Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

her own technicians to save a few measly bucks. Does she care my men have families to feed?"
    King was out of control just as he had been yesterday in Mirabelle's office. The man had a dangerous temper. All around us people stopped talking to stare at him.
    "Yes, well, I am sorry for your predicament, Mr. King . . . "
    "Well, I've fixed her. Southern Style wasn't filmed today. Cancelled. If I have my way, that woman will never be on television again."
    "Well, at least you have that option," I said, attempting to mollify him. "I'm here with a detective," I said, pointing to Nick who'd heard the commotion and was striding toward me.
    King wasn't listening. He clenched and unclenched his large fists, just as he had yesterday morning. "Someday that woman's go ing to get what she deserves!"

18

    At seven o'clock on Saturday morning the thermometer on my porch registered a cool fifty-eight degrees. Stiff breezes blew off the Waterway , and I experienced a pleasurable foretaste of the mild winters we get here on the coast. Dressed in khakis and a cotton sweater, I got into the station wagon, backed out onto Summer Rest Road, took Eastwood until it changed into Martin Luther King expressway and headed downtown to Orange Street. I wanted to check on the house then return home to spend the morning with Mama. We weren’t able to manage a conversation , but we could hold hands and listen to music together. After lunch, Melanie and I were moving her to Magnolia Manor.
    As I drove away from the coast with the sun at my back I thought about the scene Bob King had caused last night. Nick had stepped between me and the union leader, then handed me off to Jon. Nick got King to calm down, told everyone to go back to having a good time. He found King's wife and suggested she take her husband home. Then he asked Jon to drive me home, kissed me on the cheek goodnight, and said he had to get to headquarters. Jon lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect of driving me home and I re called that he had recently asked if we could date.
    Melanie had rushed to my side. She introduced me to her client, who was also her date. Joel Fox, a former motion picture producer from Los Angeles, was scouting the Wilmington area for property to develop. There was something slick and o ily about Fox I did not like.
    My thoughts flowed. King was sure a scary guy. And Mirabelle was having an affair with Gordon Cushman. Gordon and his wife Cecily lived on Orange Street, had been part of the Campbell crowd. I wondered if Mirabelle had been part of that crowd too.
    I had promised Nick I'd go to Riverfest with him later in the afternoon. Should I tell him about Gordon's affair with Mirabelle, or would that seem like idle gossip? Maybe I should just cancel; I wasn't much in the mood for a street fair.
    I parked at the curb in front of Campbell House. The sounds of hammering, sawing, and scraping flowed through the open doors and windows. In two days, Willie had broken through the dumbwaiter shaft and floored over the chase. When I looked in the kitchen, three men wearing masks and eye shields were scraping cracked and peeling paint off the walls and trim.
    Already new kitchen equipment and stock cabinets had been delivered. They were still packed in boxes, stored in the dining room. I walked through the shoulder-high aisles they formed, noting labels and reviewing a clipboard on which I'd checked off itemized equipment and supplies. Much as I would have preferred, there simply wasn't time to have custom cabinets built.
    Willie stuck his head in the dining room. "Hey, Miz Wilkes."
    "Hi, Willie. We're making good progress. I see the bricklayer is here."
    "Yeah, got him in there stackin' the brickwork around the fireplace. I'm usin' that old brick like you said so the wall will have a nice antique look."
    "That's great, Willie. Things are really moving along."
    "Goin' good, Miz Wilkes. Let's just pray we don't find no more . . . uh, surprises."
    "Amen to that."
    I went down to the basement to make another tour of that level. High windows were still boarded up because a few glass panes were broken and we were too busy with the kitchen to get to them. I snapped on lights as I went from room to room. Mostly they were storerooms, and a kind of scullery that in the old days had served the kitchen on the first floor. The dumbwaiter originated here behind a door set waist high in the wall. The shaft was now sealed over on the first floor level.
    A stone sink and oak