Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery

by Teresa Watson

  He stood up and looked at me. “That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

  “Someone at the station told him you would probably be here. He wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Gee, two people in his family have been murdered the last two days. I can’t imagine why he would want to talk to you,” I said sarcastically. “However, you would have to talk to him about that, which is exactly what I told him when he started asking me questions.”

  “Really?”

  “You made your feelings quite clear earlier, Mike,” I said. “I have no intention of getting in the way of your investigation. If you don’t believe me, go to the hospital and ask him.”

  “Temper, temper,” Mac said.

  “What happened here tonight is the exact reason why I don’t want you involved,” Mike said, clearly annoyed. “Everyone knows about the two of us. That puts you in more danger, whether you want to admit it or not. If you start sticking your nose into things, that will just make things worse. I don’t want to have to worry about something happening to you when I should be focusing on other things.”

  I snatched the broom and dustpan out of his hands. “Well, maybe we should just break up! Heaven forbid I get in the way of your precious job, which is obviously more important to you than I am!”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.”

  “Go home, Mike, before one of us says something we’ll regret later.”

  He gave me a sad look. “I think one of us already has.” He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Cam. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I waited until he was halfway down the sidewalk before slamming the front door.

  “Thank you,” I told Mac.

  “For what?”

  “What you did out there.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I turned around to face him. “So you really didn’t get a look at them?”

  “I think it might have been a man and a woman, but they never turned around while I was standing there.”

  “Damn,” I muttered.

  “Why? Do you think you know who it is?”

  “No, nothing definite,” I admitted. “Just a nagging feeling. I’m probably wrong.”

  “Well, what I have to tell you will either make things worse or better,” Mac said.

  “Hold on a minute.” I went over and looked in the living room. There was plywood already over the broken windows, and I could see a couple of officers checking out the front yard by the trees. “Okay, tell me.”

  “It’s about what happened to you yesterday.”

  “You said that Lillian saw something.”

  “Someone left one of the windows open. She saw you walk up the hill, look inside the trash can, and then go back to your car to make a phone call.”

  “She saw the clothes?”

  He nodded. “When your attacker took them out of the can.”

  “Well, at least Mike will know I was telling the truth about that,” I said, relieved.

  “She said they used something that looked like a shiny stick.”

  “A shiny stick? You mean like a flashlight or a cane?” Going over to the fridge, I pulled down the flashlight that was on top. “Like this?”

  “Possibly. She wasn’t sure; it was a bit far to get a good look.”

  I put the flashlight down on the table, dropping into one of the chairs. “I don’t think I want to hear the rest of it.”

  “Probably not, but I think you should know anyway.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “She thought they were driving a police car.”

  I ran my fingers through my short hair. “Is she sure?”

  “She said that it had a bar of lights on the top, and it said Waxahachie on the side.”

  “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it was a police car. It could have been a security car for any number of places.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Mac said skeptically.

  “Could she tell if it was a man or a woman?”

  “Yeah, that she was sure about it. It was definitely a man. After he whacked you, he grabbed the clothes, threw them in the trunk of the car, and left.”

  Definitely not what I wanted to hear.

  Chapter 20

  It was almost two hours before Mike came back. Reynolds and MacKenzie stood guard outside until he returned. He thanked them and sent them home before he came inside.

  “Why are you here?” I asked him. “I thought you were going to call me tomorrow.”

  “I wanted to apologize. I...overreacted a little.”

  “A little? Try a lot.”

  “I'm not the only one who got angry,” Mike pointed out.

  I held up my hands. “You're right.”

  “Let's just say we were both wrong. I jumped to the wrong conclusion when I saw Reed here.”

  “You thought I was having a date with him or something, didn't you?”

  “No, of course not. I don't know what I thought, to be honest.”

  “Don't worry, caveman. No one is trying to muscle in on your territory.”

  Mike grinned. “Caveman? I was thinking more along the lines of Tarzan and Jane.”

  “I'll keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much. How's Reed?”

  “Feeling no pain at the moment,” Mike said as he sat down on the couch.

  “Just wait until it wears off,” I told him. “It’s probably going to hurt. Your men did a great job on the windows.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Mac dropped in while you were gone, too.”

  Mike groaned. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “Are you hungry?” I said, changing the subject. “I didn’t get to finish eating dinner. I could heat up some of the soup.”

  “That sounds good,” he said.

  I went into the kitchen, got out a couple of bowls, took the soup out of the fridge, and poured some in both bowls. While I waited for them to heat up in the microwave, Mike came into the kitchen. “What were you going to tell me?”

  “It can wait,” I said, putting the rest of the soup back in the fridge. “How many stitches did Reed need?”

  “Twelve,” he replied. He came over and put his arms around me. “What did Mac say?”

  “I told you, it can wait.”

