Murder at the Holiday Flotilla by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page A

my time, if you must know. But in my business you see all kinds,” Melanie answered.
    “ And did he leave with you?”
    “ He did. I saw him get into his car and drive away. I stayed behind to lock the front door.”
    “ So the house was secure when you left?” Lieutenant Edmunds asked.
    “ I believed that it was secure, but when I was showing Jack and my sister around, I went to unlatch a sliding glass door only to discover that it was already unlatched.”
    “ And you believe that is how Senator Henry entered the house again.”
    Melanie looked defenseless and I reached out to grasp her hand and comfort her.
    “ I don’t know.”
    Walt said, “Ms. Wilkes wasn’t there when the senator re-entered the house. She doesn’t know how he gained access.”
    “ One final question, Ms. Wilkes. Do you know why Mr. McAllister left the scene before the first responders arrived?”
    Melanie compressed her lips and glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Maybe he had an important meeting.”
    “ Ed, if there is nothing else, I’ve got appointments, and these ladies have obligations as well.”
    Walt stood, terminating the interview. Melanie and I stood up as well.
    Before departing, Walt said, “Ed, I trust that as soon as you have the autopsy report and the cause of death report, you will be good enough to share them with me before the press gets onto them. The late judge’s daughters’ reputations are on the line.”
    “ If I can, Walt, I will. All depends on what the medical examiner finds. Thank you for coming in, ladies.” And the lieutenant buzzed his clerk to show us out of the maze that was Wilmington’s Police Department’s headquarters.
    But as we were leaving, the lieutenant said, “By the way, Ms. Wilkes, what kind of car was the senator driving when you met him at nine?”
    Melanie paused to think. “A dark red Ford Explorer. I remember thinking that the senator was smart to be driving an American-made car.”
    Out on the sidewalk, Walt told us, “Do not talk to anyone unless I am there with you. As soon as we have the autopsy report we’ll know what we are dealing with here. Until then, you both need to keep a low profile. If the lieutenant contacts you again – if anyone from law enforcement contacts you, and that includes Nick, Ashley, call me at once.”
     
    Melanie drove me home. As we drove, I gazed out of the car window, reviewing in my mind our statements to the lieutenant. “Everyone’s putting up Christmas decorations,” I said sadly. “Here this is supposed to be the happiest time of my life – I’ve got the man of my dreams and two precious, healthy babies – and it’s their first Christmas, for pity sakes. But what am I involved in? The unexplained death of a politician I didn’t even like!”
    Melanie reached over to grasp my hand. “Don’t be sad, little sis. We’ll get through this and come out smelling like roses. We always do. I, for one, am not going to even think about Senator Henry and his untimely death. Just put it out of your mind. Like me.”
    “ I’ll try,” I said.
    We turned west on Nun and pulled into the second driveway on the right. My house. My lovingly restored 1860 Queen Anne Victorian house that had been built for a Quaker minister and his family before the Civil War. Crossing the front porch, I noticed again the plaque from the Wilmington Historical Foundation. “Reverend Israel Barton House,” it read, and then the date, “1860.”
    As we climbed the front porch steps, Melanie called, “Cam’s here. His van is out there on the street,” and she pointed to a dark blue Lexus SUV parked at the curb under a low branch of a live oak tree.
    The first greeting I got as I opened my front door was the fragrance of pine. I followed my nose and the sound of male voices back to the red library, the hub of our home. Sitting on matching leather sofas across from each other were our men.
    “ Oh, how adorable,” Melanie said from behind me. “I’ve