Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery Read online

  I glanced at Randy, who shrugged. “Someone with a connection to the family has asked me to take a look into the case. They don’t believe he committed suicide, either.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Why?”

  Rubbing his chin, he took another drink of his coffee before he answered. “For starters, Stanley Ashton III was too narcissistic to kill himself. I’d known that family for years. He even talked about himself in the third person sometimes. Everything was about him, and if he wasn’t the center of attention, he did something to make sure he was. He wouldn’t kill himself because then he wouldn’t be around to enjoy everyone making a fuss over him.”

  “Sounds like a real piece of work,” Randy said.

  Cliff nodded. “He was. I pulled him over for speeding once. He reminded me that his family was very important in this town, and that he could make my life miserable. I smiled, said ‘yes sir’ and gave him a ticket anyway.”

  “Did you get in trouble for it?” I said.

  “Surprisingly, no. Chief Penhall said that Ashton came in, griping about some snot-nosed patrolman who had given him a ticket for no good reason. Chief asked him if he had, in fact, been speeding. Ashton admitted that he had been, so the chief told him to shut up and pay the ticket.”

  “I got the impression that he wasn’t a big fan of Stanley III,” I said.

  Cliff shook his head. “No one was at the time.”

  “Because he was trying to force a lot of people out of their homes?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I have a friend at the library who has done some research on the town. Her grandmother was one of those that lost her home.”

  “He kept saying that he was buying land to expand the family estate. Of course, after his death, all of his plans died with him.”

  “What about his wife?”

  “Amelia? Beautiful woman. I never understood what she saw in that man. She was the gentlest woman I ever had the pleasure to meet, next to your mother, of course, Miss Shaw.”

  “Thank you. And it’s Cam.”

  “Cam, of course. Amelia didn’t seem too interested in expanding the estate once her husband died. She wasn’t seen around town much after the funeral. One day, she was just gone.”

  “No one seems to have any idea where she went,” I said.

  “I think we are getting a little off the subject here,” Randy said. “Why did you think it was murder?”

  “When I got to the scene, the housekeeper was on the front porch. I expected her to be hysterical, crying at least. But she wasn’t. She was perfectly calm. She led me to the parlor, telling me that she had been in the kitchen, cleaning up, when she heard a shot from the library. When she got there, she found Ashton dead on the floor, the gun in his hand.”

  Aggie had told me she was in the guest house with her husband, not in the kitchen, and Walt said she was hysterical when he got there. I would have to ask her about that later. “What made you question her story?”

  “For starters, there was no suicide note. He was very good about blaming other people when things went wrong. I figured he would have left a note, accusing someone of driving him to his death. And that housekeeper was too calm, considering she had just found a dead body.”

  “Anything else?” Randy asked.

  Cliff rubbed his chin again. “Most people who commit suicide shoot themselves in the head, not through the heart. He was lying on the floor behind his desk with the gun in his hand. If he had shot himself in the heart, the gun would have fallen to the opposite side of the desk. But the gun was in his right hand. There is no way he could have shot himself in the heart and still have it in his hand. Besides, he was left handed, not right handed. When I gave him that speeding ticket, he signed it with his left hand.”

  “Maybe he was ambidextrous,” Randy suggested.

  “Anything is possible,” Cliff replied. “But I think the gun would have fallen farther away from his hand.”

  “So you think the scene was staged?” I said.

  He nodded. “Chief Penhall thought so, too.”

  “Then why say it was a suicide?”

  “I asked him that very question. He said ‘Cliff, one day you will understand small town politics.’ He was right, of course.”

  “If you had to guess, who do you think killed him?”

  “I never had a particular suspect in mind,” he said. “I would have liked to talk to that housekeeper again, as well as Amelia. I always got the feeling that those two knew more than they were telling us. But once the chief closed the investigation, I couldn’t talk to them again.”

  “What about her husband? Did you question him?”

  “Briefly. He claimed he was in the guest house and didn’t hear a thing.”

  I mentally added him to the list of people to talk to. “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of the police report, would you?”

  “I have the original, actually. Don’t tell anyone. Any cases where there is a death, even a suicide, are kept on file in case new information comes in,” he said.

  “Any chance I could get a look at it?”

  “I’ll have to go through my files to find it. It might take a little while. How about tomorrow night at my house? Would that be alright?”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  “Any other questions for me? I’ve got an appointment in about ten minutes.”

  “Would you like us to take you?” Randy said.

  “Not necessary,” Cliff said as he stood up and picked up his hat. “It’s just down the street. I’m going to walk.”

  “We’ll walk you out,” I said, picking up my bag. “I need to get home to do some reading.” I waved to my father, who was behind the counter, as we left.

  Once we got outside, Cliff turned and shook my hand. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you. I’d love to hear what exactly you’re working on.”

  “I hope I can tell you soon,” I replied.

