“You know, most guys would run in the other direction when they found out their girlfriend could talk to ghosts.”
“Good thing I’m not most guys,” he laughed, kissing me on the forehead.
I put my head on his chest, and we stood still for a moment. “So what do we do now?” I asked him.
“Let’s go back to your house and finish our dinner. There’s a football game we can watch while we eat.”
“You’re lucky I like sports, bub,” I said, reluctantly stepping out of his arms to grab my bag.
“That’s true, but you still root for the wrong team.”
“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”
Chapter 30
Working together didn’t get me access to the official police file on the investigation. Apparently, the information highway only ran one way. As we ate dinner, I pulled out my notebook and tried to organize my notes. “Should we start with Lillian’s murder and work our way forward?” I asked Mike.
“We can.”
“Well, we know Lillian was killed after a social event. They found her on the stage shortly after eleven p.m., strangled with her pearls, correct?”
“Correct.”
“The main suspect was Phillip Ingram, her father-in-law, but no one could ever prove it. Phillip refused to loan Clinton the money to start his construction company, so Clinton got the money from the mob. They used his company to launder their dirty money, although I’m not quite sure how that works with a construction company, but anything is possible, I suppose. Mac said he remembers seeing two mob guys at the event the night Lillian was killed. Why were they there?”
“What did Mac say about that?”
“He wasn’t sure why, either.”
“Fast forward fifty years, and we have Clinton’s daughter-in-law, Susan, killed the same way Lillian was.”
“Clinton didn’t do it. He was already dead. That leaves her husband, Joey, who has yet to provide us with an alibi.”
“Is he your only suspect?”
“At the moment, yes. He had the best motive. He wanted to divorce Susan, but couldn’t because the divorce payout would mean that he couldn’t continue the takeover bid for his father’s company.”
“There has to be another reason why he was trying to take over the company,” I said. “Do we know if Ingram Properties was in trouble? Or does it have something to do with the gambling debts rumor I heard about? Did he need an instant influx of money? Surely the protests aren’t affecting his business. If he had just waited, he would have inherited it.”
“But he wasn’t the one who was named acting president; someone else was, remember?”
“We need to find out more about her. Why would he choose an outsider to take over his business?”
“Did she know before Clinton’s death that he was planning to give her control of the company?” Mike asked. “That’s something we need to ask. Plus, we need to see if there were others inside the company who might have had a beef with Clinton.”
“The disgruntled employee angle?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, Cam.”
“On the other side of that, we need to find out more about the actors and crew of the play. If we think Susan was killed because of her passing resemblance to Rachel, then who wants Rachel dead?”
“All very good questions. You’d make a great cop,” Mike said.
“Digging through people’s pasts sometimes makes you feel like one, trust me. You see all the dirty laundry that never makes the light of day.”
“I can relate.”
“This is what we know, sort of,” I said. “What now?”
“Now, we figure out where to find out what we don’t know.”
“Look for the proverbial needle in the haystack?”
“Something like that.”
We watched the game for a little while, and then I took our dishes into the kitchen and cleaned them up. I looked at the time on the microwave and saw that it was only nine. Hanging the dish towel on the rack, I went back into the living room. “Want to take a ride?” I asked Mike.
“Where to?”
“The Ingram house.”
“I thought Mac told you to wait until tomorrow.”
I shrugged. “You’ll be busy with Joey. You know what questions need to be asked, and you told me not to go by myself. I figured since we’re not doing anything right now…”
Mike looked longingly at the football game before picking up the remote and turning the television off. “Let’s go,” he said, digging his keys out of his pocket.
Twenty minutes later, we parked in front of the Ingram house. The lights were on in several rooms. “Looks like they’ve made themselves at home,” I said to Mike as we got out of his truck.
“Well, technically, it is their house,” he pointed out.
The front door opened, and Mac appeared in the doorway. He had a frown on his face as we walked up the steps. “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow,” he said.
“We changed our minds,” I told him.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Mac replied, shaking his head.
“Mac doesn’t think this is a good idea,” I said to Mike.
“Why?”
I looked at Mac.
“I tried to talk to her earlier, and she didn’t take it very well.”
“He said she’s going to be very cooperative.”
“Is that what I said?”
“Why don’t we talk to Clinton first?” Mike suggested. “Would that upset her?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Mac replied.
“Then lead the way,” I replied.
Mac gave me a skeptical look before stepping aside and letting us in the house. The house was beautiful. It had an old-fashioned feel to it. “I bet Clinton didn’t change much of anything in here after Lillian died,” I whispered to Mike.
“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied. He grabbed my hand and stopped me.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re in the living room.”
“How do you know?” I said as Mac walked into a room on the left.
“I was here the other day, remember? That’s where Reed found Clinton.”
“Oh, lovely.”
We walked into the living room. The large Persian rug that was in the middle of the room had a section cut out of it, but the blood had soaked through to the hardwood floor. I swallowed hard and looked away.
