Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery (9 page)

“And Clinton didn’t cooperate,” I said.

Grandma Alma shook her head. “He loved Lillian. He told his father he was going to marry her come hell or high water. Phillip fought him every step of the way. He tried to discredit her father, claiming that Dr. Chauncer was a quack, and that he was having an affair with his receptionist. You name it, Phillip tried it. No one believed any of the lies. They all knew the Chauncers were wonderful people.”

“So how did Clinton finally get him to accept Lillian?”

“He never did,” Walt answered.

“You mean Clinton got married without his father’s approval?” I said.

“Oh yes, right here in town. Clinton and Lillian had a beautiful wedding. Everyone in town was invited…except for Phillip.”

“What about Clinton’s mother?”

“She passed away a couple of months before the wedding. Cancer, I believe it was. Lillian and her mother included Marian in every decision. When Marian was too weak to go with them to try on dresses, Clinton arranged for the dress shop to come to their house, so his mother could watch Lillian try them on. At least she got to see Lillian in her wedding dress. Marian thought the world of Lillian, and thought she was a perfect match for her only son.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said, wiping a tear away.

“Was Phillip seriously a suspect in his daughter-in-law’s death?” Mike asked Walt.

“I know he was questioned several times, but they couldn’t prove he had anything to do with it. He played the grieving father-in-law in public, but no one bought it for a minute. Clinton wouldn’t allow him to be around his son. Phillip just waited until Clinton was on a job site, and he talked his way into the house to see him.”

“What a jerk,” I said.

“His behavior got worse once Clinton became successful. He told Clinton that it was his responsibility to take care of his father in his old age.”

“What was Clinton’s response to that?”

“He refused. But when Phillip had a stroke a couple of years later, Clinton took care of his medical bills, and then paid for a private room in a nursing home. But he never went to visit Phillip, not once in six years,” Grandma Alma said.

“Do you think that Clinton blamed his father for Lillian’s death?” Mike said.

Grandma Alma and Walt looked at each other. “Clinton came to see me one time to talk about Lillian’s murder. It was about three years after she died. He wanted to know if they had discovered anything new about her case, and I had to tell him no. He was disappointed, but I think at the same time, it was the answer that he expected to hear. Just before he left, Clinton looked me right in the eye and said, “I’ll never be able to prove it, but I believe, deep down, that my father killed Lillian.”

“Wow,” I said.

“What do you think, Grandpa?” Mike said. “Do you think Clinton was right?”

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “But like Clinton said, I was never able to prove it.”

“Did he ever tell you why he thought his father killed her?” Mike asked.

“No, he didn’t. Why don’t you ask him?”

“It would have been nice to know…wait, what?” Mike said. “What do you mean ‘ask him?’ He’s still alive?”

“Saw him two nights ago when he came over here with Pete to play poker,” Walt replied. “Alma cleaned him out.”

“I think he was at the dinner last night, too,” Grandma Alma added, “at the same table with Joey.”

“Did you interview him?” I asked Mike.

He shook his head. “It must have been one of the other officers. I haven’t had time to go through all the witness statements yet.”

“This must be a bad case of déjà vu for him,” I said. “First his wife, and now his daughter-in-law. Both killed the same way.”

It was Walt’s turn to look surprised. “What do you mean?” He looked at his grandson. “Susan Ingram was strangled?”

Mike nodded. “Heck of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Mike, you know that,” Walt replied. “Something is rotten in Denmark. And you better find out what.”

“I think we should pay Clinton Ingram a visit,” I said, getting to my feet.

“What’s this ‘we’ bit, kemosabe?” Mike said.

I gave him the sad puppy dog look.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That is not going to work on me.”

Chapter 12

U
nfortunately, neither one of us went to Clinton Ingram’s house after we left. Mother called Mike, wanting to know if she could get into the building to finish cleaning up the main room. The tables needed to be taken down, the tablecloths washed, and the centerpieces were going to be distributed between the hospital and the nursing home. Not to mention whatever the caterer had been forced to leave there last night was probably smelling pretty ripe. He told her he would have to check with the crime scene unit and call her back.

