Free Murder at the Bellamy Mansion by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter Page B

think if we search the salvage yards we might get lucky and find a sash with glass panes from the same period. Then we can get a glass cutter to cut the panes to size to fit into our muntins.”
    “ Mason has trained as a glazier,” Lonnie offered.
    “ That’s great, Lonnie. We can use his help,” Jon said.
    “ We’ve got sills, stiles, and rails to repair,” I said, eyeing the wood rot. “The exterior frames are in good shape because they were painted periodically.” The entire house had been painted its original pristine white fairly recently.
    “ Probably these louvers will have to be replaced, as well,” Jon said, indicating moveable louvers that were set low in the wall which adjusted automatically to let cool air into the attic.
    For all its beauty, the belvedere served a most important practical function. On hot days, the lower sashes in the windows in the main rooms of the house would be raised. The open sashes in the belvedere would draw breezes from the lower floors through the rooms, up the stairways, and out through the belvedere, creating circulating, cooler air. Then, in the Nineties, central air conditioning had been installed.
    The light was brilliant up here as the sun shone through the twelve arched windows. I could see far into the distance. The historic district was spread out below us, and to the west the Cape Fear River rippled and sparkled as it flowed south. The belvedere lived up to its name: beautiful view. Now this fair lookout had been sullied by the attempted murder and near death of our good friend. I clenched my fists. I was deeply angry. What a senseless deed, I kept thinking to myself.
    As we moved about the belvedere, every step we took resulted in the crushing and grinding of glass beneath our boots.
    “ I’ve got a broom and dust pan, and a big plastic garbage can out in my truck,” Lonnie said. “I’ll go fetch them and we’ll get to work cleaning up this glass. We don’t want to be tracking glass shards through the house with our boots, and nothing can be done up here until we clean up my poor pa’s blood.”
    “ Good idea,” Jon said. “Ashley and I will help. Then we’ll try to look on the positive side: Willie is going to be fine, and we’ve got a satisfying task begging for our attention.”
    Lonnie moved toward the stairs. I turned to stare out of the shattered window across the intersection of Market and Fifth to the Carolina Apartments. Far below, in the middle of the intersection, the Kenan Fountain plashed water merrily. The apartment building was one of the few structures as tall as the Bellamy Mansion. With a scope on a rifle, the shooter would have had an unobstructed view of the belvedere. Anyone up here would have been a sitting duck for an ace shooter who had his heart set on murder.
    As Nick had said, the area had been saturated with uniformed police officer presence. I’d seen them as we’d driven to the Bellamy.
    I was deep in thought, trying to make sense of a tragedy that made no sense. No one hated Willie. He was respected and admired. And loved by many.
    The next thing I knew I heard a crash. I wheeled around to see the railing crashing down the stairwell. And Lonnie sliding down the stairs under the fallen stair rail.
     

 
     
     
     
    11
     
    “ That railing was tampered with!” Jon exclaimed. He and I were trapped in the belvedere while Lonnie lay moaning on the stairs. He too was trapped by the sections of railing that had fallen on him.
    We had called 911 and already could hear sirens approaching from a distance.
    “ I can see that the railing has been tampered with,” I said, as I crunched over shattered glass to hunker down next to the broken railing.
    I looked down at Lonnie. He was conscious, eyes darting. “The ambulance is on its way,” I said.
    “ Don’t move, Lonnie,” Jon called down. “You could have a fracture.”
    “ I don’t think I broke a bone,” Lonnie called. “I’m just afraid to move because I’ve