Murder on the Candlelight Tour (5 page)

"I'd like you to meet Lisa Hamilton. Lisa is the police department's new public information officer. She just moved here from Georgia. And this is..."

He was about to say my name but Melanie stepped between us, hand outstretched. I thought she was going to shake hands with Lisa, but instead she offered the startled Lisa a business card. "I'm Melanie Wilkes, and I'm delighted to welcome you to our little community, Lisa." She linked arms with Blondie and drew her to one side. "Now, we'll just have to find the perfect house to suit a young executive on her way up like yourself. Naturally, you'll be doing a lot of entertaining." Inspiration seemed to strike. "Oh, I know. I've got just the house--in mint condition too so you can move right in."

"Why, why, thank you, Miss . . ." Lisa glanced at the card in her hand. "Miss Wilkes."

Jon took my elbow and tried to pull me away. I wasn't budging. I wouldn't miss this little bit of live theatre for anything.

"I'm Melanie," she said with saccharin sweetness. "Melanie Wilkes. Just like in Gone With the Wind." She laughed lightly. "Now you phone me, Lisa, and we'll do lunch, and then I'll take you on a tour of our best boutiques."

The group was breaking up, moving toward cars, Blondie with Nick. He never did complete the introduction.

Melanie grasped Flynn's arm possessively. "Come, Earl, let's take another look at that magnificent house in Landfall."

"Ashley, I'm so glad I caught up with you," Betty Matthews called. I turned back toward the restaurant to see the Matthews hurrying my way.

"Hi, Betty, Wayne," I said. Jon greeted them too.

"Ashley, I just got a call from the Historical Society. I expected they'd close down your house today after what happened. Isn't it just awful? Poor Sheldon."

"Yes," I sighed, remembering. "Poor Sheldon."

"Well, imagine my surprise when I was asked to fill in for Sheldon and Binkie at your house. They made it clear they don't want Binkie there. He's going to be shunned until this is all cleared up."

"You mean my house is still on the tour?" I asked.

"Sure 'nuff. Can you believe it?"

"No, I can't. The police are agreeing to this?"

"They must be, Ashley, because you're supposed to open at four as usual," Betty replied.

"The candlelight tour is very important to our community," Wayne said.

"Let's take a walk," I suggested to Jon after Wayne and Betty left. "I need to clear my head."

He tucked my hand into his. "Where do you want to walk? Along the riverfront? At dusk the trees will be illuminated but it's too early now."

"Let's just stroll around town, look at the Christmas decorations."

"The town looks beautiful. I think you're worried about Binkie. I am too. But let's take some time out for ourselves."

We exited Chandler's Wharf into Nun Street. High atop a ballast wall, on property known as "Brow of the Hill," the handsome Federal-style Governor Dudley house, circa 1825, was decorated with fresh green wreaths in every window. The historic district, all two hundred blocks of it, had gone all out for Christmas -- tiny white lights in trees and shrubs, candles in windows, wreaths with bright red bows.

On Front Street, volunteers were setting out fresh luminaries. They stopped to stare. I called hello. "As soon as we're out of ear shot, they'll be gossiping about us, Jon, and about the murder in my house."

He glanced back over his shoulder. "Don't let it bother you."

I shrugged. "I'll just have to get used to it. Everyone's talking about Sheldon's murder. And why not? Everyone knew him. He was popular." Everyone liked him. Except Binkie.

We walked aimlessly for a while, meandering up and down residential streets, and cutting through alleys. We ventured outside the historic district, into Palace Street. Here too the homes reflected the spirit of the Candlelight Tour, wreaths with berries and colorful bows on front doors, candles in windows, glimpses of Christmas trees inside.

Near the corner, four derelict houses seemed to lean into each other, a blight on the cityscape. "FOR SALE" signs dotted the tiny front yards. "Those houses have been for sale for almost a year," I said.

"They're not old enough to have any historic value, and it would cost too much to fix them up. They were rentals until the landlord started losing money."

"I suppose someone will buy them for the lots."

"I think you're right."

We followed the luminaries to Orange Street and the city's oldest house, the Mitchell-Smith-Anderson House, circa 1740. It was one of the few eighteenth-century homes to survive Wilmington's many fires. The rhythmic clip-clopping of a steady horse sounded in the street, and I turned to see the Springbrook Farms carriage, filled to capacity with tourists. The white horse had sprouted fanciful reindeer antlers.

Passing familiar landmarks, like the handsome Italianate Zebulon Latimer House, home of the Lower Cape Fear Historical Society, I felt my pulse slow and my breath come evenly. These old buildings are the touchstones of my daily life. I'm one of the lucky ones: I was born with a passion for history, with a desire to preserve the sound and the true, to restore dilapidated structures to wholesomeness. Now I'm doing just that. And managing to earn a degree of success I only dreamt about. Despite Sheldon's murder, despite Nick's perfidy, I felt my spirits soar.

"Look at that tree!" I exclaimed, pointing to the giant hemlock across Third Street at the First Presbyterian Church. The enormous evergreen glittered with thousands of tiny white lights.

"Stringing those lights wasn't easy," Jon commented. "They must have used a cherry-picker to get to the top of that tree."

Further along Third Street, we came upon the rear of the Burgwin-Wright House, the parterre gardens with their centuries old formal boxwoods, and the kitchen building.

"Binkie and I were here earlier. He told me he'd toured the dungeon and tunnel and that they were inhumane and gruesome."

"Every time they start a new construction project down by the river, they find another tunnel," Jon said. "There's a network of them under the historic district. During the Civil War, the blockade runners used them to smuggle munitions from the port to the railroad, then on to General Lee in Virginia."

"We're lucky some dedicated citizens got together to save the old sections," I commented. "Most other cities can't wait to tear down their old houses. I'm proud of Daddy for helping with the legal aspects."

