Murder on the Cape Fear Read Online Free

the police must be seeing it,” I said. “They are not permitting any of her investors to leave town until they’ve undergone a thorough background check, are investigated and cleared. In these days of phony IDs, the murderer could simply vanish. Why, just the other day one of the magistrates was telling me how complicated his job has become because of the proliferation of bogus ID cards that cannot be validated.”
    We strolled along in the shade of two enormous and ancient hemlock trees. With the purchase and demolition of the firehouse on Fourth and Dock streets, and the construction of Perry Hall on that site, St. James Parish now occupied an entire city block, from Third to Fourth streets, and Market to Dock.
    “ How does that involve Melanie?” Jon asked.
    “ She rented out Riverwalk Inn for her guests for the weekend only. Now those clients have nowhere to stay and they are insisting that Melanie find lodging for them and even pay for it.”
    “ But aren’t they rich?” Jon asked, opening the door to the fellowship hall for me. “Can’t they pay for their own rooms?”
    “ She says they are loaded. Otherwise, they would not have been invited. But how do you think rich people stay rich? By holding onto their money and spending yours, that’s how.”
    “ I suppose they do have a point. It isn’t their fault that they can’t leave. They came to Wilmington at Melanie’s invitation and she stands to make a tidy sum in commissions when they buy.”
    “ Unless one of them is the murderer,” I said.
    All talk of murder ceased as we got caught up in a discussion of the Millennium Development Goals, a movement to eradicate global poverty and hunger. But I did get some curious stares from the parishioners. I have a reputation for discovering bodies. A reporter for the Wilmington Star-News refers to me in print as The Magnet for Murder.
    “ Aunt Ruby and Binkie have to go to police headquarters today to examine the contents of the briefcase,” I told Jon as we approached his Escalade. “This is all too stressful for people their age and I worry about their health.”
    Jon held the door for me. “We’ll be sure to keep a close watch on them. Why don’t we take them out to dinner tonight, then we can sit out back in your garden and have a nightcap.”
    Jon always says the right thing. Lord, I love this man, I told myself again.
    He drove to my house on Nun Street. I adore my street and my house. The street is shaded by towering old oaks and magnolias. My house was built during the reign of Queen Victoria when houses were designed in a hodge-podge of styles. Basically it is Queen Anne in style but with a square cupola and Roman arches above the windows which are influences from the Italian architect Palladio. I had it painted a soft blue gray with white sashes and red trim. Jon had helped me to restore it two years ago in time for the Candlelight tour. That was when we’d started working together, and the joint effort plus our commitment to authentic restoration had solidified the bonds of our friendship
    My house has a plaque that identifies it as the Reverend Israel Barton House. The house had been built for the Quaker minister in 1860 and quickly became a station on the Underground Railroad. He’d had a secret room installed which he had utilized to shelter runaway slaves. Many good people had lived in my house, although for a time it had been misused as a brothel. Every old house has a secret, I believe. Mine had many secrets, and I seriously doubted that I had discovered them all.
    “ How about we change our clothes, grab a sandwich, and head over to Captain Pettigrew’s house,” Jon suggested.
    “ I’d like that scenario a whole lot better if you included snuggle time,” I said and kissed his cheek
    He slipped an arm around my waist as I unlocked the front door. “This is one man who has his priorities straight. Let me help you out of your dress and we’ll lie down for a while before lunch. You