  He shook Randy’s hand, said goodbye and started to walk across the street. I heard squealing tires, and looked to my right in time to see a flash of gold speeding up the street just as Cliff was in the middle of the street. I heard a thump, and watched him roll up the windshield, over the roof and down the trunk of a Cadillac. The car never stopped as Cliff hit the ground with a thud. I heard someone screaming, and realized it was me just as his gray fedora landed at my feet.

  Chapter 9

  It took the police three hours to investigate the scene, what there was of it to look at. No one saw which direction the Cadillac had gone after it had hit Cliff, because everyone was looking at his body flying through the air and flinching as he hit the ground.

  I was sitting in the coffeehouse, his gray fedora on the table in front of me. I had picked it up after it had landed in front of me, and for some reason, I hadn’t let it go.

  “We’re going to need that, you know,” a male voice said next to me. I looked up to see a man in a black uniform standing there. “It’s part of the investigation.”

  “His hat didn’t kill him, Mike,” I replied. “A car did.”

  Chief of Police Mike Penhall sat down across from me. I had known him since high school. Dark brown hair, light blue eyes and dimples – I had a thing for guys with dimples. We never dated in high school, although he, Randy and I hung out a lot until they had a falling out. After that, it was never all three of us doing things together. They’ve never told me what the problem was, despite my repeated attempts to find out. Mike joined the Navy after high school, and we didn’t see much of him until five years ago, when he was hired to be the deputy police chief. After Dave Harding retired three years ago, Mike was promoted to chief. We still got together occasionally to do things, but half of the time, we were interrupted by some emergency at the police station. “I know, Cam.” He pushed the hat to his left. “I used to give him a hard time about wearing that thing whenever he came to the station for a visit. It made him look like
he was part of the Rat Pack.”

  I smiled slightly as my father approached the table. He gave Mike a mug of coffee and put a Dr Pepper in front of me. “Good to see you again, Mike,” he said, shaking the chief’s hand. “I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

  “I agree, Jim. I just need to talk to Cam for a few minutes, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Take your time. Let me know if there is anything you need.” Dad gave me a quick hug and walked away.

  “First of all, are you alright?” Mike said.

  “I’ve certainly had better days.” I took a drink. “I’ve never seen anyone killed before.”

  “I’ve seen too much of it. It’s definitely not something I would wish on anyone. I talked to Randy. He said you were meeting with Cliff before the accident. Why?”

  I wondered how much I could tell him. It wasn’t a good idea to go around announcing that you’ve been talking to a ghost. That’s a sure ticket to the funny farm. “I was asking him about an old case of his.”

  “Which one?”

  “Not one you would know anything about.”

  “Try me.”

  “Stanley Ashton III.”

  “Suicide in the mid-50s.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I come from a long line of cops. And Walt Penhall is my grandfather. Why were you asking Cliff about that case?”

  I took another drink of my Dr Pepper. “Someone doesn’t believe that Mr. Ashtons death was a suicide.”

  Mike looked surprised. “Who would care about that after all these years?”

  “Someone who was close to the family.”

  “Are you going to give me a name?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Is there a reason why you don’t want to?” Mike asked.

  “A writer has to protect their sources,” I said.

  Mike rolled his eyes. “You aren’t going to pull that freedom of the press crap on me, are you?”

  I wasn’t sure I was covered under that particular amendment. “Agatha Foley.”

  “Crazy Aggie?” Mike said. “Cliff was killed because that crazy old lady said that her boss didn’t kill himself?!”

  “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” I countered. “Cliff’s death could have been an accident.”

  Mike stood up, grabbed Cliff’s hat and motioned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” I said, remaining firmly in my seat. Images of me being thrown in jail flashed in my mind briefly.

  He reached over, grabbed my arm, pulled me out of my chair and led me to the door. I heard Dad calling my name. “She’s fine, Jim,” Mike told him. “I’m just going to show her something. We’ll be right back.”

  He escorted me out the door. I jerked my arm out of his hand. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

  “You are a stubborn woman.”

  “What’s your point?”

  He didn’t answer me. We walked in silence for a block and a half before he stopped. “Look right there,” he said, pointing at a parallel parking space. “What do you see?”

  I looked down and spotted tire tracks from a burn out. “Are these from the Caddy?”

  “Tell me what you saw and heard.”

  “We walked out of the coffeehouse and said goodbye. He started to walk across the street when I heard someone peel out…” I looked down at the tire tracks again, my throat suddenly dry.

  “Then what happened?”

  “The…the car hit Cliff. He bounced up onto the hood, over the roof and rolled off the trunk,” I said, glancing back up the street.

  “And the car?”

  “What about it?”

  “Did the driver stop or keep going?”

  “Kept going, I think.”

  “Did you hear the driver hit the brakes?” I shook my head. “Does that sound like an accident to you?”

  “No. However, you’re still jumping to conclusions,” I said, wiping away a stray tear as it slid down my right cheek.

  “And how do you figure that?”

  “There were only four people who knew I was meeting with Cliff Scott, and two of them weren’t sure when or even if I was for sure.”