  The microwave went off, and I tried to step away, but he held me tight. “What is it?”

  “He told me what Lillian saw yesterday when I was at the theatre.”

  “And?”

  “She saw the clothes, just like I did. She also got a glimpse of the person who hit me. She said it looked like a big stick or a flashlight,” I said, picking up the one I had left on the table. “Whoever hit me took the clothes out of the trash can, threw them in the trunk of their car, and left.”

  “So we’ll get whoever this is for assault, tampering with evidence, and obstruction of justice,” Mike replied.

  “Another thing,” I said as the microwave beeped, reminding me that the soup was done. I wiggled my way loose, picked up some hot pads, and took the soup out, putting the bowls on the table before grabbing some spoons from the silverware drawer. “Why didn’t your officers find the clothes last night during their search? Who was in charge of that area?”

  “Reagan. She admitted that she didn’t look in the trash can.”

  “Rookie mistake,” I said. I sat down and started eating.

  Mike sat down, but he didn’t eat. He looked at me thoughtfully. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “About what?” I said, not looking up.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  For a moment, I thought about leaving the rest of it out, but I didn’t want to lie to him. “Lillian said it was a man.”

  “Did Mac say he thought he saw a man outside, too?”

  I nodded.

  “Can she give us a description of the car?”

  “Yeah. She said it
had a bar of lights on top, and said Waxahachie across the side.”

  “She said it was a cop?”

  “No, she didn’t say she saw the word police. For all we know, it could be a security car from a business here in town.”

  Mike didn’t say anything. I knew he didn’t like the idea that it might be one of his own. If I were in his shoes, I’d feel the same way.

  “There’s something else that’s bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “How did they know that the clothes were still there? The place was crawling with cops the night of the murder. They would have assumed that the clothes were found. So how did they know that I found them that morning?”

  “There’s no way they could have known.”

  “That’s what Randy said. He thinks the killer came back yesterday morning, hoping you hadn’t found them. They were probably watching me, heard me call you, and bash, bam, boom.”

  “Accidental, not intentional.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Lillian said she saw a man attack you. I’m pretty sure that our killer is a man, because there’s no way a woman would have had the strength to hold onto those pearls long enough to strangle Susan Ingram.”

  “I didn’t talk to Mac about Friday night,” I admitted. “I was more focused on what happened tonight.”

  “We really need to find Joey Ingram,” Mike said. “This is starting to sound more about business and less about something personal.”

  “Probably stupid of me to ask this, but have you put out BOLOs for him yet?”

  “I did it yesterday.”

  “Can you tell me how Clinton died?”

  “Not until I get something official from Quincy.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. “No one ever figured out why Lillian was murdered,” I said.

  “Not according to her file, no, they didn’t.”

  “Maybe we need to start backwards and work our way forward.”

  “You don’t think that her murder has anything to do with what’s going on now?”

  “It certainly was the case last time. Why not for this case, too?”

  Mike thought about it. “Seems like a long shot to me, Cam.”

  “To me, too, but we have to start somewhere, at least until we find Joey.”

  “Why don’t you look into it?” Mike suggested. “Doing research is what you do best; I don’t have the patience for it. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can get a search warrant for the Ingrams’ homes, business, and bank accounts.”

  “Do you think Joey has left the country?” I asked him as I finished my soup.

  “If he has any brains, he wouldn’t do that. It just makes him look guilty.”

  “Joey hasn’t shown an enormous amount of smarts so far, Mike. He probably figured he would be the first suspect on your list, and left town to avoid being questioned.”

  “Probably.”

  “I still don’t buy the story Stephen told us, either,” I continued, getting up to rinse out my bowl. “Do you think Joey knew about the connection between Susan and Stephen?”

  “How?” Mike got up and brought his bowl to the sink. “She didn’t keep in touch with the Showalters.”

  “That’s what Stephen says. Again, assumes facts not in evidence.”

  “All right, Ms. Law and Order,” Mike laughed. “I’ll do some background work on Stephen and his parents.”

  I sighed and rubbed my neck.

  “Rough couple of days,” Mike said. “Why don’t you take one of your pain pills? I’m going to stay here in case the rock throwers come back.”

  “I don’t think they will. They delivered whatever message they wanted to tonight. You’ve had a longer day than I have. I’ll be fine.”

  Mike look doubtful. “I’ll go home, but I’ll arrange for an extra patrol to swing by two or three times an hour overnight, just in case.”

  After he called the station and gave the order, I walked him to his truck. “Get some rest,” we both said at the same time.

  “Don’t sneak off to the theatre after I leave,” he said.

  “I hadn’t planned to, but now that you mention it…”

  “Cam,” he warned.

  I held my hands up. “I’m not leaving the house, I promise. I haven’t checked my emails in a couple of days. I’m sure I’ve got my history professor is wondering where his edits are.”

