Murder at the Bellamy Mansion by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page B

parents were right there in the same hospital, Lonnie would not permit anyone to phone them, or any members of his family.
    “ My folks have been through enough,” he said. “I’ll be just fine and I don’t want to cause any more worries for my family. No more bad news, and scaring my poor mother half to death.”
    And the doctors agreed that he was uninjured. Just some bumps and bruises. Jon and I drove him home where he promised to stay put with his feet up for a day or two.
     
    In the evening Jon and I walked down Nun Street to the riverfront for a casual dinner at Le Catalan, a really neat wine bar. The breeze off the river was nippy, and daylight had faded an hour earlier. But we strolled hand-in-hand and when we reached the riverfront, we both felt invigorated from the exercise. And hungry.
    The café’s décor had a theme: wine bottle corks. Wine bottle corks served as the crown molding, chair rail, and delineated architectural features. Just inside the front door, a darling little man made of wine corks sat in a chair, greeting guests with his adorable painted smile, and proudly sporting a white chef’s hat.
    For dinner, we ordered my favorite, Le Catalan’s specialty for a wintry evening, Beef Bourgignon with a bottle of good French red wine. The service here was always excellent, plus warm and friendly. In the spring we would sit outside on the boardwalk, and I longed for warm weather.
    At first we had talked about the changes we were going to make to my house – now our in-town house – to accommodate us as a couple. We were avoiding the topic of Lonnie’s fall down the stairs and the booby trap that had been set for him. Or for one of us. Then Jon sprang his declaration that Nick was still in love with me.
    Jon topped off my wineglass and I took a sip. “My love for Nick was a shallow thing compared to my love for you,” I said softly. “He gave me a quarter of himself. You give me all of yourself. You put our life together first. Before work, friends, everything. And that is what I need and what I want to give in return. So let’s just forget about Nick, except to pity him.”
    “ I do pity him,” Jon said. “But I’m afraid that we’re going to be involved with him for as long as this investigation goes on.”
    “ Do you really think that he has the power to shut down the museum and our restoration project?” I asked.
    “ I seriously doubt the mayor would let him. Everyone knows how important the Bellamy Mansion Museum is to the tourist economy. About all they can do is beef up security,” Jon responded.
    “ I think you’re right. You know the saying ‘No good deed goes unpunished.’ That is about how I feel right now. We try to do the right thing and volunteer our expertise and services to restore the belvedere, and what happens? A good friend gets shot, and the railing is jimmied so someone will fall. What else is going to happen? And why?”
    I pushed my plate away, no longer hungry. Nick was right about one thing. That could have been me who fell down those stairs. Or Jon. Or the caretaker. Or one of the staff. Or a volunteer. And they could have been seriously injured.
    “ Could any of this have to do with the Chengs?” I asked. “They are dead set on buying the mansion. Could this be some ploy to scare everyone off? To create so much bad publicity for the Bellamy, causing it to be so unappealing as a museum, that Preservation NC would jump at the chance to sell it?”
    “ That thought occurred to me too,” Jon said. “But I just can’t imagine anyone being so desperate to buy a house, they’d be willing to kill for it.”
    I leaned forward and lowered my voice. A couple was seated just two tables away. We four were the only patrons in the restaurant on a slow Monday evening. And in the quiet, conversations carried. “But what do we know about them? Nothing. They’re filthy rich. We know they don’t give a darn about the environment or about God’s creatures. In my