“We have company,” Mac said to Clinton and Lillian, who were sitting on the couch with their backs to us. There was a beautiful yellow glow around them, but when they turned around and saw us, it disappeared, replaced with a dull bluish-gray color.
“I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow,” Clinton said, standing up.
“Mike was free this evening, so we thought it would be better to talk to you tonight,” I replied. “I’m sorry if we’re intruding.”
“You are,” Lillian said frostily.
“Lillian!” Clinton said. “They’re just trying to help us.”
She turned around and crossed her arms. A wave of anger hit me. I grabbed Mike’s hand to steady myself.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s not happy that we’re here.”
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Mac said. “You’d better leave.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head as I let go of Mike’s hand. “We need to ask them some questions.”
Mac threw his hands in the air, clearly exasperated.
“Please, have a seat,” Clinton said.
We sat on the love seat across from the couch. Lillian kept glaring at me, her right foot bobbing up and down. I glared back at her. “I’m not here to hurt you, Lillian. You need to tone down the hostility and help us figure out who killed your husband and daughter-in-law.”
“She was a tramp,” Lillian snapped.
“Lillian!” Clinton said.
“Susan was a tramp, according to her mother-in-law,” I told Mi
ke.
“She said that?”
I nodded.
“Why do you think she was a…” Mike couldn’t bring himself to say the word for some reason.
“Because she was seeing someone behind my son’s back,” Lillian said.
“How do you know that?” I said. “You haven’t left the theatre since the day you died.”
“Oh please,” Lillian said, “do you really believe that? I can come and go as I please. I’ve kept an eye on Clinton and Joey this whole time. I thought Susan was a lovely woman when she and Joey got married, but after a while, she showed her true colors. She just wanted him for the money and the Ingram name.”
Was it just me, or was Lillian being just a tiny bit hormonal? Sweet one minute, ready to rip someone’s heart out the next.
“Clinton, do you think Susan was a gold digger?” I asked him.
“I will admit she did have her moments,” he replied. “But most of the time, she was kind to me.”
Lillian shook her head. “She was counting the silver behind your back, dear.”
“How did Joey feel about his wife?” I asked Clinton.
“He loved her, in his own way. But over the last four years, they drifted apart. Their children married and moved away, with the exception of Reed. Susan was stuck at home alone while Joey worked.”
“Sounds like she had a serious case of empty nest syndrome,” I said. “What did she do with her free time?”
“She went to Dallas a lot,” Clinton said.
“What did she do in Dallas?”
“I think she was hanging around the community theatre, trying to reconnect with some of her old friends.”
“She was spending time at the Dallas theatre,” I told Mike. “Do you think she was spending time with Richard?”
“You mean the director?” Lillian said.
I nodded.
“Oh, they were very chummy the last couple of weeks,” she said. “Susan went to all of the rehearsals. She sat next to him out in the audience, constantly flirting with him. He certainly didn’t seem to mind.”
Taking out my notepad, I started writing things down, so I wouldn’t have to keep repeating things to Mike. “Did you ever see the two of them doing more than flirting?” he asked.
“Oh yes, I did. The man has hands like an octopus.”
“Lillian!” Mac and Clinton said at the same time.
“Well, he does!”
“Think octopus,” I said to Mike. “What about the relationships between the cast? Was there a lot of animosity?”
“You mean besides the two leading women? No, but those two really hate each other.”
I wrote down “talk to actresses” on the notepad.
“Clinton, were you having problems with anyone at work?” Mike asked.
“What kind of problems?”
“Disgruntled employees,” I said. “Maybe someone who thought you were going to pick them to take over the company when you retired?”
“Three people were being considered for the position.”
“Would you mind providing me with their names?” I asked him.
“Desmond Long Jr., who’s been with us for twenty-five years; Pamela Dimwitty...she’s been there about twenty years; and Scott VanMeter, about fifteen years. All extremely qualified.”
I wrote the names down. “Pamela told me this morning that the board had elected Mr. Long as the interim president.”
Clinton looked shocked. “What? That’s not possible. I made my opinion on this very clear. It was supposed to be Pamela.”
“If you wanted Pamela, then why did the board choose Mr. Long?”
“I have no idea, but I certainly intend to find out,” Clinton said, jumping up and leaving the room.
Mac shook his head. “He’ll be back in a minute.”
“What’s going on?” Mike asked me.
“I’m guessing that Clinton has gone to his office to call the board members to find out why they picked Mr. Long instead of Pamela,” I replied.
“He does realize that he can’t do that, right?” Mike said.
“This happens a lot with the newbies,” Mac said. “They haven’t quite accepted that they’re dead yet, so they still think they can do all the things they did when they were alive. Once he realizes he can’t pick up the phone, he’ll come back.”
