Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

odor?"
    "Yes. Right. So it was OK to stop paying taxes and sending fake letters and postcards. If someone went inside the house, they wouldn't find anything."
    "Our killer was pretty thorough," Nick said. "Had the water and electricity disconnected, and the telephone and cable service. Arranged for a caretaker to mow the lawn and secure the house from vandals."
    So Nick knew about Henry.
    "Yes," Nick continued, "he thought of everything. Except that someone might come along one day and want to remodel the kitchen and tear down some walls."
    "And the killer traveled abroad to London and Paris and sent forged communications back home to friends and neighbors. Did anyone receive emails? And d id you ask Sherman and Muffie if they got postcards too? And how about the Cushmans and Sara Beth Franks? Did they get postcards like everyone else?"
    "A few at first. Then as the years passed , nothing. You know, people get busy with their own lives and lose track of time," Nick said thoughtfully. "Out of sight, out of mind. No one was counting the years."
    "You can be sure the killer was," I said.
    Nick continued, "The people I talked to told me they just assumed one day Reggie and Shelby would turn up, open the house, and throw a big party. People I've questioned expressed surprise six years had passed. They just weren't thinking about them."

20

    Nick and I arrived at Riverfest to the sound of music. Across from the Alton Lennon Federal building, known to Andy Griffith fans as Matlock's courthouse, the Gospel Stage featured spiritual music. Cloggers were performing at the Cotton Exchange. A group called the Swingshift played on the Hilton stage. Bob King and his union technicians were monitoring sound equipment on the stage across from the Federal Building.
    At Millie Prechtl's booth we bought steak and cheese sandwiches and "Millie's Original" funnel cakes. Carrying our food purchases and giant Cokes to a low wall on the esplanade, we squeezed in among a happy crowd. Everyone was having a good time.
    Out on the Cape Fear, the Henrietta III paddle wheeler took visitors on an old-fashioned riverboat ride. Rowing clubs competed on the water.
    "Oh, look, there's Teddy," I said. "I didn't know he could do that!"
    Teddy Lambston was one of a troupe of jugglers. As he tossed his pins into the air, the white ruffles of his shirt sleeves fluttered around his wrists. I couldn't take my eyes off him, impressed by how effortlessly he kept the pins moving.
    "Hi, Ashley," he called when the troupe took a break. "Glad you came. Isn't this something? Remember those street fairs in New York? Especially that big festival in Little Italy?"
    "I sure do. I especially liked the big fair on Second Avenue. My roommate and I never missed it. You know Detective Yost, don't you?"
    Nick shook hands with Teddy. "Mr. Lambston was one of the first people I talked to when I canvassed Orange Street."
    "Call me Teddy." He pulled out a folded tissue and blotted the perspiration that had collected under his bangs.
    "We were wondering who all got the fake postcards," I said.
    Teddy's face darkened. "All I know is a few neighbors, and my mother. I started NYU that fall, but I saw the postcards when I came home for Christmas. Now, well, it's confusing. I can't get used to the idea all this time Shelby and Reggie were actually dead. Are the police sure, Detective Yost? It couldn't be someone else?"
    "We're sure, Mr. Lambston, and I'm sorry for your loss. Did your mother save any of those cards? It would help us to have them if they're still around."
    "Oooh, you mean, there might be fingerprints. Gee, I don't know but I'll look for them. If I find them, I'll call you. I want you to catch whoever did this. Uh-oh, they're calling me. Gotta go. We're on again."
    We watched the troupe perform for a few minutes, then wandered slowly through the crowd. At the promenade we leaned on the railing as the John Maffitt sailed by, ferrying groups across the river to the Battleship North Carolina.
    Sara Beth Franks, the artist who had been Shelby and Reggie's friend, displayed her paintings along the stone wall. She was doing a brisk business. Sara Beth's seascapes and beach scenes were popular with decorators and other collectors.
    A teenage artist was drawing caricatures under a colorful umbrella. I coaxed Nick into having his picture done, watching over the young artist's shoulder as with a few deft strokes he captured the real Nick, the man I saw when he wasn't "on the