Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

chronicle of the morning's events, telling her of how a portion of the interior wall had collapsed.
    "But you're not hurt," she cried.
    I as sured her I was only dirty. And unnerved.
    Just then o ur food came and I practically inhaled the shrimp bisque. Hot, spicy, creamy shell fish stew. Coastal comfort food. In between s poonfuls , I described finding the skull, and how law enforcement had arrived in full force.
    When I got to the part about Dr. Banks saying there were two skeletons, a man and a woman, the fork fell from her grasp and her golden green eyes popped wide.
    " Shut up !" she declared. "Two skeletons! There were two skeletons?"
    "Yes, two. I hung around and watched him count the bones: four femurs, four tibias. The two skulls were a dead giveaway ." I giggled uncontrollably.
    "You've had a nasty shock, baby sister. Here, drink your tea, the sugar and caffeine will do you good." She became subdued, expression grave, eyes downcast. "Shelby and Reggie. It's got to be them."
    "Shelby and Reggie? But how can that be? They gave you the listing on the mansion and you sold it to Mirabelle. More likely a couple of drifters broke into the house."
    "And climbed inside a wall to die like old sick cats? Get real. It has to be them."
    "But aren't they in Italy ?" I protested. "Everyone says they were buying a house in Tuscany ."
    " Yes, b ut this is home ,” Melanie said . “ Surely they would have come back, if only to settle their affairs here."
    "So someone made up that story. I never understood how they could abandon that beautiful house."
    She picked up her fork again and stabbed a lettuce leaf. "Well, now we know they didn't. They've been here all along."
    I stared at the river blindly, seeing something else. "Shelby Campbell did have long blonde hair, didn't she?"
    Melanie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Yes. Down to her tush. Wh at are you getting at ?"
    "There was a hank of something I thought was straw. But it was hair. Dried out yellow hair."
    Melanie pushed her plate aside. "Well, that does it. I can no t eat another bite. Oh, yuck. How distasteful."
    "But, Mel, I don't understand. How could those skeletons be Reggie and Shelby when they gave you the listing to sell their house for them?"
    She sniffed, then leaned across the table to confide, "That's not how it happened. I bought the house from the city. At foreclosure ."
    Well, that explained her new Lexus RX300. I knew the monstrous sum Mirabelle had paid for that house.
    "Is that legal?" I asked.
    "Absolutely legal," she said flatly. "In fact I did the city a favor. The taxes hadn't been paid in years. The house was attracting vagrants and the c ity council was getting complaints. No one could find the Campbells. Funny thing, though. Reggie and Shelby left -- that is, disappeared -- six years ago but the property taxes were paid for the first three years of their absence."
    "So that means they were alive for those first three years. Or . . . som eone else was paying the taxes. ” I slapped my forehead. “Oh my gosh, i t was the murderer . The killer paid the taxes!"
    I flopped back in my chair. "I remember how sweet they were to me that time w e went to their Christmas ball. I wish someone else had found them." I threw my napkin on the table and dropped my head into my hands.
    Melanie scooted her chair close to mine and cradled me in her arms. "There, there, shug. Don't cry. It's going to be all right. You'll see."

4

    After lunch, I strolled across cobble - stoned Chandler’s Wharf to my small studio to play back my telephone messages. And, yes, there were many. Every television and print reporter in the county and as far away as Charlotte and Raleigh wanted to talk to me about finding the skeletons. One message was from Mirabelle. No mistaking that autocratic tone. She'd been treating me like her personal servant since day one.
    "I'm flying in from New York this afternoon, sweetie," the message said. "My plane lands at four. I need you to pick me up at the airport. Meet me right outside security. Oh, and Ashley, you know I don't like to be kept waiting."
    No "please." No "thank you." Just another instruction issued, as if she were selecting paint colors. One glance at my watch and I realized her plane was airborne; no way could I reach her to warn her.
    I trudged up the hill to the Campbell mansion for my car. The emergency vehicles had departed . So were Willie Hudson's trucks and Jon's jeep. But the medical examiner's van, the Crime Scene