Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery

by Teresa Watson

  After Randy left, I sat back on the couch and sighed. “This has been a totally insane day.”

  “I don’t know how you got through the day,” Mike said. “Your head must be killing you.”

  “I’m pretty sure I did everything you’re not supposed to do when you get a bump on the noggin.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I agree. Some of it’s my fault. I should have insisted you stay home when the news came about my grandfather.”

  “I had to go with you. He means a lot to Grandma Alma.”

  “I know what you mean. Every time I go out to see him, it’s ‘Alma this, and Alma that’. They should get married.”

  “Lord, don’t say that around my mother. She’d probably plotz.” I checked the time on my phone. “It’s almost midnight. We should probably get some sleep. I’ll go make up the bed in the spare room.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble. I can sleep here on the couch.”

  “No trouble. It will just take a few minutes.”

  I took some fresh sheets out of the linen closet in the hall, and went into the bedroom to make the bed. When I bent over to tuck a corner of the fitted sheet in, I got dizzy and accidentally knocked over a lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. Mike came in, looking concerned. “What happened?”

  “I bumped into the lamp, nothing major.”

  “Sit down,” he said. He helped me sit down on the bed. “I think you have just reached your limit for the day.”

  “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”

  “Yeah, right.” He picked up the fitted sheet and a pillow. “I’ll sleep on the couch. Stay here.” He took the sheet and the pillow into the living room, and came back. “Come on, time for you to go to bed.”

  I muttered at him under my breath, but I let him help me to my feet and down the hall to my bedroom. “I’m pretty sure I can handle getting ready for bed by myself. Do you need a blanket?”

  “Might be nice. Where can I find one?”

  “I’ll get it…”

  “I’ll get it. Just tell me where.”

  I pointed toward my closet. “Top shelf on the left.”

  Mike pulled down a quilt with a pinwheel pattern. “Very nice. Did you make this?”

  “I’m not that talented. My grandmother made it.”

  “Good night.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, remembering the mess I had left in the living room. “I want to move those papers out of the way.”

  “I’ll take care of it. One arm hurts, but the other one works just fine. Don’t come out of here.”

  “What are you going to do, shoot me?”

  “I would, but you gave one of my officers my gun, remember? Speaking of which, maybe you should give me your gun, just in case.”

  I went over to the closet, slowly knelt down and opened the safe. “Do you want the extra ammunition, too?” I said, handing him the Sig Sauer.

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  I gave him the box of shells, closed the safe, and grabbed Mike’s hand so he could help me up. “If there’s nothing else, I think I would like to get some sleep.”

  “Call me if you hear any strange noises.”

  “You mean besides the unusual sounds of someone snoring in my living room?”

  “I don’t snore,” he said, closing my bedroom door.

  I changed into my night shirt, an oversized Washington Redskins t-shirt, pulled back the covers, turned off the light and crawled under the covers. I had the dream I had at the hospital again. This time, I got a look at the driver of the truck; it was Stanley III, with a big hole near his heart. I woke myself up screaming again.

  Mike came rushing in, holding my gun. “What’s the matter?”

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “Bad dream. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He came over, turned on the lamp, and sat down on the edge of my bed. “Does this happen a lot?”

  “Never.”

  He flipped the safety on and put the gun on the nightstand. “Tell me about the dream.”

  “What are you, my therapist?”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk it out.”

  I moved over to the left so he could lean against the headboard of the bed. Then I told him about the dream. “I have no idea what it means.”

  “Explain to me again how you got involved in this whole situation.”

  “A case of mistaken identity. That’s the easiest way to put it. And now that I’m in the middle of it, I have to see it through.”

  “As much as I hate to say it, I understand. I feel the same way when I get involved in a case. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. You’ve gotten hurt by sticking your nose in this.”

  “Most unexpected,” I agreed. “So have you.”

  “Yes, but I’m a cop. It’s an occupational hazard.”

  “Aw, I didn’t know you cared,” I teased.

  “Well, if you’re going to see this through to the end, then we should share information,” he said.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know,” I said, “but I’m not sure you have.”

  “Most of what I know I got from you. And I know you talked Jo into giving you information that I asked her for.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “It’s definite. I talked to her.”

  “And you let her keep doing it?” I said, shocked.

  “I figured you were going to get the information one way or another,” he shrugged. “So what is Randy going to ask her for now?”

  “I asked him to get her to look through the financials for Aggie and Cliff.”

  “Why?”

  Yawning, I said, “Walt said that they got pressure from both families to declare Stanley’s death a suicide and close the case. Maybe I’ve been watching too much TV, but money usually exchanges hands in situations like that.”

  “Are you suggesting that my grandfather took a bribe?” Mike said angrily.

  “No, I don’t think he did. I think it was Cliff Scott.”

  Chapter 34

  “Are you insane?” Mike said. “I’ve known Cliff Scott all my life. He was as honest as my grandfather.”

