Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

across the fence. More police cars arrived. An ambulance. Even a fire truck. Muffie was snapping pictures furiously.
    Mirabelle was dead. I was sure of it now. If she were alive, they'd be running with her on a stretcher, rushing her to the hospital. But they weren't. So she was dead. No need to hurry.
    Melanie grabbed me by the arm and tried to drag me to my feet. "Where were you? I've been looking for you. Come on. Get up."
    "Melanie, stop. I have to wait for Nick."
    Jon grabbed Melanie's wrist and pulled her away. "Leave her alone! Can't you see she's in shock."
    "She found Mirabelle," Muffie said.
    Jon asked tenderly, "What happened, Ashley?"
    "Mirabelle's been murdered. I found her body." A sharp pain, like a knife, stabbed my chest. This is what Mirabelle had felt when she was knifed in the back. Did she know her killer? Had he stabbed her in the back because he knew her and didn't have the courage to face her? Or maybe he'd sneaked up behind her while she was bent over a box, grabbed the knife and . . . I fanned my face with my hand.
    "She doesn't know how it happened," Muffie said.
    "Dear God, not another murder," Jon groaned.
    Melanie was all over me. "Oh, baby sister, I'm so sorry. But we've been trying to find you. Mama's missing. Those idiots at Magnolia Manor lost her. The police are looking for her. One of the cops down at Riverfest thought he saw her. You've got to help us find her."
    "I'm coming," I said.

22

    "How did Mama get all the way from Magnolia Manor to Riverfest?" I asked.
    "How in the world do I know," Melanie replied crossly.
    "Maybe she hid in the back of a visitor's car," Jon suggested.
    "Now there's a happy thought," I grumbled.
    We were squeezed in the back of the squad car with Sherman and Muffie, who had insisted on coming along. In the front seat, separated from us by an iron grill, two police officers chatted casually together while the static-laced voice of the dispatcher floated in and out. The car covered the few blocks to the riverfront in what seemed like a matter of seconds and the seven of us spilled out like clowns out of a Volkswagen Beetle.
    One of the cops took charge. " OK folks, listen up. I'm handing out cards with my cell phone number on it. Now, we'll split up and search for her. Call if you find her. Otherwise, we'll meet back here at the car in thirty minutes."
    We fanned out in different directions: Sherman and Muffie going together, Jon, Melanie, and I going separately.
    I retraced my steps along the promenade where earlier Nick and I had our caricatures sketched. The tone of the festival had altered with the coming of nightfall. The children were gone and with them the family atmosphere. Funky Eighties and Nineties music played. Bob King was sitting on the edge of the stage, watching the crowd.
    Sara Beth Frank's paintings were still propped against the promenade wall. I spotted Gordon and Cecily Cushman selecting a canvas and buying it. I gave the three of them a shaky wave and asked if they'd seen my mother. I got some pretty weird looks, but the three said no, they hadn't seen her.
    Anxiously, I scanned each face in the crowd. Oh, Mama, where are you? What have you done?
    A rowdy mob milled around Riverfront Park in front of the Federal Building. I couldn't break through. Most were men about forty with long greasy hair and Grateful Dead T-shirts. Their girlfriends had hard faces and wore short shorts that showed off a lot of tan leg.
    I felt a tug as my purse was ripped off my shoulder. With a firm grip on my end of the strap, I tried to turn around to confront the purse snatcher but the crush of bodies hemmed me in. Looping the strap around my wrist, I gave it a good yank. Whoever had hold of the other end, let go, then chopped me on the back of my neck. I was knocked forward into one of the Deadheaders, plowing into his back.
    "Hey, man!" he growled, whirling and glaring at me. Quickly, he took in the situation. "You OK ? Hey, guys, help this girl."
    I was supported by them, buoyed up. Hands reached out to steady me, to lift me to my feet. I looked into their faces. Had one of these guys hit me? It didn't seem possible, they were too eager to help. I still had the purse. The strap was ripped off at one end!
    "Thanks," I said, rubbing my neck. "I think I'm OK . Must've tripped."
    "No sweat," the guy said.
    The girls formed a tight knot around me. Their hard eyes flicked over me, sizing me up. Whatever they saw, they decided I wasn't after their men and