“Yeah, listen to the man,” Mac said. “He’s smart.”
“All right, I have had enough,” I said, grabbing my purse off the counter. “I am going home.” I pointed at Mac. “You stay away from me.” I turned to Randy. “And you keep your mouth shut.”
When I got to the door, Randy stopped me. “I think there’s one thing you should be asking your ghost, Cam.”
“And what’s that?”
“Why is he here, and not Vegas?”
I rolled my eyes and walked out the door. When I got to my car, I stopped. Damn it, Randy was right. Why was Mac here?
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.
Chapter 5
“A 1950s gangster?” Mike asked incredulously. “Are you serious?”
We were sitting at my kitchen table, eating a supper of apple pork tenderloin, green beans, and salad. “His name is Mac ‘the Faker’ Green.”
“The Faker?” he laughed. “What kind of name is that for a mob guy?”
“I figure he was a wannabe.”
“Why did your Vegas ghost follow you here to Waxahachie? This is hardly mob central.”
“I’d rather know how he did it. I didn’t think ghosts could move around the country like that.”
“You need to watch Ghost Adventures more,” Mike said.
“I think I’d prefer not seeing ghosts at all, thank you very much.”
“Tell me about the female one you saw today.”
Mike got a thoughtful look on his face as I described the woman I had seen, right down to her double strand of pearls.
“I thought she was one of the community theatre actors, if you want the truth. The mystery is set in the 1940s. Thankfully, the idea to give the whole shebang a fifties theme was tossed out.”
“Lucky us. Who decided you had to help set up?”
“Mother. Whatever she tells me to do, I do. As Dad would say, ‘Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die.’”
“The Charge of the Light Brigade.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I do read other things besides police reports. Speaking of which, when I was going through the cold case files a couple of weeks ago, I came across an unsolved murder of a woman who was about thirty years old. From your description, your ghost sounds like my cold case.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I would think dealing with Stanley would have taught you that anything is possible.”
“Point taken. Tell me about the case.”
“Young woman, thirty years of age, found dead in the middle of the stage. Happened during a dinner and dance. Despite all the people that were there, a viable suspect was never found, and the case went cold.”
“What was her name?”
Mike thought for a moment. “Lillian Ingram.”
“Ingram? As in those Ingrams?”
He nodded. “She was Joey’s mother.”
“Wait, you said stage. You don’t mean she was killed where we’re having this dinner, do you?”
He nodded again. “Some of the notes in the file suggested that Phillip, Clinton’s father did it. He didn’t approve of his son’s marriage to Lillian, so he cut him off from the family fortune. He told him he was going to have to make his own way in the world.”
“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” I said. “Everyone knows that Clinton made his money from construction.”
“Well, there seems to have been a reversal of fortunes. Phillip lost his money in some bad investment deals in the mid-60s. He was forced to sell their big house, which was bought by the city. He died in a nursing home in 1978.”
“I wonder what Clinton’s attitude was toward his father.”
“I don’t know.”
“What does this have to do with Lillian’s death?”
“I have no idea.”
“How did she die?”
“I don’t remember,” Mike said as his cell phone rang. “Penhall.” He listened for a minute. “Uh-huh, yeah…okay, call the cities of Ovilla and Red Oak. Call the rest of our off-duty guys, too. Yeah, I guess you better call him as well. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He hung up and sighed.
“Bad one?”
“Accident out on 35. Traffic is backed up both ways.”
“You’re going to be there a while.”
“Looks like it. I’m sorry, hon,” he said as he stood up.
I walked him to the front door. “Be careful, please,” I said as he wrapped his arms around me.
“Always. I’ll try and call you later if it’s not too late.”
(What went on next is nothing for you to concern yourselves with. Just look away for a moment.)
I went back to the kitchen and started cleaning up the dishes. “Are you sure you’re supposed to kiss cops that way?” Mac said from a chair at the kitchen table.
I dropped a plate on the floor. “Son of a…why can’t you knock, for crying out loud?” I said, bending down to pick up the broken pieces.
“I’m a ghost. I don’t have to knock.”
“I think you enjoy scaring the crap out of me.”
“Oh, definitely. Most fun I’ve had in fifty years.”
I dumped the broken pieces in the trash can, and grabbed the broom. “How did you die?
If it was possible for a ghost to turn pale, Mac did it. His pallor seemed to almost turn white, and he took off his fedora and started spinning it in his hands. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted.
This didn’t surprise me. Stanley Ashton had experienced something similar. I poured myself a glass of sweet tea and sat down by Mac. “Why don’t you tell me about your life?”
“Not much to tell, really. I lived in Vegas for about twenty-one years before I…”
“Died?”
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“Did you live there all your life?”
“No, actually, I was born in Dallas,” he replied, putting his hat on the table. I was tempted to reach out and touch it, but I decided that would be way too weird.
“Really?”
He nodded. “I lived here until I joined the Army after the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor.”
“My dad’s side of the family lost three men during World War II.”
“Where?”
“A cousin in Italy in May 1944, his uncle during the final days of the Battle of the Bulge in January 1945, and another cousin in the Philippines in February 1945.”