“The transition period is so difficult,” Lillian agreed. “It took me months to accept that I couldn’t pick up my son and hold him when he cried, or hug him when he brought home good news. I missed sitting with Clinton after Joey would go to bed. We used to talk about his day at work, what I had done during the day, places we wanted to visit, our hopes and dreams for the future, little things like that. I hated seeing Clinton in this big house by himself after our son went to college. That’s why I started staying at the theatre.”
“Was Joey your only child?” I asked her.
“No, we had a daughter, but she was stillborn,” Lillian said. Her eyes started to fill with tears, and I felt this enormous wave of sadness wash over me. I wanted to cry with her.
“Are you all right?” Mike asked, placing his hand in mine.
“I’m fine.”
Clinton came back into the room, a dejected look on his face. “I couldn’t pick up the phone,” he said, sitting down beside Lillian again. “I really am dead, aren’t I?”
“I’m sorry, Clinton,” I said.
“You need to talk to the board members for me, young lady. You’ve got to let them know that I want Pamela to run the company, not Desmond.”
“But I thought you said he was qualified.”
“Yes, of course he is, but...”
“What’s the problem?” Mike asked me.
“Seems the wrong person was picked to be the interim president, and Clinton isn’t happy with the one that was chosen.”
“Why?”
“Because Long was pressuring me to name him to the top position,” Clinton replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Blackmailing you is what you really mean,” I said.
“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Why was he blackmailing you?” Lillian wanted to know.
Clinton didn’t answer.
“I bet I know why,” Mac said.
“Not one word!” Clinton said.
“I want to know,” Lillian said.
“It’s business, my dear,” he said to her. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“You know, that’s one thing I haven’t missed in the last fifty years or so,” Lillian replied. “Your patronizing ‘it’s business’ tone of voice. You never thought I had any brains.”
“That’s not true,” Clinton protested.
“It is true!” she snapped. The light blue glow turned white hot and bright. “And here you are, talking about making a woman president of your company, but you won’t tell me what’s going on with the business. Do you see the problem here?”
“Um, what’s going on?” Mike asked me, shielding his eyes from the bright light.
“Oh, just another male chauvinist pig being called on the carpet,” I told him. My head started to throb, and I rubbed my temples.
“No, I don’t see any problem whatsoever,” Clinton said. “A wife’s responsibilities are to take care of the house and children. She’s not supposed to ask questions about her husband’s business affairs.”
I shook my head. “He did not just say that,” I muttered.
“Say what?” Mike said.
“That a woman’s place is in the home.”
“Ooh, if he wasn’t already a ghost, I’d say he was a dead man walking,” Mike replied, shaking his head.
“Things have changed in the last fifty years, Clinton,” Lillian said. She stood up and walked behind us. “I am aware of women holding jobs that were normally for men. That means that you can tell me who was blackmailing you and why. If you don’t, I swear I am going to raise holy hell to the point that everyone in town is going to think
this place is possessed!”
“Technically, the house is possessed,” Mac pointed out to her. Lillian glared at him.
Her anger resonated all around us. I grabbed my head and bent over from the pain. Mike got up, pulled me to my feet and dragged me out of the living room. Mac followed us out, hurrying ahead to open the front door.
The cool air helped ease the pain a little as Mike helped me down the steps and over to his truck. I turned and leaned against it, staring at the house. I assumed she was still telling him off, because the glow from the living room windows was still bright.
“What happened in there?” Mike said.
“Lillian on emotional overload,” I replied. “Over fifty years of pent up rage, I guess.”
“Feeling better?” Mac asked me.
“A little.”
“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to come over here tonight,” he reminded me.
“Don’t rub it in.”
“So we know someone was blackmailing Clinton,” Mike said. “Do you think it’s Desmond Long Jr.?”
I shrugged. “It was implied, but not confirmed.”
“We need to go back and ask him about it,” he said.
“Not tonight we don’t,” I said. “I’ve had enough of Lillian for now. Besides, you’ve got two other names that you can check out tomorrow, besides Pamela. Right now, I just want to go home.”
“Are you sure?”
“All you wanted was information, Mike. We both agreed I would ask him some questions, and that would be the extent of my involvement. It’s your investigation, remember? Although I do have to agree with Lillian that keeping things from me, considering I am helping you, is a rather chauvinist attitude.”
“I’m not a chauvinist,” Mike said indignantly. Mac snickered. “I’m doing it to protect you. Besides, I do this for a living. You’re just a writer.”
My mouth fell open. Mac just shook his head.
“I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind, Chief Penhall,” I said. I opened the passenger side door, got in, and slammed it shut, leaving Mike standing on the other side with a puzzled look on his face. As he walked around to the driver’s side, Mac tipped his hat, smiled, and disappeared.
It was a quiet ride back to my house. When Mike parked in my driveway, I quickly got out. “I can see myself inside. Good night.”
Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery Page 24
