“Did you interview him?” I asked Mike.
He shook his head. “It must have been one of the other officers. I haven’t had time to go through all the witness statements yet.”
“This must be a bad case of déjà vu for him,” I said. “First his wife, and now his daughter-in-law. Both killed the same way.”
It was Walt’s turn to look surprised. “What do you mean?” He looked at his grandson. “Susan Ingram was strangled?”
Mike nodded. “Heck of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Mike, you know that,” Walt replied. “Something is rotten in Denmark. And you better find out what.”
“I think we should pay Clinton Ingram a visit,” I said, getting to my feet.
“What’s this ‘we’ bit, kemosabe?” Mike said.
I gave him the sad puppy dog look.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That is not going to work on me.”
Chapter 12
Unfortunately, neither one of us went to Clinton Ingram’s house after we left. Mother called Mike, wanting to know if she could get into the building to finish cleaning up the main room. The tables needed to be taken down, the tablecloths washed, and the centerpieces were going to be distributed between the hospital and the nursing home. Not to mention whatever the caterer had been forced to leave there last night was probably smelling pretty ripe. He told her he would have to check with the crime scene unit and call her back.
As Mike was finishing his call with Mother, Randy called my phone. “Where are you?” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Is there somewhere you’re supposed to be this morning?” he said, ignoring my question.
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because your agent, Joe Wilder, is here, wanting to know where you are! Did you have a meeting scheduled with him?”
“No, I didn’t. I doubt I would forget something like that, Randy.”
“So what do I tell him?”
“Did he tell you what he wants?”
“Just that he needs to talk to you ASAP.”
“So why didn’t he just call me?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you get your butt down here and ask him yourself?”
“All right, calm down. Take him over to the coffeehouse and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“You want me to entertain him?”
“No, I want you to leave him in the middle of the street in the hopes he’ll get run over by a car. Of course I want you to entertain him!” I hung up, exasperated.
“What’s up?” Mike asked.
“My agent is in town.”
“Why?”
“Beats me,” I said, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. “If it was bad news, he would have called me. No, wait, he would have sent me a text.”
“Must be important for him to show up here.”
I didn’t say anything, and we rode the rest of the way to the station in silence. Mike gave me a kiss before he got out. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said. “Dinner tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Call me and let me know what’s going on.” He gave my hand a squeeze and got out.
I promised I would as he closed the door. I drove straight to the coffeehouse and parked in the front. As I got out, I noticed Randy and Joe sitting at a table next to the window. Joe saw me and waved. Randy gave me a rather evil look. I guess he wasn’t happy about babysitting my agent. I thought it was the least he could after all the trouble he had caused over the past few days.
There was a bit of a crowd at the coffeehouse, which was unusual for this time of the morning. I figured most of them were looking for gossip about the murder. I walked over to the table, dropping my bag into the empty chair by Joe.
“Where have you been?” Joe said.
“Gee, Joe, no ‘Hello, Cam, how are you?’”
“Hello, Cam, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you for asking, Joe.”
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Hold that thought. I need something to drink.”
“I’ll get it!” Randy said, jumping up and rushing off.
“That guy is really weird,” Joe told me.
“That guy is my best friend, so be careful what you say about him.”
Joe rolled his eye and sat back in his chair as Randy brought me a glass of ice and a can of Dr Pepper. “Now that you’re here, I’m going back to the bookstore. Come by when you’re done here,” Randy said. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Wilder. Bye, Cam.”
Looking out the window, I watched him cross the street, stopping briefly by a silver Porsche before going inside his store.
“Now that he’s gone, let’s get down to business,” Joe said, leaning forward excitedly.
“Why are you here? You never come here.”
“I received a call this morning from Stephen Showalter.”
“And?”
“That’s all you can say? He’s one of the most important theatre directors in the world right now, and all you can say is ‘and’?”
“Pretty much,” I replied, pouring my Dr Pepper over the glass of ice. “What did he want?”
“He read your book, and he wants to turn it into a Broadway show.”
“Is that so?” I said, putting the can down.
“Cam, it’s a very big deal!”
“Isn’t that what you said when those Hollywood people called a few months ago? Nothing came of that, did it? I’m not going to get excited about a Broadway director until I see his signature on a contract.”
“You are unbelievable,” Joe said, clearly exasperated by my lack of enthusiasm.
“How did he hear about the book? Did he happen to mention that?”
“Someone in his office brought it to his attention, I guess. He wants to talk to you.”
“Really? Did he happen to say when?”
“As soon as possible.”
I nodded. “Well, I guess I better go see him.”
“You’re going to fly to New York? Really? So you’re going to take this seriously?”
