Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

through my ear lobes. Th en I ran out of my house.
    Again, the sky was clear, the morning sun evaporating a thin blanket of dew. Next door, my mother's empty house was a silent reminder of just how much our lives had changed. I planned to visit Mama that afternoon, and although I was determined to return home in time to change clothes for church, here I was about to add another sin to my list of confessions.
    On Orange Street, bright yellow crime scene tape was strung along the wrought iron fence like a festive garland. I drove past the house, turned at the corner, and parked behind a tall oleander bush in the narrow service alley that ran behind the mansion. Proceeding the rest of the way on foot, I moved stealthily around a construction dumpster, through high, damp grass under tall trees. I skirted the side of the house, and came around to the portico. Crime scene tape formed a large X over the door. I pulled it loose. The door was large and thick. The lock was vintage brass with ornate carvings that desperately needed a polishing. Not my responsibility anymore, I reminded myself sternly.
    I withdrew the brass key from my jeans pocket and inserted it into the lock. It slid in smoothly. Giving it a turn, I felt the bolt snap into the casing. I was locking the door, for without the key, we'd never been able to secure the lock after the locksmith had opened it.
    Next I turned the key in the opposite direction and tripped the cylinder. Now it was unlocked again and I removed the key and tucked it inside my jeans pocket.
    Taking an ordinary chrome-plated key out of my other pocket , I undid the construction lock. The door swung inward smoothly on solid hinges without a creak. Since I'd come this far, I might as well go all the way. I glanced over my shoulder. Not a sign of life on the street. Mrs. Burns’ white clapboard cottage showed a blank face. I slipped inside the eerily silent house, moved through the great hall and into the dining room on tiptoe .
    Everything was as it had been last evening except Mirabelle's body was gone. Where she had lain, a dark rusty stain spread over the floor. Blood had seeped into the old wood.
    I wandered out to the staircase and sank down on the bottom step. If Mirabelle had the original key to Campbell House, why hadn't she told us? She knew we were looking for it.
    But wait a minute, I was assuming the key had been dropped by Mirabelle. Perhaps the killer had dropped it in his -- or her -- haste to escape.
    I sat on the cold steps holding my head in my hands. My brain spun with ideas, making me dizzy. " OK ," I said out loud, enlisting the house in my thought processes, "let's review what we know and what we don't know. I found a key on the floor near Mirabelle's body. The key fits the front door. It might have fallen from Mirabelle's purse, or it might have been dropped by the killer.
    "If it does belong to the killer, he's probably looking for it now. Is that why he tried to steal my purse last night? How could he possibly know I had the key? Had he been hiding in here, watching me as I discovered the body, seeing when I picked the key up off the floor, saw me put it in to my purse?
    There had been a large crowd on Orange Street last night. Of course! The killer had sneaked out by the back door, circled around and stood in the street watching with all the other curiosity-seekers. I considered this new scenario.
    Say I'm the killer. I kill Mirabelle. I need that key. I can't find it in Mirabelle's purse because it bounced a distance away when the purse fell, and for some reason I can't stay to look for it. Why? Because Ashley Wilkes is coming up the front walk, and I've got to escape through the back door.
    Next, I outlined a second scenario. I'm the killer and I've got the key but I drop it or it falls through a hole in my pocket. I look for it, but I don't have time to find it because someone, maybe Ashley Wilkes, or maybe even Melanie Wilkes, is coming, and I've got to duck inside a closet.
    And why is the key so important? Because it unlocks the Campbells' front door, and the last time that key was used was on the night the Campbells were murdered.
    I jumped up and shouted out loud, “So w hoever killed Mirabelle killed the Campbells too!"
    Nick had made me promise not to come here alone. He thought it was dangerous. Was I in danger? I looked around. Somehow I couldn't picture a murderer attacking me at eight o'clock on Sunday morning with church bells ringing all over town.