Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery Page 6

  “I’ll take some tea,” Randy said.

  “Why don’t you come help me?” I replied, grabbing his arm and dragging him into the kitchen before he could sit down.

  “You don’t need any help,” Randy said, stumbling to keep up.

  When we were out of earshot, I turned on him. “What’s with the flower child in there?”

  “You mean Jo? That’s the phone call I made earlier.”

  I vaguely remembered him mention something about making a call before I went into the library. “So why is she here?”

  He walked over to the cabinet, pulled out three glasses and walked over to the fridge, filling each one with ice. “She knows quite a bit about ghosts. I thought you might want to talk to her about the one you saw the other night.”

  “Are you insane? I’m not about to go around talking about something like that, especially to a complete stranger!”

  “She said that you would say that,” he replied as he filled a glass with water.

  “Excuse me?” I said as I took the tea pitcher out of the fridge.

  Putting the glass on my kitchen table, he took the pitcher from me and poured some in the other two glasses. “She’s also psychic.”

  “Then what do you need me for? She probably already knows who killed Stanley III. Let her go out there and tell them. Hey, does she know who killed Cliff Scott this afternoon? What do we need the police chief for? They should elect her to solve all the crimes in town,” I sarcastically replied.

  Randy shook his head at me. “Really, Cam, go into this with an open mind. Just hear her out. I think she could be helpful.” He picked up the water and one of the teas and left the kitchen.

  He might be my best friend, but there were times that I really wanted to give him a swift kick in the butt. I took my glass of tea and returned to the living room. I sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Randy; I was afraid if I sat near him, I’d strangle him.

  “Randy tells me that you have a unique problem on your hands,” Jo said. “I’d like to hear more about it from you.”

  “If he told you about it, then you know everything already.”

  “But I still want to hear it from you, not secondhand. No offense, sweetie,” she said to Randy.

  “None taken,” he smiled.

  I wondered if he had the hots for the flower child. “I’m not his type,” she said. “He prefers blondes.”

  “I think we need to lay a few ground rules here,” I said, putting my glass on one of my end tables. “I’ll concede, for my sanity’s sake, that you’re a psychic. I don’t need you to prove it to me. But I would prefer not to be subjected to having my thoughts read and said out loud before I can voice them. So as long as you’re here, please don’t do that.”

  “Agreed, although I know you don’t really…” she stopped when I held my hand up. “Sorry. I have a problem sometimes accepting other people’s boundaries.”

  “What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Tell me your impressions of the entity you encountered at the Ashton house.”

  “Living or dead?”

  “Let’s start with the living first.”

  “She seems relatively sane, considering she’s been living with a ghost for sixty years. Is it normal for someone to live in a haunted house for that long?”

  “I’m not sure I would use the term ‘haunted’, at least not the way you mean,” Jo said. “Granted, he’s still living there, but he seems to be doing it in a peaceful manner, choosing to co-exist with living people instead of trying to chase them out. Was there any kind of relationship between the two of them when he was alive?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I said.

  “That sounds kind of…I don’t know, icky,” Randy said. “I mean, thinking that she stayed there because she was in love with him. That’s wrong on so many levels. I thought she was married.”

  “Icky? Really, Randy? That’s the only word you could come up with it?” I teased. He grabbed one of the sofa cushions and hit me with it. “Yes, she’s married, at least she said she was. I didn’t see him when I was out there.”

  “It might be worth looking into,” Jo said. “If they did have some kind of connection back then, it might explain why she stayed. Wonder what the husband thinks of living there?”

  “I’ll ask the next time I go out there.”

  “So tell me about Mr. Ashton. What does he look like?”

  I gave her a detailed description. “His clothes are definitely 1940s style. I don’t know many people who still wear a vest over a dress shirt.”

  “Is he handsome?” she said.

  “Hm, I suppose. When I first saw him, he reminded me of Colin Firth.”

  “That British actor? Oh wow, I think he is so hot,” Jo said. “I definitely have to get a look at him.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m not about to take anyone out there without talking it over with Aggie and Stanley first. I mean, she still comes to town as far as I know. I don’t think she would appreciate it. Would you want everyone in town to know that you lived with a ghost?”

  Jo shrugged. “People already think I’m off my rocker. It wouldn’t matter to me.”

  I looked at her outfit. Between that, and claiming to be a ghost expert and a psychic…yeah, I could see how people steered clear of her. “But it might to her.”

  “It’s that boundary thing again. Sorry.”

  “Look, this whole ghost thing is new to us,” Randy said. “Why would he choose to stay here instead of going wherever ghosts go?”

  “Geez, Randy, are you getting theological on me?” I asked. “When a person dies, their souls go to heaven. Have you been sleeping through Dad’s sermons again?”

  “I only did that once!”

  “You were snoring so loud even Dad heard you up in the pulpit!”

  “And right after that, he had speakers installed behind the back row.”

