Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

ransacked. Drawers and cabinet doors gaped open. Clothing, books, glassware dumped on the floors.
    "There's so much anger here," Nick said. "He couldn't find the rubies so he went bonkers."
    I rubbed my arms, feeling cold and remote. I wished things were different between Nick and me, so I could burrow into his arms. "This has nothing to do with the rubies," I told him in a wooden tone. "I'm getting close to the murderer."
    "Don't start that again, Ashley. Remember, a lot of people saw you wearing those rubies at the party Friday night. Your picture was on the society page in the newspaper on Sunday so anyone could have seen those rubies. And you don't have an alarm system. I want you to get one installed right away. I'll even call it in for you. And get one for your mother's house as well ."
    A uniformed cop tapped him on the shoulder. "Wait here," he told me as they moved aside and talked softly together.
    When he came back, he said, "Look, I've got to go. Your neighbor memorized the license plate of the truck he saw cruising the street. DMV has identified it as Henry Cameron's. He was the Campbell’s caretaker. We've got to go talk to him." He started toward the door with the cop, then he seemed to really focus on me. "Don't worry, Ashley. I'll have a cruiser drive by to keep an eye on things. One of the officers will board up that broken window."
    After the police left -- a sheet of plywood nailed over the broken sidelight as promised -- I surveyed my trashed rooms. Where to begin? I followed the cord to my landline telephone under a pile of books and papers. At least there was a dial tone. I dialed Melanie's cell phone. When she didn't answer, I left a message. She didn't answer at her home number or her office either. I left messages at both places.
    I pushed stuff off one of the loveseats and settled down heavily. I'd had mixed feelings about Henry Cameron. He had come across as scary with that grim reaper scythe, yet humble too. But why would he break into my house? The key? He wanted the key. Or was Nick right, could he have been after the rubies?
    I tried to calm down. Nick would pick him up. Nick would lock him up. Then I'd be safe.
    I checked all th e locks then tackled the mess.
    At four, an ADT van rolled up onto the brick pavers. "You sure got connections," the technician said when I let him in. "Told me this was top priority, to drop whatever I was doing and get out here. Got to do the house next door too."
    Two hours later, he showed me how to work the alarms, then left. By th at time it was six and I was tired and hungry. I grilled a cheese sandwich and heated milk for hot cocoa. Comfort food. Melanie called. Finally. I told her someone had broken into my house.
    "Install a burglar alarm," she advised, after I assured her the burglar had not stolen the family rubies.
    "Already taken care of," I said. "Can you come over?"
    "Oh, Ashley, I've had a dreadful day. I just want to go home and have a good stiff drink. My lawyer and I met with the police this morning. You'll never believe this but the A.D.A. tried to strike a deal. She had the nerve to ask me to plead to manslaughter? That would never happen if Daddy were alive! I've got a good mind to sue this city!"
    "Melanie, did you threaten to kill Mirabelle?"
    For a moment she was silent "Who told you that?"
    "Nick. Muffie Warner signed a statement. Cecily was there too but for now she isn't saying one way or the other."
    "Those two. I ought to kill them."
    "Melanie! Did you?"
    "Well, yes, but I didn't mean anything by it. It was just something you say in the heat of the moment. No one who knows me would believe I meant it. The bitch brigade is out to get me."

30

    "They're all talking about me," Melanie hissed. "I hate them. They're such phonies."
    We were at Mirabelle's house for the post-funeral reception.
    "It's all that blundering detective's fault. Everyone's shunning me like I'm Lizzie Borden."
    Joel slipped an arm around her shoulder. "They're not fit to wipe your shoes on, angel face."
    No one shed a tear for Mirabelle. Joel must have felt something for her once – he had been her husband -- but if he mourned her now, it was a well-kept secret.
    Black-humor jokes made the rounds. Food disappeared faster than Siss y and the other maid could refill the platters. Mirabelle's dining room table was a groaning board, heaped with fried chicken, ham biscuits, cheese biscuits, barbecued ribs : enough cholesterol, growth hormones, antibiotics, and