“Why?”
“Have you forgotten that Mike was going to interview me this morning?”
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Mother. Dad’s there with you, though. You’ll be all right.”
“But I thought you would come with him.”
“I was planning on it, but after thinking about it overnight, I decided it might make things more difficult for Mike if I was there. He might feel uncomfortable talking to you in front of me. It’s better if I stay out of it.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose you’re right. I’m afraid I won’t be able to come by later. I’ve got an emergency committee meeting here at the coffeehouse this afternoon. We’re going to try and salvage at least one performance.”
“That’s wonderful. I totally understand. I’m just spending the day here at home resting,” I said. Randy looked at me with his mouth hanging open.
“Good, that’s the best thing for you,” Mother said. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will, I promise. Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she replied and hung up.
“You are going straight to hell for lying to your mother like that!”
“For telling her I love her?”
“For telling her you’re staying home all day.”
“If I tell her I got a haircut, she’s going to want me to come by and see it. Which means I would be roped into staying for her interview with Mike, who will be ticked off that I’m not at home. It all works itself out in the end,” I said.
He rolled his eyes at me before we got into the car.
“There is one thing I do want to do before we go home,” I said.
“But I’m not done with you yet,” Randy said. “We’ve got one other stop to make.”
“Where?”
“Mercerie des Femmes.”
“What is that?”
“You’ll see.”
Randy drove us to a place just off the town square. In the window was a man wearing gray pants, a white shirt with a gray silk tie, and gray suede shoes. He was putting a new outfit on a female mannequin: a short-sleeved red dress with a slim black belt around the waist, black heels and a black clutch. It was nice, but with my red hair, it was not something I would wear. “Why are you bringing me to a clothing store?” I asked Randy as we got out.
He looked at me. “You’re seriously asking me that? Standing in the middle of the sidewalk wearing sweats? New haircut, new clothes. You’ve been in dire need of a makeover for a long time, and now is the perfect time to get one.” He looped his arm through mine and dragged me inside.
“Randy!” the man said as we walked in. I heard a British accent as he spoke. “I did not expect to see you this morning. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Randy assured him. “I’d like you to meet my best friend, Camille Shaw.”
“Cam, please,” I said. “No one calls me Camille except my mother, and only when she’s upset with me.”
“Nigel Musgrave, Camille,” Nigel said. “I think you have a lovely name. I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Randy.”
“I wish I could say the same, but he’s been rather tight lipped about you.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid that was my doing. I didn’t want you to form an opinion of me before meeting me. Knowing how much Randy loves to exaggerate, I’m sure he would have said I was tenth in line for the throne, or that I was some duke who had been disinherited by his cold-hearted family.”
“So what’s the truth?”
“I am but a simple man from Britain who came to America on a work visa, and never went home.”
I had a feeling there was more to it than that but I didn’t say anything. “So what does Mercerie des Femmes mean?” I asked him.
“Loosely translated, the women’s haberdashery. A haberdashery where I come from is for men’s clothing, but I wanted to run a women’s clothing store. The name has an exotic feel to it. I thought it would draw in more clients.”
“Has it worked?”
“So far, yes,” he replied. “Women are easier to dress. They usually know what they want, and aren’t afraid to ask me to order something special for them if I don’t have it.”
“Well, you’re in for a challenge,” Randy said. “As you can see, we’re having a bit of a fashion emergency here. She needs a whole new wardrobe.”
“No, I don’t,” I said firmly.
Nigel took a step back and looked at my clothes. “No offense, my dear, but that outfit isn’t exactly screaming ‘I am woman, hear me roar’, as the song goes. More like ‘I threw on the first thing I could find this morning, and I don’t care how it looks’.”
Randy gave me a smug look. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “I’m not in a roaring mood, Nigel.”
“I would imagine not, after being so viciously attacked yesterday!” Nigel said. He looked at Randy. “I thought you said she had beautiful long red hair.”
Randy spun me around and I heard Nigel gasp. “I took her to see Mandy this morning.”
“Good choice,” Nigel replied. “She did an excellent job. You know, I have the perfect outfit for you. You’ll love it.”
It turned out that the first outfit was just as perfect for me as the next five he had me try on. When we left an hour later, I was wearing a light beige, longish wrap sweater, black leggings, an emerald green infinity scarf, and black flat leather boots. Randy shoved the three bags full of clothes into his trunk as I paid for my purchases. “So, what did you think of Nigel?” Randy asked as we got in the car.
“He’s very nice. I like him.”
“Me, too.”
“Obviously.”
“Let’s get you home before Mike shows up. Mr. Party Pooper didn’t want you to leave the house this morning.”
“He’s not a party pooper. He’s just concerned.”
“Whatever,” Randy said.
“We could take the scenic route home.”
“And this scenic route would go by…?
“The theatre.”
