Free Murder at the Holiday Flotilla by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter

coffin.”
    “ What a ghoulish turn of phrase. How much money are we talking about?”
    “ The owner owes almost eight million on it. I’ll mark it down to six and see what happens.”
    “ Six million! That’ll bring a pretty hefty commission.” I couldn’t help being very impressed. I’d seen Melanie pull off some coups in the real estate business, but if she pulled this off, it would be like winning the lottery.
    “ I’m glad you get it how important this listing is to me. Now if I play my cards right, and my luck holds, I’ll get this baby under contract, hopefully this afternoon. Then, as the selling agent as well as the listing agent, I’ll pocket the full six percent commission. I won’t have to split with another realtor.
    “ What a holly, jolly Christmas that will be. Three-hundred-sixty thousand dollars under my tree! Noel! Noel!”
    I gave my gorgeous sister a long look. “If anyone deserves a sale like this, it’s you, Mel. You’ve paid your dues in spades. I know how hard you’ve worked all these years, how much good will you’ve spread around in the real estate community. You’re a leader in the Council of Residential Specialists. You’ve given so much of your time to your local board. You’ve been voted Wilmington’s sales person of the year time after time.
    “ I know firsthand the favors you’ve done for a lot of folks. I’d say you’re about as popular as Oprah.”
    Melanie gave me a big smile of gratitude. “Thanks for believing in me, little sis. I’m so lucky to have a sister like you. And a husband like Cam. He understands that I have to work 24/7. Doesn’t complain. He’s the same way with his production studio. We’re both driven.”
    “ You’ve created good karma for yourself, Melanie. Fling some largesse out there into the universe and, like a karmic boomerang, it comes caroming back to you. With interest.”
    At age twenty-one, Melanie had been voted Miss North Carolina, representing our state in the Miss America talent and beauty pageant. At the time, I was only thirteen. How I had adored my big sister. Still do.
    “ Who is your client?” I asked. “And are you sure I won’t be in the way?”
    “ This guy is one of the few men in the state with the personal wealth to close this deal. He’s Jack McAllister, CEO of Bank of USA, headquartered in Charlotte. The bank will be paying big bonuses at the end of the year. I’ve been showing him property out here on the Waterway for eons. But we never seem to find one that shoots off enough sparks for him. This one will do just that.
    “ And no, you won’t be in the way. The house is enormous. Just wander around. Or trail along with us, if you like.”
    Melanie’s new, hot-off-the-assembly-line Cadillac DTS – her slogan in these days of tough economic times is “Buy America” – cruised up the bluff. There was a circular driveway in front of the house. She parked alongside a fire-engine-red, mid-life-crisis, sporty little BMW convertible.
    A nice looking man of about fifty was pacing the driveway, fussing and fuming. Melanie powered down her window and gave him a little wave. As soon as he clapped eyes on her, you could see him melt. Just like all men who come within Melanie’s pheromonal radius, he was smitten.
    In one long stride he reached the driver’s side door and held it open for her. “Hey, Jack!” Melanie called as she slid out of the driver’s seat, flashing her client a shapely thigh.
    I got out on my side and ventured around the car.
    “ What do you think, Jack?” Melanie greeted him. “Did I exaggerate? Is this place spectacular or is it spectacular?”
    A soft breeze from the water ruffled the man’s thick salt and pepper, expensively coiffed hair. He wore power like a silky second skin.
    The same breeze lifted Melanie’s long auburn waves and she gave her head a little toss causing her hair to swing suggestively around her shoulders – a real turn on for men.
    “ Hey there, gorgeous,”