  He pulled me close and gave me a gentle, loving kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow. If you need me for anything, call.”

  “I will.”

  He got into his truck, and I watched him drive off into the night. I looked around the yard, wondering if someone was out there watching me. Realizing I didn’t like that idea, I hurried back into the house, locked the door and set the security alarm. I went to my office, grabbed my laptop and charger, and went back into the living room to sit on the couch.

  With the computer on my lapboard, I turned on the TV and found an old western to watch. I turned on the computer and began checking my email. There were sixty emails, mostly from clients, but I couldn’t focus on answering them. Instead, I pulled up a search engine and typed in “Lillian Ingram” and hit enter.

  Hundreds of hits came up, many of them mentioning the Lillian Ingram Foundation. Hm, first I had ever heard of this. I clicked on the first link, which took me to the home page of the foundation. Clinton Ingram was listed as the head, with Joseph Clinton Ingram named as chief financial officer. I heard warning bells.

  The purpose of the foundation was to provide grants to deserving non-profit organizations. Applications were accepted once a year, with a decision usually handed down by December 31st. Past recipients included a women’s shelter in Dallas, a food bank in Arlington, and the theatre here in town.

  I went back to look at more of the search results. Nothing about Lillian’s murder, but on the fifth page, I found a headline that said “Feds Look into Financials of Ingram Foundation”, and clicked on it. It was dated six months ago, and talked about an upcoming audit into the foundation. One of the board members, Charles Prufrock Jr., raised concerns about the sudden spending habits of the CFO, Joseph “Joey” Ingram, who denied that any money was missing from the foundation that was created in memory of his beloved mother, Lillian. “Business has been good for me the last year, and the money that I spent was merely a bonus. Mr. Prufrock’s accusations are without merit, and meant to cause disharmony among the board members. His continued participation in foundation business will be addressed at a future meeting.”

  I checked to see if there were any follow up articles, but I couldn’t find any. I grabbed the notebook and pen I always kept on the coffee table, and wrote down the reporter’s name and contact information, as well as the date of the article. Prufrock mainly handled divorce and estate matters, so how did he know about anything about missing foundation money? Unless…

  I picked up my phone and called Mike. “Everything all right?” he asked when he answered.

  “Everything’s fine,” I assured him. I told him about the foundation, and Prufrock’s accusations against Joey. “The only reason Prufrock would be interested in someone’s financial situation,” I said, “would be if in the event of divorce or death. Since Joey was the target, I’m guessing Susan was thinking about filing for divorce.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny, because it falls under lawyer/client privilege,” Mike said.

  “Damn it, Mike.”

  “I’m sorry, Cam. Was there anything else you needed?”

  “No,” I said, “nothing else.”

  “Wish I could help.”

  “There is more than one way to find out.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll find it,” Mike laughed. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  We said good night and hung up. I immediately called Randy. “Heard any good gossip lately?”

  “Looking for something in particular?” he asked.

  “Anything that has to do with the Ingrams.”

  “Like who might b
e sleeping with someone other than their significant other?”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “Nothing definite, although there are rumors that both Ingrams have been looking around.”

  “Either one seeking legal advice?”

  “As in divorce?” Randy said.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought that was what you were getting at, but I wanted you to say it first,” Randy said excitedly. “Well, about seven months ago, Clinton walked into Joey’s office and caught him in a rather embarrassing position with Regina Higginbotham.”

  “Deputy Mayor Higginbotham’s wife?” I said.

  “The very same. Needless to say, she left rather quickly, half dressed, according to the receptionist, who could hear Clinton yelling at Joey like there was no tomorrow. He sent Joey out of there, tail between his legs, and told him not to come back for two weeks.”

  “And somehow, Susan found out?”

  “She paid the receptionist a thousand a month to keep an eye on her husband.”

  “Smart woman.”

  “Obviously, there’s a reason why you’re asking about this,” Randy said, “so spill the beans.”

  “I’m not sure I can, to be honest,” I told him.

  “Quid pro quo, toots,” he replied.

  “All I have right now is speculation, Randy.”

  “Did you talk to Mike?”

  “Before I called you. He couldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

  “Both, I think.”

  “Well, you can at least tell me what you told him.”

  I didn’t see any reason not to, so I told him what I had learned. “If Clinton caught Joey seven months ago, Susan found out, my guess is she went to Prufrock to start divorce proceedings.”

  “That makes sense. But I don’t get Prufrock accusing Joey of misusing foundation money.”

  “My guess is that Susan knew Joey had been dipping into the coffers, and was going to use it against him in the divorce. Since Prufrock sits on the foundation board, he could probably request information about the foundation’s finances. He must have found something, since the foundation was about to be audited.”

  “But that was six months ago,” Randy said. “Did the audit ever take place?”