  “How could he afford that house on a policeman’s salary? That’s a pretty nice neighborhood. Definitely not cheap.”

  “I’m just not buying it, Cam. No way.”

  I yawned again and rested my head on the headboard. “I’m not saying it’s true, but it would be nice to have some evidence to prove it one way or the other, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. And Aggie?”

  “How could she afford to stay in that big house for all these years? As far as I can tell, she never took another job after Stanley’s death. Amelia admitted that she signed the house over to her because Aggie was blackmailing her. What if she blackmailed her for more than money, too?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that before.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it since the night I met her.”

  “I bet you totally freaked out when you saw the ghostly Stanley for the first time,” Mike chuckled.

  “Nope, I was totally calm. He was rude to me, I was rude to him, it was the start of a beautiful friendship.”

  “Are you rude to all your friends?”

  “Just the ones that annoy me the most. You should feel honored.”

  “I’m touched, truly I am. So who do you think killed Stanley?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “How did they get in and out of the house without Aggie or the son seeing or hearing them?”

  “That’s a good question,” Mike said. “Maybe there’s a secret passageway somewhere. You know, like that game ‘Clue’. We should check out the house, see what we can find. I think I’ll do that tomorrow after I have a chat with Mrs. Ashton. I suppose you want to be around for that? It might not be a bad idea. People seem to be more chatty around you than me. What do you think? Cam?” He looked over at me and smiled. “Never mind. We can talk about it in the morning.”

  Saturday

 
; I woke up the next morning to sunshine peeking around the edge of my bedroom curtains. Something heavy was lying across my waist; I looked down to see an arm. “What the heck?” Rolling over, my eyes widened in shock. “What are you doing in here?” I said, slugging him on the right arm.

  “Ow!” Mike said, grabbing his wounded arm. “Watch it, will you? That hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, but what are you doing in my bed?”

  “Good morning to you, too,” he replied. “You fell asleep when we were talking. I guess I fell asleep, too. Don’t worry, I was a perfect gentleman. If you notice, I’m on top of the covers, not under them.”

  “Sorry, I’m just not used to someone else sleeping in my bed.”

  “Well, it must have helped you sleep, because you didn’t wake up screaming.”

  He had a point. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “I only have one complaint.”

  “Just one?”

  “I’m a Cowboys fan, and you’re wearing a Redskins shirt. It’s rather offensive.”

  “You’ll live, I’m sure,” I said. “There are towels in the hallway bathroom, and there’s soap and shampoo in the cabinet over the toilet. Probably not up to your standards, but you won’t smell like a girl, I promise.”

  Mike got up and looked at the clock. “It’s 8:30. I wonder if Mrs. Ashton is finding the interview room at the police station to her liking.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Do you want to sit in on the interview?”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I told you last night we would share information. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”

  “If you’ll get out of here.”

  True to my word, I was ready to go in twenty minutes. I was wearing a pair of black jeans, a button up shirt with thin blue and white vertical stripes, and my tennis shoes. I organized the papers that Mike had put on the coffee table last night, making sure that the information about Amelia was on top for easy access.

  Mike came out of the spare bedroom wearing black pants, a white Oxford shirt and his work boots. “Wow, you clean up well,” I said.

  “Thank you, I think,” he replied, putting his bag on the arm of the recliner. “Are you almost ready?”

  Putting the papers in my messenger bag, I put my phone in a side pocket and grabbed my keys. “Ready.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, just a slight headache. In fact,” I said, going into the kitchen and grabbing a Dr Pepper from the fridge, “this should help some, along with some Advil in my bag somewhere.”

  “I’ll take some of that Advil when we get to the station, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem. Let’s go.”

  My phone rang as I got in the car. “I’ll meet you down there,” I told Mike. He nodded, got into his Bronco and drove off. I started my car and answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Are you coming to the coffeehouse this morning?” my father said.

  “Good morning to you too, Dad.”

  “Randy told us what happened yesterday. Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That’s not what Randy said.”

  “And what did dear Randy say?” I asked him, making a note to kick Randy in the butt the next time I saw him.

  “He said something about a concussion and a gunshot wound.”

  “Well, he’s wrong, Dad. I don’t have a concussion. Mike Penhall is the one that was shot. Someone took potshots at us last night through the living room and kitchen windows.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. He was hit in the arm, but it just grazed him.”

  “I thought you were just doing research on the Ashton family.”

  “It’s gotten a bit complicated.”

  “Obviously it has, if someone is trying to kill you.”

  “I’m alright, Dad. Mike stayed at the house last night after we got back from the emergency room. He’s watching out for me. How is Grandma Alma?”

  “She’s fine. Did she really beat someone over the head with her cane?”

  “Yeah, she did. Walt said she was great. Randy has promised to get her a good, sturdy cane that won’t bend or break.”

  “Don’t encourage her.”

  “I won’t. I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ve got a meeting at the police station at nine, and I don’t want to be late.”

