Murder on the Candlelight Tour (20 page)

"Sorry," I muttered, and called myself a petty louse. Jealous of Melanie's friendship with Lisa. Jealous of Nick and Lisa's business relationship. Lord, I must be insecure. Get a grip on your emotions, girl, I chastised myself. All these murders are making you lose your perspective.

"Joel's throwing a party at the office on Saturday night. He especially wants you to be there. You will come, won't you?"

Go to a party with Joel Fox? No way. "I'd rather not. You know how I feel about parties. Besides, I'm partied out."

"Partied out? What parties have you been to, I'd like to know?" She massaged lotion on her hands and arms.

"Well, lots," I said.

"Name one."

She was making me cross. "Well, I'm fixin' to have one tomorrow night. Binkie and Jon are coming over and we're having eggnog." What I didn't tell her was that the three of us had plans to spend the day researching the Palace Street property to try to find a good reason to prevent her and Joel from developing it.

She hooted. "Whoop-ti-do! How can you bear the excitement? What are you going to do for entertainment, play 'Old Maid' cards? Or maybe get out the Ouija board and ask it who the murderer is?"

At that I flounced out of the room, wondering why I was bothering to protect her when she was always trying her best to make me look silly. Because she's your sister and you love her, a voice inside me replied. Even if she's the silly one, foolishly dotty over that sleaze Joel Fox. Still I've got to stick with her. "I've got to be around to pick up the pieces when somebody breaks her heart," I sang under my breath.

Melanie stepped out into the hall. "Ashley, don't be mad. I was just playing with you. Please say you'll come to the party. Joel is trying so hard to be friends with you, won't you meet him half way?"

I came to a dead halt, then turned to face her. "Joel Fox is a turd, Melanie. Someday you're gonna wise up. But for your sake I'll try to come to the party."

She clasped hands with mine. "Oh good, sweetie. Joel'll be so pleased. Seven o'clock, Saturday night, don't forget."

Now, finished with watering the Christmas trees, spritzing the greenery, and calling in an order for a half-cord of firewood, I snuggled up on the library couch with MaeMae Mackie's diary. Someday I'm going to have to get a life. Other women go to holiday parties and shopping with friends but here I am reading the ramblings of a woman with a drinking problem who hated her husband.

MaeMae had written in her diary sporadically. There'd be entries for a few days in a row, then nothing for months, and even years. I thumbed through, looking for some juicy tidbit to catch my fancy. And catch it she did. The word "secret" jumped right up off the page.

Sheldon doesn't know I'm onto his secret. He talks in his sleep. I was about to suggest that he move into the guest room because of one too many torturous nights listening to him groan and mumble. Sometimes he even shouts. It's a wonder he doesn't wake himself, but he sleeps right through it, while I jump so hard, my heart just about stops. Anyway, I was on the brink of moving him out when the mumbling turned downright fascinating. I listened intently and was able to discern certain phrases that led me to believe Sheldon was not the man he wanted the community to think he was. He's got a sordid past. I've told no one but Lucy Lou, and she's sworn to secrecy. I experimented and asked Sheldon questions while he was in his sleep-talking stage and, sure enough, he answered me. Now I know his secret. I'm not sure how I'll use this information, but knowledge is power. Lucy Lou and I are thinking hard on it.

I read all the following entries, but couldn't find another reference to the secret. What had MaeMae discovered? Frustrated, I slammed the diary shut. I was sure of one thing: Sheldon was a good person at heart. Whatever secret he'd been harboring must have been a source of shame for him.

My mind wandered to the prospect of Joel's Christmas party. How could I get out of going? Maybe I should go, I argued with myself. Then I could keep an eye on him. If my stomach didn't turn over in the process. Besides, Melanie will be safe enough with all those people around, I told myself.

I wondered if Joel was connected with the crimes that were plaguing us. I wondered if he too was hiding some deep, dark secret. Maybe he'd committed some evil deed that he was covering up. Some event that linked him to Sheldon's and Rachel's murders and caused him to attack me. Something that connected him to Jimmy Weaver's body being buried in my garden.

