Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

shop. From the treasure trove in the attic, Aunt Ruby had generously donated loveseats and arm chairs, chests of drawers and bibelots. She had been so dear, enthusiastically helping me to furnish my little home. My favorite find was a rice bed, its head and foot boards and four posters in mint condition.
    A wide, combination living-dining room dominated the front of my house. I'd chosen cool blue for its walls, icy white trim, and sisal for the hardwood floor. That was when I'd first connected with Tommy, and I'd had him upholster two mismatched loveseats in heavy white cotton twill.
    I kicked off my sandals, undressed and took a long warm shower, then slipped into thin cotton pajamas.
    I was padding over to my bedtable to check my phone messages when a frantic knocking on my door drew me out into the living room. Surely, that's not Mama, I thought. It was much too dangerous for her to be wandering around outside at night.
    Peeping through the sidelight, I saw Nellie, Mama's live-in nurse . "Just a sec," I called, dashing into the bedroom to pull on a light cotton robe.
    I opened the door quickly. "Is something wrong with Mama, Nellie?"
    Nellie is plump with a shiny face, naturally optimistic and cheerful. But tonight she was agitated, twisting her hands. "It's not an emergency, Ashley, but we need to talk."
    "Sure, come on in. Can I get you something to drink?" I guided the overwrought woman to the loveseat under the window. The moment I'd been dreading had arrived.
    When Nellie replied that she didn't care for anything, I sat down next to her and patted her arm. "Now what's wrong? Something's got you upset, Nellie."
    "Yes, I am upset," she said firmly, her hands squeezed together in her lap. "You and your sister have got to make other arrangements for your mother. She's past the point where I can care for her. She's a threat to her own safety!"
    "Tell me what happened?"
    "I got her ready for bed, then went down to the kitchen to wash up the supper dishes. When I finished, I saw that the front door was standing open. I found your mother down at the end of the pier in her nightgown. She was teetering on the end of it and I thought she'd fall in and drown before I could reach her."
    "Oh, Nellie, I am so sorry." I was sorry for Nellie and sorry for Mama and sorry for me. "I'll call Melanie. I promise we'll do something. Please, stay with us until we can make arrangements to get her into a care facility ."
    She seemed relieved. "I will, Ashley. I won't leave you high and dry. You can count on me."
    As we said goodnight, I gave her a hug. "Thank you, Nellie." I wanted to tell her how good she was but th ought that might seem condescending.
    I dialed Melanie's numbers repeatedly before I went to bed. Each time I got voice mail. "Call me right away. I don't care how late it is," I said. "It's about Mama."
    Melanie and Mama had always been close, but during my first year at Parsons something changed. There was a coolness between them that I didn't understand. About that time Mama got sick. Probably she'd been showing signs earlier, but we'd just chalked it up to forgetfulness and her own vague personality. Now we had a major decision to make. I wanted Mama to be safe.
    Earlier I had stopped at Melanie's house on my way home from dinner with Jon. I wanted to catch her expression when I handed her the brooch. I'd know by her expression if something was amiss. Then I'd get her to explain how the brooch got in Shelby Campbell's sofa. But Melanie hadn't been at home, so my sleuthing would have to wait.
    My thoughts turned inward to six years ago when I'd done the unthinkable and left my small-town Southern home to go to school in the big city of New York. The first Christmas I came home, the atmosphere had been tense and strained. At twenty-six Melanie had moved back home so that she could save money to buy her own house. Melanie and Mama treated each other politely but coolly. They didn't quarrel, but there was some undercurrent, something was really wrong between them.
    On Christmas eve, Daddy drank more than I'd ever seen him do, fortifying the eggnog with Southern Comfort. In the evening, he went out, saying he had to retrieve some papers he'd forgotten at the court house. He never returned. He'd driven into one of the enormous live oak trees on Airlie Road. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. That was the worst Christmas, the worst day, of my life.
    I slipped off my robe and curled up on the bed, waiting