Murder on the Candlelight Tour (12 page)

Now I noticed that she was dressed for the TV cameras. Serious gray wool suit. Pearl choker necklace. Pearl button earrings. Make-up just so. Every gleaming blonde hair in place. I struggled to concentrate. "What do you want to know?"

"I just wanted to see you for myself, to see how you're doing. So I can report your condition accurately. Nick told me you didn't get a good look at your assailant. But if you remember anything, if you want to talk, well, I'm here to listen. And to help."

Melanie fluttered around the tiny space, distracting me. I wanted them both to leave. I wanted to go back to sleep.

Then I thought of Rachel, who wouldn't be around to paint flowers on my walls ever again, or to decorate Christmas trees with me. And I thought of Sheldon who wouldn't be decorating any more houses. And of Binkie, who was facing a murder charge while the guilty person was getting away with murder!

"Just find the person who did this to me. And who killed Rachel. And Sheldon. That's all I have to say."

16

After Lisa left the hospital for the press conference, Melanie took charge of my nursing duties. Helped me to get up and walk to the bathroom. Grabbed the pill cup out of the nurse's hand, shaking the pills into my palm herself. Even held the water glass to my lips. The nurse started to argue, but Melanie shot her a withering glare. The woman threw up her hands and backed off. She had plenty of other patients to look after. If this red-head wanted to play Florence Nightingale, that was just fine and dandy with her.

On the curb in front of the hospital, Melanie helped me out of the wheelchair and into the back seat of her capacious Lexus. She settled me among the pillows and blankets she'd thoughtfully provided. She wanted to take me to her house but I insisted on going home, telling her I'd rest better in my own bed. She got Nick on the cell phone to verify that the crime scene unit had completed processing my house. Then she drove me home. Once there, she put me to bed, heated broth, fixed Jell-O, and called the pharmacy and had my prescription delivered. She was my perfect big sister.

I was as touched by her devotion as I had been by Nick's. The two of them, they were a couple of walking paradoxes. But I was used to Melanie's personality swings. Nick was an enigma. And then I remembered my unsettling thought about him in the hospital: I loved him.

In the middle of the night I awoke in my own bed. I'd been sleeping for hours, and my internal clock was out of sync. The house was warm and cozy.

Sliding out of bed, I felt mildly dizzy and waited for the spell to pass. My head pain had settled down to a dull ache. I didn't bother with slippers but pulled on my robe. Tiptoeing down the hall, I passed the guest room where Melanie slept. In it, magnolias blossoms covered the walls. Who would finish painting them?

I felt my way to the stairs in the darkness. As woozy as I felt, maybe I shouldn't have been doing this but I was hungry. On the landing, a wave of dizziness hit me, and I sank down on the top step. Suddenly tears were streaming down my checks. Rachel. Rachel, my good friend, was gone. And Sheldon. I'd never see them again.

I dried the tears with the hem of my nightgown, crept quietly down the back stairs. Nick was sleeping in the parlor on the divan in the Turkish corner. He'd let me come back to my house on one condition -- that he be allowed to spend the night. "I have to. I wouldn't sleep a wink at home, worrying about you. This way I know you'll be safe."

A light in the kitchen guided me through the back hallway. Someone had thoughtfully left a lamp on. My stomach had settled. With only broth and Jell-O for dinner, my gnawing appetite drove me toward the refrigerator where I knew there was a pint of hazelnut gelato.

Then I made a mistake. I looked over my shoulder in the direction of the open library door. Without warning, I was reliving the attack. A whirling figure came flying at me from out of the shadows. An arm raised threateningly. A long, cylindrical weapon came crashing down. "No," I cried, my arms flying up to protect my face and head.

"Ashley?" Nick rushed from the kitchen to catch me as I fell. I felt his arms go around me, lift me. "I'm here, baby. I'm here."

I was crying. Shivering. My arms and legs trembled, out of control. I was cold--very, very cold.

He carried me into the parlor, lowered me onto the divan, grabbed an afghan and wrapped it around me. I wanted to tell him not to worry, but I couldn't speak. He crawled onto the divan with me, stretched out alongside me, pulled me close. I squeezed into the curve of his body.

"You're okay," he soothed. "I'm here." One arm held me tight. His free hand stroked my hair.

My body shuddered helplessly. "Oh, Nick. I saw him. He was going to attack me again." I buried my face in his chest.

"Shhh. It's okay. It'll go away. It's post-traumatic stress. I thought you were too calm this afternoon. I think you ought to see someone. Right away. Before this gets worse."

"You mean a therapist?"

"Yes. I can give you the name of a good one who works with the force. Take a deep breath. Try to think of something pleasant."

"That's easy," I said lightly. This was the first time we were in bed together. Our amorous encounters had always taken place at my front door, or on moonlit walks on Wrightsville Beach. His body heat warmed me. The shivering stopped. I was conscious of only one thing: Nick and my desire for him.

My voice was steady now, a husky whisper. "You feel wonderful."

"I know." His voice was husky too.

"Oh, you know," I teased, poking him in the ribs.

"I mean I know how good you feel. Ashley. . . ."

"Shhh." I lifted my mouth to be kissed. His mouth met mine, sweetly, hungrily. There was nothing else in the world but the feel of his mouth on mine. My crazy world of murder, my worry about Binkie, everything vanished. We were alone in a private world, just we two.

Our kisses grew deeper, more urgent. My need for him engulfed me, took over. I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling him, wishing I could crawl under his skin, I wanted to be that close. He held me tighter, whispering my name over and over. His breath came in ragged bursts.

Abruptly, he pulled away, rolled onto his back. Blew out his breath. "I can't do this. It's not the right time." His voice hoarse with desire, he coughed.

I moved my head to his chest. "No, Nick, it's right. Very right."