Maybe he was a member of the Mafia. Maybe he was a front man for organized crime and it was they, not he, who were behind the resort hotel. He did threaten me that his associates would be unhappy if the hotel was not built. Just who were these associates? Melanie had said the hotel would feature internet gambling lounges. What if organized crime was now controlling internet gambling?

I had to find out more about Joel. A plan was starting to take shape in my devious little brain.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Panic punched me squarely in the chest and knocked the breath out of me. At the window, the draperies flapped. Was someone behind them, causing them to flutter? I forced myself to look.

"Spunky, you little devil," I cried. I picked up the black and white kitten who now felt secure enough to play. He'd been batting the bullion fringe with his paw.

25

"This is hopeless," Jon said.

We were at City Hall poring over files. "The records only go back to 1974 when those rental houses were constructed. Prior to that, the property seems not to exist. I don't get it."

Jon, Binkie, and I had spent hours at City Hall, looking up old maps and deeds, old tax records. "Wonder if the street had another name at one time?" I mused aloud.

Binkie slapped a bound ledger of old tax cards shut. "I'm beginning to wonder if the records have disappeared. Accidentally on purpose."

"You mean stolen?" I asked.

"That's precisely what I mean. Someone's been bribed to misplace the records. Then after the hotel is under construction, they'll turn up in the wrong file. Innocent mistake. Everyone knows young people don't know how to alphabetize."

Jon stared at Binkie thoughtfully. "Well, that's one explanation. They sure seem to have vanished without a trace."

Our luck didn't get any better at the Historic Wilmington Foundation. Their archives included property that had been presented with a plaque, and the Palace Street houses did not qualify for plaque status.

Back at my house, I served eggnog lethally spiced with Southern Comfort. If I continued with this trend of culinary expertise, I could soon go into the catering business.

"Why is preserving our past always such an uphill battle?" Binkie asked rhetorically. He was sitting near the fireplace. "When are you going to light a fire?"

"Help me lay one, Jon, and I'll light it right now. You sure you're comfortable with us being in library?" I asked Binkie. "I'm making a conscientious effort to use this room. But it's not easy."

"My memories of that night make me shudder, Ashley dear. Finding Sheldon like that. But this is your home and you can't let ghosts take possession of it."

"Have you got kindling?" Jon asked.

"I've been saving twigs," I replied. "They're out on the kitchen porch. I'll get them."

"And get some newspaper too," Jon called after me.

Outside my kitchen door, the night was cold and as I exhaled, my breath formed a miniature cloud. When I returned with twigs and old newspapers, Jon had the door to the firewood box open and was carefully selecting logs. "You're almost out of firewood. Did you phone in an order?"

I twisted sheets of newspaper into rope-like lengths. "I took care of that yesterday morning. That bit was left behind by Mrs. Penry. I don't think she had a fire in here in decades, not with her asthma."

"Well, a tin-lined firewood box is a handy feature," Jon said. "Wish I had one. Saves running outside on a cold night for wood." He knelt before the hearth, leaned in and opened the flue. I'd had the chimneys cleaned and inspected over the summer so I knew it was safe to build a fire.

I handed him the waded newspaper and a bundle of twigs. He arranged three logs atop the kindling like a tepee, then flicked the lighter and the kindling burst into flames.

Spunky, who was curled in a ball on Binkie's lap, lifted his face to the glow.

"Thank God we found him that day," I said. "He'd never have survived out there. It's turned cold." I reached over and rubbed his back.

"What a loud motor you've got, Spunky," Binkie chuckled.

Jon stood with his back to the now blazing fire. "Draws well. You know, it amazes me how divided the City Council is over historic preservation issues. Even when we demonstrate the economic benefits to the city from tourism, there are still the diehards who think new is better."

