Murder at the Holiday Flotilla by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page B

got to get a picture of this.” And she dug in her shoulder bag for her camera.
    “ How did it go?” Cam asked.
    “ Don’t ask,” she replied. “It was dreadful. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s not spoil this moment.”
    I shared her pleasure in the moment. Jon held one baby on his lap; Cam held the other. Each was feeding a child from a bottle and the babies were sucking greedily. A breast pump had come into my life along with all of the other baby paraphernalia.
    There was no missing the huge, fragrant Christmas tree that dominated one corner. It was strung with fairy lights but the other decorations remained unpacked in boxes strewn around the room.
    “ So that’s what I smell!” I cried with delight. “Where did this come from? I didn’t think we were decorating this year,” I told Jon.
    “ You can thank your thoughtful brother-in-law,” Jon said, and hoisted little Jonathan – or was it Peter? – onto his shoulder to burp.
    “ Cam? You brought us a tree?” I gave Cam a broad smile. What a nice guy? No wonder I love him so much.
    Melanie was busily snapping pictures of the men caring for the babies.
    “ It’s beautiful,” I said. “You must have bought the biggest tree on the lot.”
    “ It’s about twelve feet,” Cam said proudly.
    I bent over him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “No wonder Melanie adores you. I do too.”
    Cam gave Melanie a dreamy look. Then he looked down at little Peter – or was it Jonathan? “I want one of these,” he told her.
    And I thought Melanie was going to faint dead away.
     

 
     
     
     
    12
     
    According to tradition, the first weekend in December is reserved for the Olde Wilmington by Candlelight festival when historic homes are decorated in period style and put on tour. Ordinarily Jon and I would visit homes on both days even if, this year, it meant wheeling a double stroller. But Saturday was one of Dr. Amy Wood’s infrequent days off. On Sundays she volunteered at the Pediatric Trauma Center at New Hanover Regional Hospital.
    Saturday morning found us driving back out into Brunswick County to visit her historic house.
    As we drove up the rutted, sandy lane and approached the house, all was quiet. I stepped down from the Escalade and paused a moment to enjoy the stillness, only some breezes in the longleaf pines stirring the tree tops.
    “ To think that my ancestors settled this land and lived here for generations. And I knew nothing about them. It’s hard to believe,” I told Jon.
    “ I can understand how this is hitting you emotionally. Melanie too. My roots are in Robeson County. I grew up hearing about the Campbell clan and how we emigrated from Scotland. We need to drive up there soon to visit Granny Campbell. She just about raised me, you know.”
    I moved closer to him and gave him a kiss. “And she did a mighty fine job of raising you. See how wonderfully you turned out.” I gave him a squeeze. “It’s peaceful out here.”
    “ When the dogs aren’t hunting foxes,” he said.
    “ Here’s a thought, Jon, let’s give the boys another month to mature, then we’ll take them to Granny Campbell’s so she can see them.”
    “ She’ll fall in love with them. Good idea.” He gave me a hug.
    “ No necking allowed on my property,” Amy Wood called cheerfully from her front porch.
    Amy isn’t much older than I am but she has graduated from Duke medical school with honors, did her internship there, and is now set up in private practice. Her reputation as a pediatrician is sterling.
    Amy is on the tall side – taller than I am at five-four but that isn’t saying much. Most everyone is taller than I. Amy has auburn hair like Melanie and green eyes too. But Melanie gets her looks from Mama who was a Chastain, not a Wood, which leads me to believe this tendency toward red hair and green eyes runs in both sides of our family – from the Chastains and the Irish Hugheses. Amy wears her hair in a very short style, I guess because