Jon gave me a quick squeeze. "I love this place as much as you do, Ashley. The best part is that we're well paid for doing what we love. How many people can say that?"

We stopped, our eyes locking. "Yes," I said softly. "This is just what I needed. But, Jon, I'm so worried about Binkie. Do you think they'll really charge him with Sheldon's murder?"

He took my hand and we crossed Third to stroll alongside St. James Church. "Unless the police can find other leads, I have to admit it looks bad for him. I wish I could be more encouraging, Ashley. I know he didn't do it."

"But someone did, Jon. And he's getting away with it. Binkie told me he heard someone in one of the upstairs bedrooms after the tour. He thought it was a straggler. And I remember hearing footsteps on the backstairs. It must have been the killer, just waiting his chance."

So much for feeling good. "Nick thinks Binkie did it. Honestly, Jon, he's not much of a detective."

"Maybe you're being too hard on him. We don't know what he's doing behind the scenes. He's got to be investigating suspects we don't know about."

I removed my hand from his and, turning the corner onto Fourth Street, walked rapidly.

"Hey, slow down. Take it easy, Ashley. Okay, I take back everything I said about Nick. He's a lousy detective, and he's railroading Binkie. Feel better?"

I slowed to a stroll and couldn't help grinning up at him. "Do me a favor, will you?"

His arms spread expansively. "Anything. Just name it."

"Go talk to Binkie right now. Get him to run through the events of last evening. See if there's something he left out that we can use in his defense."

"Sure. I'll go see him as soon as I walk you home."

Swiftly now, shadows in the streets lengthened as the sun dropped behind Eagle Island. With the winter solstice almost upon us, nightfall was arriving earlier and earlier these days.

We reached my house where already a line had formed. "That was nice, Jon." I stretched to kiss him on the cheek. "You're a dear. I've got to get inside."

"I'll check on Binkie and see what I can learn."

I started up the walk, waving. "Tell him I'll pick him up at eight. We're going to see The Nutcracker tonight."

7

Candlelight behind lace curtains beckoned me to my own front door. Rachel was here and the docents too. Rachel had a key so she could let herself and them inside.

I turned my key in the front door just as she pulled it open for me. Over her shoulder I saw Nick standing in the reception hall. I dropped my sweater on a bench. "What are you doing here? And where's your little friend?"

"Friend? Oh, you mean Lisa. She's back at headquarters, managing the news releases. With this murder, we're all pulling double shifts."

"Then why are you here?" I challenged him, assuming he'd rather be at headquarters with Lisa.

"I thought I'd stay with you through the tour, watch the crowd for you."

My heart leapt with joy. "You haven't given up. You're watching for the killer. You think he'll return to the scene of the crime. On television, they always do."

"This isn't television! And we've got men watching Professor Higgins," Nick said.

So Binkie hadn't been imagining things. He was being watched by the police. He was still the prime suspect.

"I'm surprised we were allowed to open, Nick. Did the police go along with that decision?"

"The chief didn't object. There was no reason to close you down. No safety issue."

"What about out of respect for Sheldon Mackie?" I asked.

"I don't know about that. That's not my area. Someone was quoted as saying he'd have wanted it this way."

"Someone was rationalizing a guilty conscience," I declared.

"Look, Ashley, isn't it enough that I want to be with you? I know this has all been upsetting for you, and I was hoping we could talk."

I sighed deeply. "Yes, it's been very upsetting. I've lost one good friend to a murderer, and the other to the police. What do you want to talk about?"

"Later. We'll talk later. There isn't time now."

Nick was an enigma, I knew that. I pretended not to care. But I did care. "Whatever," I murmured. "Your guys took the rug from the library. Hopefully, the real killer left evidence on it that will clear Binkie."

The doorbell chimed and I opened it to see Betty Matthews urging a crowd to stand back. "Let me pass!" she commanded in an authoritative drawl.

Once inside, she exclaimed, "Ah declare, Ashley, you will never believe what's going on out there. The entire tour is lined up at your house. The line stretches around the block."

"Oh, no! You mean there's no one at the other houses? Everyone's here?"

Betty was rearranging her mussed hair with her fingertips. "'Fraid so. Okay, just point me toward the rooms you want me to cover."

"I'll show you," Rachel said, guiding Betty toward the rear of the house.

The grandfather clock on the landing chimed four. "Well, this is it." I peered out the window at the crowd, and said to Nick, "Maybe it's a good thing you are here. There's a real crowd out there. And they look mighty impatient. Maybe this is a safety issue."

A chunky, pugnacious woman pushed her way in aggressively, her eyes darting first to the parlor, then beyond the stairs to the rear hall. Shoving her ticket in my face, she demanded, "Just show me where it happened."

"The tour starts in the parlor, ma'am. This way," I said firmly, my arm indicating the large, formal room where the docent waited.

"Skip it," the woman growled. "Just show me the library. I want to see where that decorator got snuffed!"

Eventually, Nick had to radio for a crowd-control team, complete with horses, to disperse the crowd, and we locked the front door and closed early.

"What a disaster," I cried, sinking down onto the bench. "I've waited my whole life to have a house on the candlelight tour, and now this has to happen. Poor Sheldon. Poor Binkie. And poor me."

"I'll make you a cup of tea," Rachel said, and went to the kitchen. The docents had left by the back door and Betty Matthews had called Wayne to pick her up on Third Street.

Nick sat down beside me and eased my head onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ashley. I don't know what else to say."

I straightened up. "Well, Binkie and I are going to see The Nutcracker so I'd better go change and pick him up early."

"No, Ashley, you can't do that," Nick said.

A warning note in his voice made me ask, "Why not? Why can't I?"

"Ashley, I have bad news. That's the real reason I'm here."