Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

startle her.
    "Mama, you OK ?"
    She lifted her eyes and regarded me suspiciously. These days she almost always looks confused and fearful. "Go away! This is my private pier." Agitated, s he stood up and darted from one end to the other, rocking the boat perilous ly.
    I reached my arms out to steady her but she only backed toward the bow. "Don't make any sudden movements, Mama," I said, gingerly stepping down into the small craft . If I wasn't careful, we'd both fall overboard.
    I hated seeing her this way -- - agitated, scared. Wisps of gray hair poked out from under the soft, faded hat. Her hair was too long, but she wouldn't let anyone cut it, not even when Melanie begged. It used to be the prettiest shade of auburn.
    She backed further away from me. The rocking turned violent.
    "Stand still, Mama. Don't move!"
    "Why are you calling me Mama? I'm nobody's mama."
    At least she stopped moving. You're my mama, I thought, and I've always needed more of you than you were willing to give. Now, it's too late. How can you love me when you don't even know me?
    I stretched out my hands and grasped hers, speaking gently as if to a child. "It's me, Claire. Ashley. Take my hand. Come with me. We don't want to overturn the boat. You'll get wet and the water's cold."
    "Ashley who?" she asked. Her once erect figure of which she'd been so proud was now stooped. She cast about erratically, searching for some other way out. I was afraid she'd jump. The boat wobbled.
    "I'm Ashley Wilkes. Your daughter."
    She seemed to brighten. "Oh, Ashley Wilkes. What a fine young gentlemen. No wonder Scarlett loved him. What woman wouldn't? If I ever have a son, I'll name him Ashley Wilkes."
    "You have two daughters, Claire. And you named me Ashley, and my sister Melanie."
    Mama seemed not to hear. "Such a fine gentleman," she went on, speaking of Margaret Mitchell's Ashley.
    Melanie and I could never understand our mother's fascination with Gone With the Wind. At times, the fictional characters seemed more real to her than her own family.
    I wanted her back in the real world with me. I wished there was something I could do to make things better for her, restore her life to the way it used to be. She had always been fragile but then started going downhill dramatically when Daddy died. I wanted her to stroke my hair and tell me she was proud of me, that she loved me as much as I loved her.
    The morning clouds had lifted and sun shone on the golden marshes where pelicans and egrets nested. It was so peaceful out here. How I'd loved growing up on the Waterway , exploring, discovering nature. There was nothing to compare with this view, the smell of the marshes, the glimpses of colorful cottages on Wrightsville Beach. Already the nights were cooler. Autumn, my favorite time of year.
    "Come on, Mama," I said, taking her hand and helping her out of the boat. "Nellie's fixing lunch for us and I brought you a new CD."
    Mama didn't eat much these days; she'd become quite thin. I didn't know how much longer we'd be able to keep her at home. Yet, I worried that leaving the home she loved might make her deeply depressed.
    Safely on the boardwalk, she pulled her arm out of my grasp and peered at me slyly . "I know who killed them."
    "Killed who?" A frisson of fear niggled my spine.
    "Them. You know. The skeletons."
    So even Mama had seen those news broadcasts.
    She winked at me. "Scarlett did it."
    I took her arm. "Come on, Mama. I brought you the new Enya CD. We'll listen to it together while Nellie sets the table. You know how much you like Celtic music."
    She was calmer now and allowed me to walk her to the house. We sat together on the sofa in her living room and allowed Enya's angelic singing to calm our fears.

    Nellie had prepared all of Mama's favorite dishes: cornbread and pinto beans, sliced fresh tomatoes and cucumbers that were still being harvested locally. I love the last, tart tomatoes of the season. For dessert there was strawberry short cake with real whipped cream. And , of course , sweet iced tea.
    Mama pushed her food around on her plate and ate very little. Melanie watched her wit h an impatient gleam in her eye .
    " Uhmmm ," Mama said, pointing to the sugar bowl. The old Mama would have said, "Pass the sugar, please, Melanie." The old Mama had been a stickler for proper table manners and had tried to instill ladylike behavior in her girls.
    Mama ladled extra sugar into her tea. I lost count after five teaspoons. I pretended not to see, but