  “Try and come by today. Your mother wants to see for herself that you’re alright.”

  “You mean she wants to lecture me and give me the third degree.”

  “She might. Love you, Cam.”

  “Love you too, Dad. Tell Mom I love her, too.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I parked my car at the police station. I grabbed my bag and rushed inside. The officer at the front desk looked at me as I walked in. “I’m Camille Shaw. Chief Penhall is expecting me.”

  “Sign here, please,” he said, pointing to a clipboard on top of the desk. I signed my name, he handed me a visitor’s badge, and pointed down the hall to his left. “Second door on the right.”

  I clipped the badge to my messenger bag as my phone rang again. “Hello?” I said as I made my way to Mike’s office.

  “Hey, how are you feeling this morning?” Randy said.

  “Like I want to kick my best friend where the sun don’t shine.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You freaked my mother out, that’s what! Telling her I’d been shot. What were you thinking?”

  “It’s not my fault she misunderstood me.”

  “No, but it’s your fault for opening your big mouth about it in the first place.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go over there and straighten things out?”

  “No, I already talked to Dad. He’ll take care of it. Did you talk to Jo?”

  “Yes, and I have some general information for you. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

  “Can you send it to me in an email? I’m at the police station right now.”

  “Penhall arrested you? For what?”

  “Idiot. He didn’t arrest me; he invited me to sit in on the interview with Amelia Ashton.”

  “He did? Shocking.”

  “Very. Will I be able to use this information during our conversation with Mrs. Ashton?”

  “Oh, I think so.”

  “Great, send it now. I’ll look it over. Thanks, Randy.”

  Mike was sitting at his desk when I knocked on his door. “Sorry I’m late. Dad called; Randy told my parents I had been shot. Needless to say, my mother was not pleased.”

  “You’re not late. Mrs. Ashton refused to leave the Marriott until she contacted her lawyer. They will be here in twenty minutes.”

  “Good. Randy just called and said he was sending me something that we might be able to use. Mind if I sit down?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  I looked around the office as I sat down in one of the two leather chairs in front of the desk. Mike was sitting in one of those wooden desk chairs that squeaked when you leaned back in them. A sturdy looking wood desk with a laptop on the left and tons of files to the right sat in front of some handmade bookshelves. There were three grey metal filing cabinets behind me, and a small table with a coffee machine was next to them. “You still need the Advil?”

  “Yes, please.” He opened the bottle and took three pills.

  “Did you get your Colt back?” I took three pills for myself and dropped the bottle back in my bag. “Dang it, I left my Dr Pepper in the car.”

  “Yes, I did,” he said, standing up. I saw his gun in its holster on his right hip. “I’ll get you something to drink. Be right back.”

  “Thanks.” I checked for Randy’s email on my phone. Opening it, I quickly scanned the contents. “Holy shazbot,” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Mike said as he came back in with a Dr Pepper.

  “Do you have that laptop hooked up to a printer?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Be
cause we are going to want to talk to Mrs. Ashton about the stuff Randy sent me. I think your best suspect just became your prime suspect.”

  Chapter 35

  Amelia Ashton and her lawyer, Charles Prufrock Jr., showed up thirty minutes late. I’ve never known a socialite to show up on time for anything. I wondered if she had been late to her own wedding. But thanks to their tardiness, I was able to print off the email from Randy, go through the papers from my bag, and put the important ones we would need in a manila folder. We even made an extra copy just in case the lawyer wanted a set for himself, which I was sure he would.

  I heard the lawyer loud and clear at the front desk from Mike’s office. “I’m Charles Prufrock Jr., and this is my client, Mrs. Stanley Arthur Ashton III. If you will kindly direct us to Chief Penhall’s office, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  I couldn’t hear what the officer at the desk said, but whatever it was upset Prufrock tremendously. “This is unacceptable. Treating her like a common criminal, I won’t stand for it. Where is Chief Penhall? I demand to see him right now.”

  “I do believe that’s our cue,” Mike said. “Are you ready?”

  I picked up the folders, the Dr Pepper and stood up. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

  Mike poured himself a cup of coffee and led the way to the front desk. “Is there a problem here, sir?”

  “Are you Chief Penhall?” the lawyer said. He was wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt, red power tie, and black wingtip shoes.

  “Yes, I am, and you are?”

  “I’m Charles Prufrock Jr., Mrs. Ashtons lawyer. This officer informs me that we are being put in a common interview room.”

  “That’s correct. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course it is! Mrs. Ashton is not a criminal. She came here voluntarily.”

  “Mrs. Ashton refused to leave her hotel room and come down here with my officer to have a civil conversation. She insisted that you be here. That doesn’t sound voluntary to me. That sounds like someone with something to hide,” Mike said. “This way, please.”

  Mike led the way down the hallway on the right side to the first interview room. He allowed the three of us to enter first before following us inside and closing the door. “What is she doing in here?” Prufrock said, pointing at me.