  “Kept you awake, didn’t it?”

  “Excuse me,” Jo interrupted, “could we get back to the main part of the discussion here? There could be a number of reasons a spirit can’t, or won’t, cross over. From what Randy told me, yours has unfinished business.”

  “So, if we solve his murder, would that make him move on?” I said.

  “It should. Doesn’t mean he will.”

  “Why not?”

  “Again, I think this has to do with Mrs. Foley. He has some kind of attachment to her. It’s possible that he won’t leave without her.”

  “But he was married. Surely he would want to be with Amelia,” Randy said.

  “Do we know if his wife is still alive or not?” Jo asked.

  “Once she left town, she seems to have cut off all communication.”

  “What about her family?”

  “You mean the Underwoods?” She nodded. “I don’t know. I’ve been focusing on the Ashtons; I didn’t even think to look elsewhere.”

  “Don’t get tunnel vision,” Jo warned me. “You need to keep an open mind about everything, explore all avenues of information. The more you know, the better you’ll be able to deal with your ghost.”

  “Are you telling me I could have some problems?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you aren’t denying it, either.”

  “I think you’ll be fine outside of the house. I mean, he hasn’t left that house since the night of his murder, right?”

  “That’s what I was told.”

  “Like I said, you should be fine.”

  I looked at her face. “Why do I feel like there is a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?”

  “I can’t give you a definitive answer about his behavior without some type of interaction. The only living person he has had any contact with has been the housekeeper and her husband. He hasn’t had a reason to leave. But now that you’ve shown up, given him someone new to talk to, he may want to venture beyond those four walls.”

  “Are you saying he could come here?” Randy gasp
ed.

  “I’m saying I don’t know. Spirits usually stay in one place, some place they are familiar with. It sounds like he is a bit mischievous, from what Randy told me. Sounds like he did the door thing more out of boredom than malice.”

  Quite frankly, I didn’t know what to believe. Most of what she said sounded like it came from an episode of “Ghost Adventures”. But I was out of my comfort zone, and she was the closest thing to an “expert” I had access to at the moment.

  “I know you have doubts,” Jo said.

  “Um, boundaries, remember?”

  “I was watching your body language. Arms crossed, you’re closing yourself off. That’s understandable. You’ve had an interesting couple of days.” She stood up. “When you’re ready to hear more, Randy knows how to get a hold of me. I’ve got an appointment at nine.”

  Opening the door for them, I shook her hand. “I appreciate you coming by. You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be outside, Randy.” I watched her disappear into the darkness.

  “A psychic, ghost chasing hippie? Really, Randy?”

  “I thought you could use some insight into what you’re dealing with. Give her a chance, Cam. She knows what she’s talking about. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He kissed my cheek and left.

  Locking the door, I went to pick up the glasses, but they were gone. I heard a clink in the kitchen. I grabbed the baseball bat and slowly moved toward the sound. Peeking around the corner, I didn’t see anyone standing there, but the glasses were on the counter by the sink. Chills went down my spine as I went around the house checking all the locks and windows.

  I went back to the kitchen to put the glasses in the dishwasher, but they weren’t on the counter. “Not funny, Stanley,” I said out loud.

  I felt a slight breeze go past me. I stood still, listening for any other movement or sound, but I only heard silence.

  Looks like Stanley Ashton III had learned a new trick.

  I was not amused.

  Chapter 11 - Wednesday

  Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept waking up, expecting to see Stanley standing at the foot of my bed. He and I were definitely going to have a talk about his little visit.

  I decided to call Aggie before I left the house to give her an update on what I was doing. “I’ve got someone checking for death certificates, birth and marriage records, anything she can think of that would give us an idea of where Amelia and the kids might be,” I said. “I’ve also talked to Walt Penhall and Clifford Scott, the two policemen who were at the house that night.”

  “Sounds like you are being very thorough, Miss Camille,” Aggie replied.

  “Yes ma’am, I’m doing my best.” I didn’t mentioned Cliff Scott’s accident. There was nothing to suggest that his death was connected to Stanley’s death. I wish I had gotten a copy of that police report, though. “Is there anyone Amelia was close to, someone she might have confided in?”

  “Well, she was good friends with your grandmother. You might ask her.”

  “I talked to her yesterday, but I can run out there again and ask her. Do you have an idea where Amelia would have gone?”

  “Not a clue, but I could ask Stanley. Oh wait, there was a place in New Mexico she liked to go. Some small town with a funny name. I can’t remember the name, but she said she liked it there because no one knew her and she could be herself. Stanley never went with her; he was usually too busy with work.”

  “Speaking of work, I understand he had a lot of enemies.”

  “All successful people have enemies, Miss Camille, that’s to be expected. Again, I will ask Stanley if there were any specific threats or concerns.”

  “I’m sure there were, considering all the land he was buying or trying to buy.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Is there anything else?”