  “And those four people are?” Mike said, handing me the fedora before pulling out a pen and notepad from his breast pocket.

  “Me, Randy, who called Cliff to arrange the meeting, my grandmother…”

  “Your grandmother? How does she know him?”

  “I don’t know if she does or not. But she knows someone who does, and that’s how we got the number.”

  “And just who is this someone?”

  “Your grandfather. Does that make him a suspect? And I think he’s sweet on my grandmother. Just what are his intentions?”

  “What about Crazy Aggie?” Mike said, ignoring my last comment.

  “Why do you call her that?”

  “Because every time a new police chief takes office, she comes in, trying to get us to take another look at the case.”

  “Have you seen the case file?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, “not the official one. But each outgoing chief leaves a note in the middle of their desk for the next guy coming in, warning them about Aggie.”

  “Ever talk to your grandfather about it?”

  “Never had a reason to. He shot himself, end of story.”

  “Interesting,” I said, walking toward the coffeehouse.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Cliff Scott was sure it wasn’t suicide, and even your grandfather had his doubts.”

  Mike put a hand on my arm to stop me. “Whoa, wait a minute. Just what did they say to you?”

  “Let’s go back to the coffeehouse and I’ll tell you. Otherwise, my father is going to come looking for me.”

  He agreed. Ten minutes later, with fresh drinks and some warm chocolate chip cookies, I told him about my conversation with Walt and Cliff. “I don’t think that you can say Cliff’s death has anything to do with his meeting with me. Considering how long he was a cop, I’m sure there’s a long list of people who held a grudge against him.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job, Cam,” he said.

  “I’m not!” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince him, or myself.

  “Keep it that way,” he replied, putting his notepad in his pocket. “I do have one piece of advice for you, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay away from Aggie Foley. Stanley Ashton committed suicide.”

  “You still believe that after what I just told you?”

  “You don’t have any proof, just the hunches of two retired cops. This is a sixty-year-old case. There’s no family here demanding answers. Until I have something in my hands that shows me it was murder, the case stays closed.”

  I started to say something, but changed my mind. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  “Not at the moment. I’ll need you and Randy to come down to the station to give us your statements.”

  “Sure.” We shook hands and he started to walk away. “Hey, Mike, did Cliff have any family?”

  “I don’t think so. His wife died shortly before he retired and they didn’t have any kids. Why?”

  “Just wondering. Thanks.”

  He nodded and left. Dad came over to collect the dishes. “Everything alright?”

  “Fine, Dad. He just wanted me to go over what I saw this afternoon.”

  “Looks like you were being a bit uncooperative.”

  “Just a minor disagreement, nothing to worry about.” I checked the time on my phone. “I need to get home. You and Mom have big plans tonight?”

  “It’s Tuesday night. We always watch ‘NCIS’, you know that. What about you?”

  “Probably the same thing,” I said, standing up. I gave him a hug and kiss. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Be careful.”

  I assured him I would. I was hoping for a
nice, quiet evening.

  Boy, was I wrong…

  Chapter 10

  After a supper of oven roasted chicken, green beans and salad, I settled down on the couch in my favorite pair of lounging pants and a t-shirt to watch the new episode of ‘NCIS’. Right after a well-deserved head slap was delivered to one of the actors, my doorbell rang. I groaned.

  “Come on, Cam, I know you’re there. You’re always home on Tuesday night,” Randy said. “Open up.”

  Sometimes being so predictable had its drawbacks. I hit the pause button on my TV, and got up to let him in. “This had better be good,” I said.

  “Oh, it is,” he said, brushing past me. I started to close the door when I noticed someone else standing there. “Come on in, Jo, don’t mind her. She’s always grouchy when you interrupt one of her favorite shows.”

  In walked a woman who looked like she belonged in San Francisco in the late 1960s. She was wearing a purple broom skirt that showed flashes of fuchsia underneath. She had on a matching sleeveless vest over a white t-shirt, and wedge sandals that looked like they had been made out of macramé rope. Long black hair was held back with a black scarf, and her brown eyes darted all around the room as she walked in. “Very nice, but you need more calming influences in here. It will help you totally relax. I’ll be glad to help you pick a few things out if you’d like.”

  “Um, Randy, who’s your friend that wants to rearrange my house?” I said, closing the door.

  “This is Jolanda Williams. Jo, this is my best friend, Camille Shaw.”

  “Just Cam, please.”

  “Most people call me Jo,” she replied as we shook hands. “Your name means ‘virginal, unblemished character, or perfect’.”

  “I’m definitely none of those. Why Jolanda?”

  “My mother loved African violets. Jolanda means ‘a violet flower’. I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy though, so I prefer Jo.”

  “Like the main character in Little Women.”

  “One of my favorite books.”

  “Please have a seat,” I said. “Would anyone like something to drink? I’ve got some bottled water, tea, Dr Pepper and Coke.”

  “I’ll just have some tap water, please,” Jo said, sitting down in my light blue chaise lounge.