Read Online Wilmington, NC 03 - Murder On The Ghost Walk by Ellen Elizabeth Hunter - Free Book Online Page B

that she didn't care for anything, I sat down next to her and patted her arm. "Now what's wrong? Something's got you upset, Nellie."
    "Yes, I am upset," she said firmly, her hands squeezed together in her lap. "You and your sister have got to make other arrangements for your mother. She's past the point where I can care for her. She's a threat to her own safety!"
    "Tell me what happened?"
    "I got her ready for bed, then went down to the kitchen to wash up the supper dishes. When I finished, I saw that the front door was standing open. I found your mother down at the end of the pier in her nightgown. She was teetering on the end of it and I thought she'd fall in and drown before I could reach her."
    "Oh, Nellie, I am so sorry." I was sorry for Nellie and sorry for Mama and sorry for me. "I'll call Melanie. I promise we'll do something. Please, stay with us until we can make arrangements to get her into a care facility ."
    She seemed relieved. "I will, Ashley. I won't leave you high and dry. You can count on me."
    As we said goodnight, I gave her a hug. "Thank you, Nellie." I wanted to tell her how good she was but th ought that might seem condescending.
    I dialed Melanie's numbers repeatedly before I went to bed. Each time I got voice mail. "Call me right away. I don't care how late it is," I said. "It's about Mama."
    Melanie and Mama had always been close, but during my first year at Parsons something changed. There was a coolness between them that I didn't understand. About that time Mama got sick. Probably she'd been showing signs earlier, but we'd just chalked it up to forgetfulness and her own vague personality. Now we had a major decision to make. I wanted Mama to be safe.
    Earlier I had stopped at Melanie's house on my way home from dinner with Jon. I wanted to catch her expression when I handed her the brooch. I'd know by her expression if something was amiss. Then I'd get her to explain how the brooch got in Shelby Campbell's sofa. But Melanie hadn't been at home, so my sleuthing would have to wait.
    My thoughts turned inward to six years ago when I'd done the unthinkable and left my small-town Southern home to go to school in the big city of New York. The first Christmas I came home, the atmosphere had been tense and strained. At twenty-six Melanie had moved back home so that she could save money to buy her own house. Melanie and Mama treated each other politely but coolly. They didn't quarrel, but there was some undercurrent, something was really wrong between them.
    On Christmas eve, Daddy drank more than I'd ever seen him do, fortifying the eggnog with Southern Comfort. In the evening, he went out, saying he had to retrieve some papers he'd forgotten at the court house. He never returned. He'd driven into one of the enormous live oak trees on Airlie Road. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. That was the worst Christmas, the worst day, of my life.
    I slipped off my robe and curled up on the bed, waiting for Melanie's call. I must have dozed off for the sudden chirp of my cell phone woke me with a start. Melanie said irritably, "Whatever's wrong, Ashley, you'll have to handle it. I'm not alone."

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    The next morning, in preparation for our meeting with Mirabelle, I dressed in a black skirt and red sweater set. Red for power, red for energy, red for danger. Red that warned : Don't mess with me!
    I met Jon at the big doors to Down East Productions where Mirabelle's show Southern Style was being telecast live. He looked professional in a navy blazer and grey slacks. One of the things I like about my home town is that men still wear suits and sports jackets.
    Over the door, a red light glowed, signaling that filming was in progress. Jon and I tiptoed inside, were motioned to the sidelines and signaled to be quiet. As I watched the show unfold, I observed another of Mirabelle's many faces. The woman was a chameleon. Today her role was all-knowing Earth Mother, patiently instructing her untutored