Murder on the Cape Fear by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter

Jon and I sat for a while in my front porch swing and watched the lights go out up and down Nun Street. We held hands and it was nice not to talk, to just sit quietly and love each other. We heard when Patsy and Jimmy stomped up the stairs to “their” room.
    “ Jon, you’re right with your plan for how we will live after we are married. We’ll live here in my house during the work week, then spend weekends at your house at Wrightsville Beach. I can’t wait until the Pogues leave so we can get our life back.”
    In answer, he squeezed my hand. “Life is good,” he said.
    “ I’ve got to get some clean clothes for tomorrow,” I told him. “I’ve worn every outfit I had at your house. I’ll just go up quietly. According to Patsy, ‘Jimmy done moved my things into the guest room,’ so I won’t have to disturb them, just grab some shorts and a couple of tee shirts. I’ll be right back.”
    I climbed the stairs quietly, then turned at the newel post and made my way toward the front of the house where the master bedroom was located. The guest room came first, its door closed.
    A soft light shone from the master bedroom and the door stood open. Patsy and Jimmy must have thought that we had left and that they were alone. Well, I’d be as quiet as a mouse and be gone in a second. Softly I started to open the door to the guest room. I’d be in and out before Patsy and Jimmy knew I was there. Then, I asked myself resentfully: This is my house, why am I tiptoeing around?
    Because your mama and I raised you to be considerate of others, my daddy’s voice whispered in my ear.
    And then I heard something that stopped me cold. Jimmy’s voice. Jimmy was speaking. “Cam Jordan told you what I’ve been telling you all along. I told you - no, I begged you - to start another series. Something relevant to the times. But no, you wouldn’t listen. Now your publisher has passed on your latest manuscript. And where is the money going to come from?”
    Patsy’s tone was sarcastic, “Funny you should ask. Why don’t you get yourself a profession for a change instead of treating me like the cash cow?”
    Jimmy’s tone was bitter. “Excellent choice of words. You know very well why I have no profession of my own. I have spent a lifetime helping you. I’ve devoted my life to making a success of yours. And now, the only thing I ever wanted - that house - and I can’t have it because there’s no money coming in except for some paltry royalty checks. I told you and I told you to make an offer on that house when Laura Gaston was still in medical school, when she was broke. She would have gone for it. We could have snapped it up for a song. But no, you never listen. You always know best.”
    “ And how many times did I tell you to strike a match to that house when it was empty and no one was interested in restoring it?” Patsy countered.
    Strike a match? What was that about? But I was embarrassed with my eavesdropping. I turned and tiptoed away, down the hall, skirting the squeaky floor board to hurry down the stairs. I’d wear dirty clothes tomorrow.
    At the foot of the steps enlightenment caused me to stop abruptly. Jimmy could not only speak, but he could speak very well. The voice I’d heard was cultivated and educated. And so was Patsy’s! That illiterate country whine she put on was a fake!
    And the Pogues, whom Melanie thought were loaded, were in reality broke.
    I stepped quietly out onto the porch, eager to tell Jon what I’d just heard. Across the street, my neighbor was wheeling his trash barrel out to the curb. “Oh shoot, I completely forgot,” I told Jon. “Tomorrow morning is trash pick-up. Help me take the trash can and the recyclable bin down to the curb.”
    “ Sure,” he replied, and started down the porch steps. We skirted around the porch and under the porte cochere to the side rear corner of the house where the garbage containers were stored.
    “ Wow, they’ve been busy,” I said.
    My trash