“No, I’m not going to fly to New York. He’s in Dallas right now. In fact, he was in town last night.”
“You’re joking. What would he be doing in this one horse town? No offense.”
“None taken.”
“He was really here?”
“He really was,” I said, pulling out my phone and sending Mike a text. Seems a certain Broadway director wants to meet with me. Want to tag along?
“And you didn’t call to tell me?”
“Why would I do that, Joe? I didn’t even know he was going to be here until a day and a half ago.”
“Do you know what kind of exposure your book about the Ashtons will get when word gets out that Showalter is interested in it? Sales will go through the roof!”
“And you’ll be able to buy the latest car or gadget that you just can’t live without,” I teased him as my phone dinged.
By coincidence, I need to talk to him. He managed to slip out last night without giving us a statement. I’d like to know why. I’m in.
“I tell you what, Joe. I’ll meet with Showalter and talk to him.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, pulling out his Blackberry.
“No, I’ll take care of this myself.”
“You’ll screw it up, Cam. You don’t know anything about negotiating a big deal.”
“I have no intention of signing anything, Joe. If he wants to talk about the book, then I’ll be glad to sit down with him and discuss it. And I’ll listen to his ideas for turning it into a play. That’s it. I won’t sign anything until I have a lawyer go over the contract.”
“I don’t know,” Joe said.
“I’ll take someone with me to make sure I don’t say or do anything stupid. Will that make you feel better?”
“You aren’t going to take that guy from across the street,
are you?”
“No, I promise I’m not going to take Randy.”
“Then who are you going to take?”
“A cop.”
***
Joe got in touch with Showalter’s assistant, who promised to let me know the arrangements for the meeting as soon as possible. Fortunately for me, Joe had to fly back to New York for an important meeting with another client. But he made me promise to call him and let him know all the details when the meeting was over.
Dad came over after Joe left. “Who was that?” he asked, sitting down across from me.
“That was my agent, Joe Wilder.”
“Randy doesn’t seem to like him.”
“I think he was upset because he got stuck talking to Joe until I got here. He’s working on some big project over at The Crack’d Spine. He doesn’t like to divide his attention.”
“I don’t know,” Dad replied, “I got the feeling it was more than that.”
“Really?” I said, looking out the window at the bookstore. “I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Did Mike tell you anything about what happened last night?”
I looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t like hearing my customers coming in here, talking about murder. This is supposed to be a place for peace and quiet, where people can come to forget about their problems for a little while.”
“Well, Dad, you know that’s not going to happen all the time,” I said. “And what happened last night is a pretty big deal.”
“First the Ashtons, now the Ingrams. It’s like someone has declared war on the upper class.”
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“I certainly hope so. But you still didn’t answer my question.”
“He might have mentioned something,” I hedged. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to talk about it with anyone, though.”
“I’m not just ‘anyone’, I’m your father.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Was it an accident?”
I shook my head.
“Not good.”
I shook my head again.
“You’re not going to get involved again, are you?”
I shrugged.
“Are you going to say anything?”
“Nope. That way, nothing I haven’t said can’t be used against me.”
He thought about that for a moment. “You realize that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.”
“If Mike finds out that you know, he’s going to think I told you. This way, I can deny everything, because I didn’t say a word.”
“Somehow, that makes sense,” Dad said, standing up. “Stay out of it, Cam. Let Mike handle this. It’s his job; that’s what we pay him for. You just stick to writing books.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
Chapter 13
Saturday (lunch)
Mike and I met Stephen Showalter at the Twisted Root Burger Company near the Southern Methodist University campus after the lunch rush was over. Showalter was dressed in a gray T-shirt, blue jeans, high top sneakers, and was wearing a blue ball cap backwards. When I saw him from across the room last night, I thought he was in his late forties, but up close, he looked much younger.
He noticed that I was staring at him and smiled. “I’m twenty-eight,” he said, answering my unspoken question.
I blushed, a bit embarrassed. “You looked so much older last night.”
“Not a lot of people believe that someone my age can be as successful as I’ve been, especially as a director. It helps to appear older to impress those with influence. A little white on the temples, add a few wrinkles, and the right clothes…viola! The magic of makeup.”
“I got the impression from Rachel Newton that she was expecting to see your father last night.”
“He was supposed to be there, but there was an emergency involving the play he’s currently directing, so he had to fly back to New York. Since I’m a director, too, he asked me to fill in for him. We figured no one would care since there would still be a Showalter at the show.”
“I have to tell you, my agent was thrilled when you contacted him,” I told him. “He wanted to come with me, but I talked him out of it.”
Now it was Showalter who blushed. “I have to be honest, that was a bit of a ruse on my part.”
