Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

hustled over to escort us to a choice window table. Outside, fat raindrops pelted the Cape Fear River.
    By one o'clock the rain was pounding the coast and looked like it could go on for hours. We kept the Mimosas coming while I devoured a three-egg omelet filled with shredded artichoke hearts and gorgonzola cheese. Between bites, I related the conversation I'd overheard at Thalian Hall between Gordon Cushman and Mirabelle. "She threatened to blackmail him, Mel. That's a good motive for murder."
    Melanie scrunched up her eyes, the way she does when she's thinking. "Cecily's the one with the gonads in that family. My money's on her. She's been running around town questioning everyone about their relationship with Reggie and Shelby." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "But you know what? I wouldn't put murder past her. She's very possessive of Gordon. And why not? He's a darlin' man, and she looks like a white mole, always peering out over those little half glasses."
    She did an impersonation of Cecily that was so on-target, I dissolved into a fit of laughter.
    Melanie sobered. "All I know, baby sister, is I didn't do it!"
    I covered her hand with my own. "I know you didn't. And I'm going to prove you are innocen t if it's the last thing I do. Let's talk about my theory that whoever killed Reggie and Shelby also killed Mirabelle."
    "Now there's a thought to curdle your milk. What makes you think so?"
    I shrugged. "Why not?"
    "Why not, indeed? It's better than your detective's theory. He's so stupid he thinks I did it when he should be hunting for the real killer. Why, we could all be in danger."
    "He is not my detective! Anyway, the police are still investigating." Now why was I defending Nick?
    Melanie glanced over my shoulder and groaned. "Don't look now."
    Why do people always say that, knowing you'll look anyway? I looked. Sherman and Muffie Warner were table-hopping. "Hey, you two!" Muffie called.
    "Hi," Melanie and I said flatly. Muffie got under my skin. And Sherman was hiding something.
    "The police told us you found your lost mama," Sherman said with a smirk.
    "She's sick, Sherman," I said through clenched teeth. "It might be Alzheimer's disease."
    Muffie gave Sherman a jab with her elbow. "We're real sorry about your mama, honey bunch. It must be real hard for you."
    Sherman sipped from the Bloody Mary in his hand. "What must be real hard is the way you're always tripping over dead bodies. You're a magnet for murder, Ashley Wilkes."
    "I wouldn't regret tripping over your dead body, Sherman," I retorted. "But then, you'll probably die in bed. In New York."
    Melanie hooted.
    Sherman's eyes shot daggers at me, but I returned his glare with a smirk of my own. That'll learn you, I thought. You'll never make fun of my mama again.
    Muffie picked up on the undercurrent. "New York? Why New York? What are y'all talkin' about?"
    "Nothing, sugah, just chit chat, is all." Melanie covered her mouth with one hand and fanned the air with the other.
    Sherman shot me a hostile glare. If looks could kill. Quickly, he switched subjects. "Did you see anything incriminating at the scene?"
    "What do you mean by incriminating?"
    "Well, did you catch a glimpse of the killers? Did you find something -- a clue?"
    Melanie sniffed. "What weird questions you're asking my sister. You sound like the police."
    Sherman had said "killers," not "killer." And he specifically asked if I'd found evidence .
    His face turned as red as the Bloody Mary. He rushed to explain, so hurriedly, he stammered. "It's just that my -- my, my -- cousin's on the PD, and he says Mirabelle's keys are missing. She drove herself over to Campbell House. Her car was parked out in the street. Yet she didn't have a set of car keys on her or anywhere around her. They didn't even find a purse. And the keys weren't in the car. The police towed it to the impound lot."
    I grabbed a roll and got busy buttering it. What had happened to Mirabelle's purse? The brown leather shoulder bag? I'd seen her reach into and withdraw the Swiss Army knife.
    "What do you think of this rain?" Muffie asked brightly.
    "What's to think?" I asked irritably.
    She let out a snort. "You're so weird, Ashley."
    "It's Nancy," Sherman explained, "crouched out there off the Bahamas."
    "Who's Nancy?"
    Muffie shook her head. "Helloooo? Anybody in there? Where y'all been? Hurricane Nancy. She's headed straight for Wilmington."
    I turned to stare out the window. So a hurricane was headed our way. I