"You're upset, Ashley. You've suffered a shock. I won't take advantage of you. Ashley, I . . ."

"Yes, Nick?" I studied his profile in the faint light.

"Nothing. When we do this, I want it to be right. Now, I'm going to hold you. I want you to go to sleep. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

I let myself drift. "This is nice," I whispered.

"Very nice." He pulled the afghan over us.

I yawned. And slipped into the contented sleep of lovers.

I woke at first light, my headache a mere shadow. Sleeping in Nick's arms had been the most delicious experience. Through the night I'd been aware of him yet I'd slept soundly and peacefully. But with the coming of dawn, I feared the return of "Nick, the Cop." I cherished my memory of "Nick, the Lover" and wanted to hold on to it. Plus, if Melanie saw us together, I'd never hear the end of it. For right now, I wanted to hug this beautiful new feeling all to myself.

Reluctantly, I slipped out from under Nick's arm and tiptoed upstairs. Back in my own bed, I dozed, feeling luxurious and marvelously content. If it feels this good to sleep together like innocent babes, I thought, how wonderful will it be to sleep together as lovers? With that happy image playing across my brain, I slumbered.

At seven Melanie brought a breakfast tray, remarking that Dick Tracy had gotten up early and was gone. I felt disappointed that I didn't have a chance to say good morning, to send him off with a kiss. As I sipped sweet tea and nibbled toast, she added the finishing touches to her outfit. "At least he had the good sense to assign a squad car to this house."

"Where?" I threw back the covers and crossed to the window.

"Right out front where everyone can see it."

A blue and white Wilmington P.D. cruiser was parked at the curb in front of my house. Looking down, I could see a uniformed officer at the wheel.

Melanie gave her luxurious auburn hair a toss. "I'm off to meet Lisa."

"You two have sure become tight," I said, returning to bed and the breakfast tray.

"She's such a sweetie pie. You know, she's led a truly wretched life. She's practically an orphan. What that poor girl . . ."

"Mel. Not now. My head hurts." The last person I wanted to hear about was Lisa.

Melanie rushed to my bedside. "Oh, baby sister, I'm so sorry. Let me get you a pain pill before I leave." She fussed over me, fetching pills and water.

"Thanks for being so good to me," I said, ashamed of myself for lying and for all the times I questioned the depth of her love and loyalty.

She picked up her handbag. "All we have is each other. Well, I'm off. Wish me luck. She's going to commit to a house today, I just know it."

"Good luck," I said, and blew her a kiss.

17

A few hours later, Jon was unrolling blueprints on my dining room table. I floated to his side, my feet barely touching the floor. I was happy, oh so happy. I knew I was wearing a silly grin on my face; I'd seen it when I was brushing my hair, examining the stitches. Love changed everything, turned my world upsidedown. Distraught as I was about Rachel's death, fearful as I was that her murderer had tried to kill me too, my secret love for Nick buoyed my spirits and gave me wings.

Yet, I was being practical too. A locksmith was expected later to change all the locks. When he called for an appointment he told me that Detective Yost said it was urgent police business. Even ADT responded without delay when called by a homicide detective. The alarm system would be installed this afternoon. Nick, God bless him, was looking out for "his girl."

"Are you sure you feel up to this?" Jon asked. "You're acting kind of goofy. Must be the medication."

"I'm okay," I said. "A little tired. Now let's put 'Operation Treasure Hunt' into effect. By the way, did you and Binkie come to the hospital yesterday? I thought I saw you."

"Sure we did. We were worried about you, but when we looked in, you were asleep."

"That was sweet of you."

"Binkie thought a treasure hunt for Suzanna O'Day's hidden gold would cheer you up and take your mind off the murders."

"If there's gold here, why didn't we find it when we were remodeling? We were all over this house."

"Maybe because we weren't looking for it. Binkie says it's here and that's good enough for me." He strolled over to the windows and drew back the lace curtains. "Let's check out the gazebo too. It's as old as the house."

I joined him at the window and clapped him on the back. "Good thinking. We haven't touched that."

The gazebo: a pretty structure in the garden, covered with Carolina jessamine vines. "A perfect hiding place."

I headed toward the back hall. "Let's start down in the cellar, get that over with. We'll tackle the gazebo later when the dew's burnt off."

"You go on down. I'll get the metal detector from my car and join you."

I unbolted the cellar door and snapped on the light switch. Reaching the bottom of the steps, I heard the telephone ring upstairs. It had been ringing off the hook all morning: the newspaper, the local TV stations. According to a perky anchorwoman, there was an All Points Bulletin out for Eddie Parker.

I scanned the basement, taking in the foundation that had been constructed of ballast when the house was built in 1840. In the antebellum period, British ships crossed the Atlantic with ballast for weight, which they off-loaded in Wilmington to make room for lumber and turpentine, our leading exports. In those days, fires had taken a toll on the town, destroying most of the wood structures. This house had been lucky. Originally, it had served as the manse for Reverend Israel and Hannah Barton and their nine children. How had they ever raised nine children in three bedrooms?

I heard Jon's footsteps cross overhead then he appeared on the stairs, carrying the metal detector.

"How about we imagine there's a grid overlay on the floor, then we'll work it square by square," he suggested. The floor was made of dirt with a top layer of sand and crushed shells.

"Sounds good to me. Can I help?"

"No, you just sit over there on the steps and rest."

He turned on the metal detector and paced the width of the cellar, guiding the piece of equipment inches above the floor, like a divining rod in search of water. We made a hit right away. The detector started to click, and I told him where to find a shovel. But his labor netted us only a bag of rusted nails.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Jon asked.

"Sure. I'll just sit over here and watch."

He picked up the metal detector again, marched back and forth, back and forth. The machine remained mute. He was nudging the device into the last corner when it suddenly went berserk.