“I was at the Bulge. That was a hard fight. We lost a lot of good men there. Normandy, too.”
“How did you end up in Vegas?”
“When I was discharged in ’45, I wandered around for a while. Didn’t really want to go back to Dallas.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “I saw a lot of things during the war. I didn’t want to bring that home to my folks and my siblings.”
“You had brothers and sisters?”
“Two of each. Danny died on the beaches of Normandy, but Harry was too young to serve, thank God. My oldest sister, Virginia, was engaged to a guy from our neighborhood, but he didn’t make it home, either. She eventually got married in 1952. My baby sister, Sally, wasn’t married when I…when I…you know. Anyway, I stopped in Vegas for a couple of days, and I lived there the rest of my life.”
“What did you do in Vegas?”
“Worked at different casinos as a dealer. I worked at the El Rancho, which was the first casino to open in Vegas in 1941, the Biltmore on Main Street, and the Last Frontier. But I really hit the big time when I started working at the Flamingo in early 1947.”
“The Flamingo? As in the place that Bugsy Siegel and mob money built? That place?”
“That’s the one. It actually opened in December of 1946. Big splashy opening, lots of big names there, but it was a flop, and it closed a month later. Rumors flew around town that some of the big bosses back East wanted to take out Bugsy then and there. Cost them millions of dollars. But Lansky went to bat for him, and they reopened in March. That�
�s when I went to work there. I don’t know what happened during those three months, but whatever happened must have worked, because we were turning a profit by May.”
“But wasn’t Bugsy murdered in the next month?”
“Well, yeah. I had heard some rumors that something might be going down, but if I had gone to him and said something, he wouldn’t have believed me.”
I imagine that no one could really tell Bugsy anything back then. Suddenly, I remembered what Randy had said earlier. “Mac, why are you here, and not in Vegas?”
He scratched his head. “I’m not really sure. I just felt this pull, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in your grandmother’s living room.”
“Has that ever happened before?”
He shook his head. “Never. Do you have any idea why I’m here?”
“Maybe something to do with your family?” I suggested.
“Maybe that chick I saw earlier brought me here.”
“I think that’s just wishful thinking on your part.”
Mac shrugged. “Even a ghost gets lonely once in awhile, you know.” He picked up his hat as he stood up. “I think I’m going to see if I can find her. Catch ya later.” Slipping his fedora on, he winked at me, turned and disappeared.
I finished cleaning up the dishes, turned off the light and went into the living room. Just as I got comfortable in my oversized chair with the latest Janet Evanovich book, my phone rang. Sighing, I answered the call. “Hello, Mother.”
“Cam, I need you to come to the theatre, please.”
“Why?”
“Because Susan Ingram is here, throwing a fit over the table arrangements, the seating chart, the food, the caterer…”
“Basically, she doesn’t like anything,” I interrupted her.
“She is exasperating! We tried to get her involved from day one, but she wanted nothing to do with any of it. She claimed it was beneath her to work on such a frivolous event. ‘That’s why they have event planners, Charlotte. They handle all of the details, so that we have none of the headaches.’” Mother’s imitation of Susan’s voice was perfect. “Opening night is tomorrow, and she suddenly wants to be in charge.”
“You’ve handled people like her before, Mother. Forty years as a preacher’s wife taught you how to be diplomatic.”
“When it comes to Susan Ingram, even the best diplomat would run in front of a speeding car to avoid dealing with her.”
“Mother!”
“Well, it’s true,” she said. “Although I’d rather run her over with the car than be run over myself.”
“Wow, this is serious.”
“Yes, it is. Please come out here and help me. I’m totally overwhelmed with last minute details. I simply cannot handle her drama, too.”
I gazed longingly at my book. “All right, Mother,” I sighed, putting my book on the coffee table. “I’ll be there in a little while.”
“Thank you so much, Cam,” she said. “You’re my favorite daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter,” I pointed out. “Maybe you should call Matt? He could strong arm Mrs. Ingram out of the building.”
“Because your cousin is busy,” she replied. “Allison’s due date is in three days, and if he isn’t at work, he is by her side, watching her like a hawk. If she moans, he jumps up, grabs the overnight bag, and runs to the car. Allison said he’s driving her crazy.”
Matt had just left on his honeymoon when all the business with the Ashtons had happened. I was very happy for the two of them; I adored Allison, but I really missed spending time with my favorite cousin. “Maybe I need to stop by there on my way to the theatre…”
“Absolutely not! You will drive straight here. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” she said before hanging up.
As I picked up my purse and keys, I had a feeling I was going to wish I had stayed in Vegas by the time this was all over.
Chapter 6
I didn’t hear any yelling when I walked into the theatre, which I took as a good sign. Maybe Susan Ingram had left before I got there.