“Not happening,” Randy said, shaking his head.
“Please, Randy, it’s important.”
“No! Look what happened yesterday when you went there by yourself.”
“But I’m not by myself this time! You’ll be there.”
“No.”
“Too bad,” I replied, “you’ll miss out on a chance to talk to two ghosts.”
Randy almost slammed on the brakes in the middle of Ferris Avenue. “What do you mean?”
“Mac is waiting for me at the theatre, and Lillian will be there, too. They want to talk about what happened the night of the murder.”
I saw a range of emotions go across his face: excitement about being around ghosts, even though he couldn’t see them; the look of fear about going against Mike’s orders; the confidence of defiance, where he tells himself he can do whatever he wants; and finally, the slight head nod as he made up his mind.
A few minutes later, we were parked by the theatre. “So how are we supposed to get in?” Randy asked as we got out of the car.
I looked at the building and noticed the crime scene tape was gone. “Good question. At least we can’t be charged with disturbing a crime scene.”
“Mike is going to be seriously ticked off if he finds out we were here,” Randy said, clearly having second thoughts about coming here. “I think we should be worried about that. We should go home.”
“No.”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Show me where you were yesterday when you were attacked.”
I led the way to the back of the building. I glanced toward the back door, but it was closed. I pointed out where I had seen the waiter’s outfit, then about calling Mike before checking out the road behind the hospital.
“So whoever threw those clothes away probably came back to get them,” Randy said. “You got there first.”
“What I don’t understand is how they knew the clothes we
re still there. The only person I called was Mike. Surely whoever left them here knew the cops were here the night of the murder. It would be a safe assumption that the clothes would have been found that night.”
“But they weren’t,” Randy pointed out.
“The only way the murderer would know was if…” I stopped, a bit freaked out by the implication of what I was thinking.
“If what?”
“What if our killer has someone working on the inside?”
Randy looked shocked. “Are you suggesting that Mike has a mole in the police department?”
“I don’t know if he does or not. I’m just thinking out loud.”
“Pretty rotten thought, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, but how else do you explain what happened yesterday?”
“Um, Cam,” Randy said, glancing at something to his left.
“I don’t like to think of the implications any more than you do,” I continued, missing the panic in his voice. “Mike trusts all of his officers. It’s a relationship that he’s worked hard to cultivate.”
“Cam,” Randy said again, a little more hysterically.
“I can’t just go to him and say…”
“CAMILLE!”
“What?” I said, finally looking at him. He never calls me that unless he’s mad or upset.
He pointed at the back door. “It opened by itself.”
Sure enough, the door was slightly ajar. I smiled, because I was pretty sure who was responsible. “Come on,” I said, walking in that direction. “We’ve got a couple of ghosts to talk to.”
Chapter 18
We made our way through the open door and into the dark theatre. Randy pulled out his phone and turned on his flashlight app. “I’m pretty sure this is breaking and entering,” he said, shining his light around the room.
“Technically, the door was open,” I said, “so we’re being responsible citizens and making sure that no vagrants have entered illegally. For all we know, they could be trying to steal the sound and light boards.”
“Then we should call this in, and wait for the police to check things out.”
“It’s about time you got here,” Mac said. “Whoa, what happened to your hair?”
“What’s wrong with it? I snapped.
“Nothing, not a thing. It looks nice,” he said quickly. “Lillian is waiting on the stage. Hurry up.”
There was a pale yellow glow that shone on the stage. Lillian was sitting on the couch, and Mac was sitting on the coffee table in front of her, holding her hand. Something he said made her laugh, and the yellow glow grew brighter.
“Did someone turn on a spotlight?” Randy whispered, glancing at the booth in the back of the room.
“I think it’s coming from Lillian.”
We moved closer to the stage. Lillian saw us over Mac’s shoulder, and her smile faded. The light around her started to dim, and she got an anxious look on her face.
Mac turned around. “Why did you bring the bookworm?” he asked, eyeing Randy with a bit of disdain.
“We were out running some errands, so he came with me.”
“Where’s your cop?”
“Interviewing my mother, I believe.”
The pale yellow light was gone, replaced by a light blue shimmer. Suddenly, I was hit with enormous waves of despair, which left a sharp pain in my head. I grabbed Randy’s hand to keep from falling down. He guided me over to a nearby chair.
“Are you all right?” he asked me as I sat down. I could hear the concern in his voice.
“My head…she’s upset or sad, I’m not sure which. But I can feel it.”
“Has this happened before? Did this happen when you were around Stanley Ashton?”
“No, never.”
“Hey, Mac,” Randy said, not sure where the ghost was, “would you ask your lady friend to tone down the gloom and despair? It’s causing problems for Cam.”
I covered my eyes with my hands and took a few deep breaths. The pain slowly started to subside. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, it wasn’t Randy kneeling in front of me. It was one very pissed police chief.
