Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

left. I had to placate Mirabelle no matter how abused I felt.
    I slit open the envelope and slid the documents out. Mirabelle's lawyers had drawn up a contract reflecting the new deadline. They must have stayed up all night. Oh, Daddy, why aren't you here when I need you? I slammed my fist down on my desk, flinched at the pain, then picked up the contract and read the fine print. If the new kitchen was not ready for use on December 15, I could kiss my commission goodbye. My stomach knotted painfully.
    I had to get a grip on my fears. OK , she's the boss, I told myself, for now. Not forever. As soon as this job is complete, I'll never have to see her again. There'll be other clients. Success was as near as the close Southern air. I vowed I'd survive any trap my "Client from Hell" set for me.
    The sound of tapping came from the back room. Tommy, an upholsterer who shared space and rent with me, was already at work. He was a part-timer, a retiree from a high-end furniture company in High Point. If bluefish were running, or if tuna were sighted off the coast, Tommy blew me a kiss and vanished for days.
    We had an arrangement that worked to our mutual benefit: I sent business his way, he gave my work top priority. As tight as money was for me, I was lucky to have him sharing the expenses on the studio. And it was good to have someone around to talk to. Plus, he was the best in his craft.
    I joined him in the back to check on furniture from Campbell Ho use he was reupholstering. The workroom was spacious, strikingly colorful with bolts of brightly patterned cottons and linens, silk damasks and voiles, all wrapped in clear plastic bags.
    Tommy, barrel-chested and brawny-armed from years of manhandling heavy pieces, was pulling upholstery tacks out of an authentic Duncan Phyfe sofa. The framework was carved with the acanthus leaf motif.
    "Squirrels sure did a number on this one," he said, referring to shredded damask.
    "I know. Somehow animals got into the house."
    "Where's the new cloth you want me to use?"
    I pointed to a bolt of Schumacher velvet in soft celadon green. "We'll use that for the furniture. I think we can save the Aubusson rug. It's got those same shades of green. Somehow it withstood the damp."
    Tommy picked up a small object off the worktable and handed it to me. "Found that way down behind the seat cushion."
    A lovely cameo brooch of fine quality rested in my palm. The stone was a pale coral color with dainty seed pearls mounted around the oval. I knew that brooch.
    "Thanks," I said. "I'll put this in a safe place."
    "That must've been some shock for you, Ashley, finding that skull. It's all the TV reporters are talking about."
    "It was pretty grisly."
    "Well, if you need anything, anything a’ tall , you know you can count on me."
    I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I know, Tommy. And thanks."
    "Everyone's saying those remains are Mr. and Mrs. Campbell," he went on. "I did some work for them years back."
    "You knew them?"
    "Yep, sure did. Fact is, I'm the one put on this here yeller cover." He eyed the dirty damask that showed patches of delicate yellow. "That was about seven years ago, right after I took early retirement and moved here so I could fish."
    "They invited me to their Christmas party when I was seventeen. That was the last time I saw them."
    "Never met him but I do remember her right well. Pretty woman. Nice too. Down to earth for a rich woman. None of that highfalutin stuff like I've had to put up with some. She liked to kick back and have herself a bit of fun. I went over there one evening to give her an estimate, and before I knew it she was whipping up whiskey sours and we was having ourselves a high old time."
    He paused, his expression softening. "You know, Ashley, she seemed right lonely to me. A sad little thing. But she tried not to let it show. I felt kinda sorry for that little lady."
    I remembered Jon's comment about the group sex parties the Campbells used to host. That would sure do me in. I wanted to ask Tommy what time he left Shelby Campbell's house that night or if he left at all. He was still vigorous for a man in his sixties. Seven years ago, he was younger and even more virile. He was a widower then and lonely, and if Shelby was lonely and unhappy, perhaps they had comforted each other.
    "And Reggie Campbell didn't come home?" I asked.
    "Not that night." He clamped his mouth shut and cast me a furtive glance.
    I pretended I hadn’t heard the slip. "Maybe he was