Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

on Southern Style. She could do photographic essays. Several sample photos of historic downtown houses were included, one of them Campbell House.
    I grabbed up the files, carried them out to my car which was parked in the street, pushed them under the front seat and locked the car. Then I went back inside the house, as innocent as you please, to babysit the packers till their mama came home. While I waited I flipped through Mirabelle's photo albums. One picture brought me up short: Daddy with Reggie and Shelby and Mirabelle. It looked like a party. Shelby had her arm linked through Daddy's.

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    On Saturday evening, Melanie led the way into the Northeast Library. We were both wearing Halloween masks, the black bandit kind, and it was hard to see with my peripheral vision blocked. I always did love dressing up in costumes but the idea of attending the Cape Fear Crime Festival's Halloween party had been Melanie's and she'd bought our tickets. "It'll be fun," she'd said when she invited me. "Like when we were kids. Remember?"
    Who could forg e t the excitement of Halloween when you were a kid? Being out after dark, other kids you saw every day now unrecognizable in their masks and costumes, the thrill of feeling unknown behind your own mask.
    Melanie was dressed up like Cleopatra, a long black straight wig with bangs under a golden tiara shaped like a coiled snake about to strike. Luckily it was another warm, humid evening because all she had on was a gold bra and a long linen wrap skirt. Snake bracelets adorned her upper arms and bejeweled flip flops slapped the bottoms of her bare feet as we crossed the crowded parking lot.
    At the door to the large meeting room we were welcomed by a conference organizer. She was dressed as Morticia Adams in a long slinky black dress with sleeves that fluttered at her wrists. Her dark hair, normally pinned up in a knot, flowed to her waist in waves .
    The room was overflowing with guests in costume and masks. There were cowboys and cowgirls, a magician with a black cape, wand, and top hat, Southern belles, witches with pointy hats.
    The festival is an annual event, held around Halloween, that attracts three to five hundred mystery writers and fans from as far away as St. Bart's and Canada.
    The large room was cleverly decorated with tombstones and bales of hay, spiders dangling from silken webs, black cats, pumpkins, and even an improvised coffin.
    "Would you like to buy a raffle ticket?" a volunteer asked. "The proceeds go to the Guardian ad Litem program for abused and neglected children," he explained. "Last year we raised $1,700. It's for a good cause. Six tickets for five dollars." He offered a basket of tickets.
    I reached into the pocket of the baggy clown suit I'd rented and pulled out a ten and gave it to him. Melanie's costume was so skimpy I assumed she wasn't carrying any money, unless she'd tucked a twenty in her bra. I turned to hand her six tickets but she was gone. I looked around and spotted her nearby, talking to a librarian from the downtown l ibrary, another of the board members. For tonight she was Scarlett, and I wished Mama could have seen her. She had on a scarlet gown trimmed with black lace, a black feather boa, and a hat with black ostrich plumes.
    I was served a glass of wine which I carried as I strolled to the tables where the gift baskets for the raffle drawing were displayed. Books by festival authors were offered along with paintings and gift items. The baskets were attractive, and very desirable. I didn't know which I wanted most, so I distributed my tickets among them.
    Melanie sidled up next to me. "You won't believe what she's been telling everyone."
    "What who's been telling everyone?" I asked, folding my last ticket and sliding it into the appropriate slot.
    "Cecily. She's the keynote speaker."
    I looked at her. "I didn't know that. You paid good money to hear Cecily Cushman speak. I think I've heard it all."
    "You haven't heard this! She's told everyone she's going to name the killer in her speech tonight! Can you believe that? What could she possibly know? It's just a publicity stunt to sell more books."
    I gave Melanie a serious look. "That wasn't a smart thing for her to do."
    We worked our way around the room, checking out the placement of dinner tables, deciding where we wanted to sit. Each table was assigned to an author, and that person's book was centered on the table. In the next room, the caterers were getting organized to serve