“Oh?” I replied, trying to hide my disappointment.
“Not that your book isn’t great; it is. I enjoyed it very much. But I wanted to talk to Chief Penhall without the media making it a big deal. ‘Director questioned in mysterious Texas death’ is not the kind of publicity I need. And when Joe told me you were bringing a cop with you to our meeting, I figured this was my chance.”
“What if I hadn’t brought him with me?”
“Then I probably would have asked you to call him and have him meet us here.”
“Joe will be very disappointed about this. I’m sure he’s already picking out his next sports car.”
Stephen laughed. “I’ll call him in a couple of weeks and let him down gently.”
“So what did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Showalter?” Mike asked him.
“Orson Welles,” someone called out.
“That’s us,” I told Mike.
He and Showalter got our food and brought it back to the table. We ate in silence for a few minutes before Mike again asked why the director had wanted to meet with us.
Showalter wiped his hands on a nap, took a sip of his drink, and cleared his throat. “It’s about Susan Ingram.”
“I noticed I didn’t have a witness statement from you,” Mike said. “How did you manage to get past my officers last night?”
“I slipped out the back door when no one was looking.”
“That must have been before you put someone back there,” I told Mike.
“Probably,” he nodded in agreement. “How do you know Mrs. Ingram?”
Showalter took off his hat, scratched his head, and put it back on. “Here’s where it gets a bit complicated. Please understand, this is not common knowledge, and I would prefer it remain between us.”
“The only thing I can promise you is that I won’t say anything about what you tell me unless it directly implicates you in her death. If it turns out to be irrelevant, it will not go in my official report. That’s the best I can do.”
“Fair enough,” Showalter said.
“Were you having an affair with Susan?” I asked him bluntly.
“Cam!” Mike said.
“What? Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing. I just beat you to the punch.”
We both looked at Showalter.
“No, I was not having an affair with her. That would be like…wrong on so many levels.”
“Don’t have a thing for cougars?” I laughed.
“I’ve dated one or two before, strictly because of business, of course. But Susan wasn’t one of them.”
“Then how did you know her?”
“She was my mother.”
Well, shut my mouth and call me a kumquat. I didn’t see that one coming.
“You’re an Ingram?” Mike said.
“Not exactly. Joseph Ingram isn’t my father.”
“You mean Susan Ingram had an affair?”
“The Ingrams have been married for twenty-six years. I was born before they got married.”
“She gave you up for adoption?” I asked.
He nodded. “To a wonderful family. My parents were both actors, so I guess you could say I grew up in a theatre. Susan was an actress, too, when she was younger.”
“In New York?” Mike said
“Yes. She did have an affair with a director. It went on for two years. When he found out she was pregnant, he dropped her like a hot potato. My parents took her in, and adopted me as soon as I was born.”
“Susan didn’t want to raise you herself?”
“A child at
that time wasn’t part of her grand scheme,” he told me. “She figured that once I was born, and she got back into shape, she would be able to find another acting job. Unfortunately for her, a year away from the stage can kill the career of a young actress sometimes. It didn’t help that everyone knew about her affair and the pregnancy. Someone put the word out that if they did hire her, they would have a hard time getting backing for their shows. Money is everything. No money, no show, and no one was about to risk that.”
“So she was basically blackballed,” Mike said.
Showalter nodded. “Pretty much. She went to Hollywood after that, but all she could get was bit parts. From what my parents told me, she met Joey Ingram out there, and the rest is history.”
“If you can’t earn money as an actress, marry it,” I said. “Have you seen Susan at all since she gave you up?”
“No, not once. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“But she knew your name, right?”
“She knew my last name. I don’t know if she ever knew my first name.”
“What is your father’s name?”
“Same as mine.”
“She must have thought he was the one who was coming,” I told Mike.
“Must have thought who was coming?” Showalter said, confused.
“Susan tried to hijack the dinner from my mother,” I explained. “She said a big Broadway director deserved a better meal than brisket.”
“Actually, I thought it was fantastic,” he replied. “I’ve heard about Texas BBQ, but last night was the first time I had ever eaten it. I wish we could get something like this back in New York.”
“If she thought your father was coming,” Mike said, “do you think she thought that maybe this would be her chance to get back to New York?”
“It’s possible. Character actors can have a good, long career on stage and in the movies.”
“It would explain why she was so insistent that she be on the guest list,” I said. “Unless she wanted to ask him about you.”
“Why would she do that after all this time?” Showalter asked. “She hasn’t bothered before now. No, this must have been about getting back on the stage.”
“What were you talking to Joey Ingram about last night?” I said. “He seemed to be trying to convince you of something awfully hard last night.”
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 9
