Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk

everyone. Maybe she had learned something. But if so, wouldn't she have saved that information for her new book? And wasn't she obligated to tell the police?
    I went inside and did some laundry, cleaned the bathroom, dusted, devoted my energies to activities that produced results. After three calls from reporters, I turned off the ringer on the landline telephone and was thankful they did not have my cell number . It was nice being alone, being quiet.
    At about six, I fixed a sandwich and a glass of iced tea and carried a tray back out to the porch. The sky was black now. Coin-sized raindrops plopped on the railings and bushes. The steady downpour obliterated all other sounds . With the gentle sway of the swing, I almost nodded off right there, but worrisome questions chased around in my brain.
    What did it mean that Daddy had been photographed with Shelby, Reggie, and Mirabelle? He knew them, of course. Daddy knew everybody. But he wasn't a ladies’ man . In fact, he was shy around women and treated them with old-fashioned courtliness. With Mama he’d always been sweetly affectionate, treating her like she was fragile. Which she was.
    Whatever Daddy’s association with them, it had to be innocent. Probably just a political function, I assured myself. But Shelby had looked so smug in that photo, her arm linked through his like she owned him.
    Hold on a sec. Bob King told me he and Daddy had been friends. Maybe the person behind the camera was King. Maybe there was a connection.
    "No more!" I cried aloud. I got up and went inside, rinsed my dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. Then I closed and locked the doors and windows and turned on the burglar alarm. The moment my head hit the pillow I dropped into a troubled sleep.
    I don't know how long I slept but I awoke disoriented. What time was it? Darkness and heavy rain pressed against the windows. I had slept away the evening. The digits on my clock blinked. While I slept there'd been a power interruption. Turning on the lights, I tried to remember my dream. Something important was niggling at my brain. A clue. But what was it? I went for my stash of evidence, pulled Mirabelle's red file folders off my closet shelf and dumped them on the bed.
    "The answer's here, somewhere," I said aloud, opening the files at random. I withdrew a document from the file, then stared at it, incredulous. Idiot! Why hadn't I noticed this discrepancy before?
    Now Nick would have to listen to me. I picked up the phone to call him but there was somebody on the line.
    Wind rattled the shutters and rain pounded the window panes noisily making it hard to hear the voice on the other end. "Ashley?"
    "Melanie? Is that you?"
    "Ashley, you've got to come. He's got a gun and he'll kill me."
    "Melanie! Where are you? What's going on?"
    "Shut up, Ashley, and listen! Did you take some files from Mirabelle's?" Melanie's voice drifted away, she was talking to him. I heard the rumble of a man's voice in the background. Then she said, "He says you have them. You've got to bring them."
    "Yes, but . . . "
    "Bring them to Campbell House. And don't call the police. If you do, he'll kill me. Hurry, I . . . "
    There was a click. "Melanie? Melanie?" I cried into the dead phone.
    In no time I pulled on jeans and sneakers, a sweat shirt, and a yellow slicker . I stuffed the file folders into the raincoat's inside pocket. Grabbing my purse and car keys, I bolted off the porch and dashed through the downpour to my car.
    Backing the car out onto Summer Rest Road, I shot out to Eastwood Road. Even with my windshield wipers set high, I couldn't see the markers on the road through the heavy wash of rain. I passed few cars as I tore out Oleander toward town, not bothering to stop for the red lights that bobbed perilously on swinging cables. Powerful winds lashed the trees. A trash barrel rolled out into the street and glanced off my right front fender. I kept going.
    Someone was holding Melanie at gun point, and I knew just who he was. He'd broken into my house, looking for the key to the Campbell's front door. He must have been watching me and seen me put Mirabelle's file folders into my car. Now he was using Melanie to get to me. He knows I know he's killed before and that he'll kill again if he has to.
    I'd do anything to save her. I just hoped I'd be able to talk him into letting us go once he had the evidence. I didn't dare call Nick. A cornered killer had nothing to lose. He'd shoot Melanie!
    I snapped on the