared to offer.”

I groaned. She was a velvet steam roller. And could she be right? Might Laura Gaston sell it if the dollars were high enough? Might I find myself restoring the house for Patsy and Jimmy Pogue? If that were to happen, I think I would seriously contemplate throwing myself into the Cape Fear River - with a pair of cement Pradas on my feet!

“
Look, shug, I’ve got another call I’ve got to take. I’ll see you tomorrow night at your house. That Patsy is a fabulous cook. Her food will melt in your mouth. Bring Jon!”

And she was gone and I didn’t even get a chance to tell her about how my parlor was being used as a warehouse for “pickins.”

9

“
I’d like to know,” Patsy was saying to Cam Jordan, “why you are makin’ a TV series from the books of an unknown mystery writer just because she writes about Wilmington when you could be makin’ a series out of my books? Has nobody clued you in? I am the biggest mystery writer in North Carolina, and that other writer - well, heck, nobody never heard tell of her.”

“
Actually,” Cam replied mildly, “I believe Kathy Reichs is the top-selling mystery writer in the state. But one of the cable networks beat me to her.”

“
Well then, you are lucky I am still available,” Patsy crowed.

Melanie and I exchanged worried glances.

Patsy went on, “I’ve got name recognition. Instant name recognition isn’t that what sells in the entertainment industry?”

Poor Cam, he looked as brow beaten as Jimmy. Patsy had been haranguing Cam for at least an hour, ever since he arrived at my house. The fabulous dinner she had promised us was growing cold and dry in what used to be my kitchen, before it had been taken over by the Pogues.

Cameron Jordan was Melanie’s fiancé. And she was fortunate to have him. After the bad boys she had been involved with, Cam Jordan was a regular prince of a guy. He was a very successful movie and television producer with his own studio here in Wilmington. And in the film business, Wilmington was the Hollywood of the East Coast.

Yet Cam was not at all egotistical or full of himself like many successful men. Instead, he came across as everyone’s favorite big brother, modest but with a shy charm. Tall and lanky and maybe just a little bit clumsy, he had tousled sandy hair that he struggled to keep neat. He absolutely worshipped Melanie and treated her as if she had hung the moon.

He’d been giving her adoring looks ever since he arrived. We were all dressed in shorts, even Patsy which was a sight to behold, but Melanie always manages to look better than any other woman. She was stunning in simple white shorts and a green camisole. I had not had time to change, was still in my khaki’s and tee shirt, an outfit Melanie calls my “construction work chic.”

Cam seemed to have recovered fully from Saturday’s diving accident. Since Melanie hadn’t mentioned it to me, I doubted he had told her yet - probably waiting for just the right moment. She had been tied up with her investors, and Cam was extremely busy with the filming of a pilot for the mystery series Patsy was knocking.