  “No ma’am, not at the moment. I promise I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

  She thanked me and hung up. I made a few more notes on my notepad before getting dressed. I put on a purple Oxford shirt, jeans and my favorite pair of white tennis shoes, put my notepad, an extra notepad, pen and my phone in my messenger bag, and headed to the garage. My pride and joy was a 1968 Olds 442, black with blue stripes on the bottom of each door. It had an x-pipe straightened to the back of the muffler, and it sounded like a dragster. I always enjoyed the envious looks I got from people whenever I drove it.

  My first stop was the bookstore. I wanted to talk to Randy about Jo, and tell him what happened after he left last night. Unfortunately he wasn’t there, so I left my car parked in front of the bookstore and walked across the street for my morning muffin. But before I could walk inside, I heard someone call out to me. Turning around, I saw the police chief headed my way. “Good morning, Mike. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to have breakfast with me.”

  “Really? Is this a social or official inquiry?”

  “Official, I’m afraid. Would you accept if I asked in a more social capacity?”

  “I’d have to think about it.”

  “Hm, good to know.”

  “I was going into the coffeehouse. Care to join me?”

  “Actually, I usually have something a bit more filling than muffins for breakfast. Do you think your parents would mind if you went somewhere else once?”

  “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”

  “Come on, then. I’ll drive.”

  “No offense, but I really don’t want to be seen in a police car. Just tell me where we’re going, and I’ll meet you there.”

  We ended up at The Grub, a small diner near the edge of town. It was a popular place, especially with the local police, firefighters and truckers. We went inside, where everyone called out to Mike as we walked to a back booth. A young blonde waitress came over with two coffee mugs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. “Hiya, Mike,” she said as she put the mugs down in front of us. “Little late this morning, aren’t ya?”

  “I had a stop to make first, Cassie,” he replied as she poured his coffee.

  She looked at me. “Ya want some coffee?”

  “No, thank you though. Could I have some orange juice?”

  Nodding, she turned to Mike. “Your usual breakfast?”

  “Make it two orders.”

  She looked down her nose at me before walking off. “Is she always this friendly to new customers?”

  “Relax,” he said. “She probably sees you as competition. She’s been after me for the last six months.”

  “She can have you,” I said.

  “Ouch, harsh. A bit grumpy this morning, aren’t you? Maybe you need something stronger than orange juice.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Still upset about Cliff Scott’s death?”

  “No, it was something else. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” I said, quickly changing the subject. There was no way I was going to explain to him about being haunted by a ghost.

  “I know you haven’t given your statement yet, but I wanted to go over your conversation with Cliff again.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say I’m curious.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t believe you.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “I might have gotten a call from someone last night, telling me I should help you.”

  “Who would do that…oh, your grandfather.”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure your grandmother was behind it. Frankly, I don’t know what you need help with. Like I said last night, officially it’s a suicide.”

  “And like I told you yesterday, your grandfather and Cliff both thought this was murder, not suicide.”

  “Have you uncovered anything that would make me change my mind?”

  “Aggie and Cliff both said that Stanley was left-handed. The gun was found in his right hand.”

  “Maybe he was ambidextrous.
”

  “I’ll ask Aggie. There was no suicide note.”

  “Not all suicides leave a note.”

  “Cliff believed there was no way Stanley would kill himself without blaming someone for driving him to it. He said Stanley was too narcissistic.”

  “I don’t think that would keep him from offing himself,” Mike replied as Cassie put our plates in front of us. “Thanks, Cassie.”

  “Who killed themselves?” she said.

  “No one,” I said. “It’s a hypothetical situation.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said, losing interest and walking away.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think it was any of her business.”

  “She’s too young to know about the Ashtons. Heck, so are we, for that matter. Did Crazy Aggie…”

  “I wish you’d stop calling her that.”

  “Fine. Did Aggie see anyone leaving the house after she heard the shot?”

  “She didn’t say, but I’ll add it to the list of questions I already have.”

  “What did she say about that night?”

  I told him what Aggie and Stanley had told me while we ate, being careful not to mention that I had actually talked to Stanley. “Sounds like you have three different versions of what happened that night,” Mike said, pushing his empty plate to the side. “I suggest you write down what each one said, and then compare them. That will give you a better idea of what questions to ask. Too bad we can’t see the original report.”

  “Your grandfather said it was destroyed in a flood in 1978.”

  “Yeah, I checked for the file myself this morning.”

  “But I know someone who either has a copy or took the original without anyone knowing.”

  “Who?”

  “Cliff Scott.”

  “And where did he keep this file?”

  “I’m assuming at his house.”

  Mike sat quietly for a minute. “I’ll go over there after we’re finished to check things out.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh no, you won’t. This is an official police investigation. I can’t have a civilian messing up a crime scene.”

  “His house isn’t a crime scene!”

  “But it is a part of the official investigation. We’re trying to figure out who wanted him dead. We might find some answers in his personal papers.”