"Don't forget the money the film industry brings in because they use our historic settings," I added.

"And," Jon continued, "the federal grants we're eligible for that'll defray restoration costs. Some of those guys still act like 'smart growth' is a passing fad. One fella even suggested we tear down old buildings and put up new, because in the future the new buildings will be our history!"

"This is all well and good, Jon, but where does it leave us? We don't want a monster resort hotel looming over our historic district."

"Well, we've got some time," Binkie said. "Nothing's going to happen till after the first of the year. And then it'll take a couple of weeks for folks to get back into the swing of things. So let's say we've got until mid-January till the City Council takes this up."

I poured him a second eggnog from the pitcher. "We'll just have to keep pushing. We'll all make phone calls, we'll write letters to the editor, and see if we can drum up more media attention. Joel Fox and his associates aren't going to look good in the spotlight. Maybe we can arouse enough public indignation to help us with our cause."

"I hate to throw cold water, Ashley dear," Binkie said, "but the holidays work against us in that regard. Folks are thinking about Christmas shopping and Christmas parties, plum pudding and roasted goose, family and friends. They're not going to start a crusade at this time of year."

Later, as I was saying good night to Jon at my door, I asked, "Where were you yesterday? You didn't return my calls."

He shrugged. "Just busy. You know. Stuff."

Now what is he up to? I asked myself as I locked the door and reset the alarm. Jon's got a transparent face. He's not good at keeping secrets from me, and he was hiding something, of that I was sure. Maybe it's as innocent as buying my Christmas present, I told myself as I carried the tray of eggnog things back to the kitchen.

With the water running I almost failed to hear the doorbell ringing. I wiped my hands and headed for the front door. Looking out I saw Nick. I couldn't help it, I felt a surge of delight, yet it was coupled with resentment that he felt he could drop by at any hour he pleased.

Still, one look at him and I melted, a fluttery feeling tickling my heart. "Nick."

"Hi, baby."

"What's that?" I asked. Standing at the curb in front of my house was the Springbrook Farms horse and carriage. The carriage was decorated with sleigh bells and holly. The placid white horse wore a red and green blanket and reindeer antlers.

"Grab your coat, honey, we're going for a ride."

Up and down Nun Street, candles glowed in windows and trees glittered with fairy lights. Nick handed me up into the carriage as the driver looked on approvingly from under his top hat. I snuggled close to Nick under the carriage blanket.

Why had I ever thought Nick was not romantic? When the first delicate snowflakes began to fall, everything was perfect. I leaned my head on his shoulder and was lulled by the horse's gentle gait. We crisscrossed the historic district, the Christmas lights a feast for the eyes, the smell of wood smoke so homey. There was no other place I'd rather be, I realized. Not New York and the Plaza Hotel. This was home. I couldn't help wondering if someday I'd share a home here with Nick.

We kissed and nuzzled and when he left me at my front door saying he hadn't slept in twenty hours and had to catch some zzzz's, I had a hard time tearing myself out of his arms. And he had a hard time taking his hands off me. I slipped up the stairs and into my own room without waking Melanie. To discuss the evening with her would dispel the magic. My dreams were filled with Nick, his warmth and strength, his smell, his incredibly sexy voice whispering words of love.

The next morning I sipped coffee, feeling happy and purposeful. Today's assignment was to investigate Joel Fox: to find irrefutable proof that he was unworthy of Melanie's love so she'd ditch him. Something tangible that she couldn't easily explain away. And I knew just where to look.

With Melanie out of the house early, I breakfasted on toasted English muffins with butter and orange marmalade. Then I showered, dressed, and did some household chores, like cleaning out Spunky's litter box. Yuk!

Grateful to be driving again, I got in my sporty little Aurora and ran a few errands, picking up the things I needed for Joel's party. My first stop was A-1 Rentals where they had my costume all ready and hanging in a plastic bag. "We've had a run on these things," the clerk said. "Lucky you called ahead. You got the last one."