However, as I entered the main room, I saw Mac sitting at a table in the back of the room, flirting with the female ghost that I had talked to earlier. On the stage, the actors were rehearsing a scene from Blithe Spirit, a play about a writer, Charles, who invites a medium to his house to hold a seance, so that he can gather information for his next book. Unfortunately, all the medium has done is bring back his dead first wife, Elvira, much to the chagrin of his second wife, Ruth. Elvira does her best to break up his marriage by doing all sorts of things around the house, which terrifies Ruth, who cannot see or hear the ghost. Right now, Elvira was carrying a vase around the room. Of course, she couldn’t be “seen” by anyone else but Charles, while Ruth is watching the vase and becoming hysterical. The director, Richard Danforth, was standing on the main floor, watching them.
“She’s not really a ghost, you know,” Mac said.
I casually wandered over to his table and sat down. “Who isn’t a ghost?” I said, looking at the woman sitting next to him.
He pointed at Elvira. “She’s a solid. Not like us.”
I looked at the woman on the stage, then at the two of them. He was right; they had a kind of silvery glow about them. “She’s just pretending to be a ghost, Mac.”
“Who would want to pretend to do that?” he retorted. “Being the real thing is no picnic. Am I right, Lillian?”
She nodded in agreement. “It gets very tedious at times,” she said quietly.
Glancing around, I didn’t see anyone watching me, which was a good thing. I didn’t want anyone to think I was sitting here talking to myself. “Are you Lillian Ingram?” I asked her.
“How did you know?” she said, shocked to hear her full name.
“My boyfriend mentioned that a woman by the name of Lillian Ingram had died here in the mid-50s. Mac called you Lillian, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch to put two and two together.”
The curtain closed, and immediately, yelling started from the stage. “You are such a diva!” a male voice said. “How dare you stand in front of me when I’m trying to deliver my lines? That’s not the way we blocked it, and you know it.”
“Oh, do calm down, Simon,” a female voice replied. “I was just swept up in the scene. I didn’t do it intentionally.”
“Yes, you did,” a second female voice said. “You did the same thing to me earlier. Richard, if you don’t tell her to knock it off, I won’t be responsible for my actions the next time she upstages me.”
The first woman laughed. “What are you going to do? Kill me? I’m already dead.”
I heard some scuffling, then the sound of someone gagging. “Listen, Rachel,” the second female said, “do you hear that? That’s the sound of me choking the life out of you with your pearls. That’s exactly what’s going to happen if you cross me again, do I make myself clear? Then you really will be an apparition, and I guarantee no one will give a damn when you’re gone.”
Lillian gasped, her hand flying up to her own neck as she listened. I saw a look of fear in her eyes as she clutched her pearls.
There was more scuffling from behind the curtain, followed by the sound of little beads bouncing all over the hardwood stage floor. I jumped up and ran toward the stage, climbing the steps on the left hand side of the stage. As I stepped behind the curtain, I almost slipped on the dozens of pearls scattered all over the floor. Rachel was kneeling on the floor, gasping for breath. ‘Charles’ was kneeling beside her, his arm wrapped protectively around her. The second woman stood over them, her arms crossed, with a very satisfied look on her face. Richard stood next to her, clearly torn between his two female leads.
“Everything all right, Richard?” I asked as I stepped closer, brushing aside more pearls with my foot.
“Just fine, just fine,” he said. “We’re just having trouble with the blocking for this scene.”
“Try every scene,” the woman next to him scoffed.
“Diane
, that’s enough,” he said. “Simon, does Rachel need some water or something?”
“That’s a good idea, Richard,” Simon replied. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Just stay right there, and take slow, deep breaths.” He got to his feet, and slipped his way offstage.
Diane looked down her nose at me. “And just who are you?” she said haughtily.
“Why don’t I do the introductions?” Richard said, coming over to stand next to me. “This lovely young lady is Cam Shaw, daughter of Charlotte Shaw, the organizer of our event. The woman acting like she’s better than the rest of us is Diane Martin; she plays Ruth in the play. The gentleman who just left is Simon Edwards; he’s Charles, Ruth’s husband. And the young woman clutching her throat is Rachel Newton; she’s portraying Charles’s dead first wife, Elvira.”
“Is there a reason why you are interrupting our rehearsal?” Diane said to me.
“Because you were trying to choke this poor girl to death?” I shot back.
“Oh please,” she replied, wave her hand at Rachel dismissively, “I didn’t hurt the child. She’s just being melodramatic.”
I looked down at Rachel and noticed the bright red marks around her neck. “Let me guess, those marks are just make up, right?”
“So I got caught up in the moment,” Diane said. “But she had it coming to her. Prancing around here like she’s God’s gift to acting.” She leaned over until she was eye to eye with Rachel. “I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, sweetie. You better learn your place, and learn to show some respect.” She straightened up and brushed the wrinkles out of her dress.
Rachel struggled to her feet. “If you’re all that and a bag of chips, then why are you doing dinner theatre in a small Texas town in the middle of nowhere?” she said in a raspy voice. “It’s because you got kicked out of the last Broadway show you were in.” She looked at me. “Want to know why?”
“I really don’t think…” I started to say.
“Because she started to forget her lines,” Rachel said smugly. “Of course, getting caught with the twenty-one-year old son of the director in your dressing room certainly didn’t help.”
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 4