“What happened?” he said calmly.
“Just a small pain in my head.”
“Small pain, nothing,” Randy said from behind Mike. “I thought she was going to pass out.”
“What were you doing before the pain started?”
I explained about the overwhelming feelings I got from Lillian. “She’s afraid, I think.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”
Mike sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home right now?” he said.
“Randy had a friend who was available to cut my hair, but only if we went in right away.”
“It looks nice,” Mike said, as he shot Randy a dirty look. I had a feeling that Mike had told him to make sure I stayed home. I wasn’t going to tell him about the trip to Nigel’s store.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “So you decided to take the scenic way home?”
“Sorry,” I said, really starting to regret my decision to come here without him.
“A hit to the head is nothing to mess around with, Cam. There’s a reason why the doctor said to take it easy.”
“Quit being a nag,” Mac said from the stage. “Lillian has her emotions under control now, so let’s talk about dead bodies.”
I glared at him, and Mike noticed. “What’s he complaining about now?”
“Nothing. He just wants to talk to us about what happened the other night.”
Mike stood up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. You need to go home and rest.”
I grabbed his hand. “She can tell us who hit me yesterday and took the evidence. And she might be able to give us some clues about who killed Susan.”
“No, Camille,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “Whatever is going on with her is affecting you. I think you need to go home and relax. Mac can get the story from Lillian, and tell us later.”
“But what if we have questions?”
“Then we’ll make a list, and he can ask her later,” Mike replied firmly, leading me toward the kitchen door. “Isn’t that right, Mac?”
“Yeah, fine,” Mac said, clearly annoyed.
“Camille, I am sorry about what I just did to you,” Lillian said quietly.
I jerked my arm away from Mike and moved over to the edge of the stage. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I’ve been here for fifty years, just stuck in limbo. I was shocked when you could see and hear me the other day. Then I met Mac, and he told me a little about you. After all this time, you’re a ray of hope.”
“You believe I’m your way to move on.”
She nodded.
“I can’t promise you that finding your murderer is going to help you move on, Lillian,” I said. “I know that’s what happened before, but I don’t know if that means it will always happen. This is new to me. I’m just a writer, not some kind of ghost whisperer, or whatever you want to call it. If I can help you, I will. So will Mike and Randy. But I can’t guarantee that will give you the peace that you’re seeking.”
I felt a wave of sadness wash over me, and I leaned against the stage. Mike came over and wrapped his arm around my waist. “Come on. We need to go.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Cam,” Mike said.
“We have to help her, help both of them, Mike,” I said, turning to face him. “I don’t know why I’m seeing these ghosts. I don’t know why I’m feeling all of Lillian’s emotions. But I do know that they need help, and I’m not the type of person who turns their back on someone in need. Are you?”
Mike rubbed his hand over his face. “No, I’m not. But from now on, you don’t do any of this alone, is that clear? If I can’t be there, you don’t go near them. And no more talking Randy into doing your dirty work. This worked the last time because we worked as a team. If this is going to continue to
work, then we do it together or not at all.”
“Are you suspending your disbelief?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how I was able to see Stanley that night.”
“Because his killer was in the room with us. It was the ending to his story.”
“So because I can’t see either one of them, we haven’t figured out why they died or who killed them?”
I shrugged. “It’s the only thing I can think of. I don’t have all the answers.”
“Well, the only thing I know right now is that you are going home. I’m sure Lillian understands, even if that hard headed Mac doesn’t,” Mike replied, guiding me away from the stage.
“Hey, don’t talk that way about me!” Mac said angrily. “I know people who could make you disappear.”
Great, death threats from a ghost.
Chapter 19
If we were hoping for peace and quiet when I got home, we were sadly disappointed. Mike followed us back to my house, with strict orders for Randy to keep me at the house, and the dire consequences if he failed to do so, something about stakes and ant hills.
He hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes before my phone rang. “Hello?”
“Did you meet with Showalter?”
“Yes, Joe, I did.”
“And? When are we going to see this on Broadway?”
“I’m not for sure, Joe. He said it was still being considered, and that he would be talking to his backers about it before any final decision is made.”
“That sounds like a definite yes to me,” Joe said excitedly. I could picture him walking around his office, doing some fist pumps.
“No, it’s not a definite yes.”
“Have a little more faith, Cam! You’re going to conquer Hollywood and Broadway at the same time. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I’m so glad I could help make your dreams come true, Joe,” I said sarcastically.
“That did sound bad, didn’t it?” Joe said.
“Just a bit.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I understand your excitement.”
“Why aren’t you more excited about this?” he asked.
“I’m trying not to get my hopes too high, in case this doesn’t work out the way we expect it to. Then I won’t be so disappointed. But if it does work out, then I’ll celebrate.”
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 14