As Mike was finishing his call with Mother, Randy called my phone. “Where are you?” he whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Is there somewhere you’re supposed to be this morning?” he said, ignoring my question.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because your agent, Joe Wilder, is here, wanting to know where you are! Did you have a meeting scheduled with him?”

“No, I didn’t. I doubt I would forget something like that, Randy.”

“So what do I tell him?”

“Did he tell you what he wants?”

“Just that he needs to talk to you ASAP.”

“So why didn’t he just call me?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you get your butt down here and ask him yourself?”

“All right, calm down. Take him over to the coffeehouse and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“You want me to entertain him?”

“No, I want you to leave him in the middle of the street in the hopes he’ll get run over by a car. Of course I want you to entertain him!” I hung up, exasperated.

“What’s up?” Mike asked.

“My agent is in town.”

“Why?”

“Beats me,” I said, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. “If it was bad news, he would have called me. No, wait, he would have sent me a text.”

“Must be important for him to show up here.”

I didn’t say anything, and we rode the rest of the way to the station in silence. Mike gave me a kiss before he got out. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said. “Dinner tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Call me and let me know what’s going on.” He gave my hand a squeeze and got out.

I promised I would as he closed the door. I drove straight to the coffeehouse and parked in the front. As I got out, I noticed Randy and Joe sitting at a table next to the window. Joe saw me and waved. Randy gave me a rather evil look. I guess he wasn’t happy about babysitting my agent. I thought it was the least he could after all the trouble he had caused over the past few days.

There was a bit of a crowd at the coffeehouse, which was unusual for this time of the morning. I figured most of them were looking for gossip about the murder. I walked over to the table, dropping my bag into the empty chair by Joe.

“Where have you been?” Joe said.

“Gee, Joe, no ‘Hello, Cam, how are you?’”

“Hello, Cam, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking, Joe.”

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Hold that thought. I need something to drink.”

“I’ll get it!” Randy said, jumping up and rushing off.

“That guy is really weird,” Joe told me.

“That guy is my best friend, so be careful what you say about him.”

Joe rolled his eye and sat back in his chair as Randy brought me a glass of ice and a can of Dr Pepper. “Now that you’re here, I’m going back to the bookstore. Come by when you’re done here,” Randy said. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Wilder. Bye, Cam.”

Looking out the window, I watched him cross the street, stopping briefly by a silver Porsche before going inside his store.

“Now that he’s gone, let’s get down to business,” Joe said, leaning forward excitedly.

“Why are you here? You never come here.”

“I received a call this morning from Stephen Showalter.”

“And?”

“That’s all you can say? He’s one of the most important theatre directors in the world right now, and all you can say is ‘and’?”

“Pretty much,” I replied, pouring my Dr Pepper over the glass of ice. “What did he want?”

“He read your book, and he wants to turn it into a Broadway show.”

“Is that so?” I said, putting the can down.

“Cam, it’s a very big deal!”

“Isn’t that what you said when those Hollywood people called a few months ago? Nothing came of that, did it? I’m not going to get excited about a Broadway director until I see his signature on a contract.”

“You are unbelievable,” Joe said, clearly exasperated by my lack of enthusiasm.

“How did he hear about the book? Did he happen to mention that?”

“Someone in his office brought it to his attention, I guess. He wants to talk to you.”

“Really? Did he happen to say when?”

“As soon as possible.”

I nodded. “Well, I guess I better go see him.”

“You’re going to fly to New York? Really? So you’re going to take this seriously?”

“No, I’m not going to fly to New York. He’s in Dallas right now. In fact, he was in town last night.”

“You’re joking. What would he be doing in this one horse town? No offense.”

“None taken.”

“He was really here?”

“He really was,” I said, pulling out my phone and sending Mike a text.
Seems a certain Broadway director wants to meet with me. Want to tag along?

“And you didn’t call to tell me?”

“Why would I do that, Joe? I didn’t even know he was going to be here until a day and a half ago.”

“Do you know what kind of exposure your book about the Ashtons will get when word gets out that Showalter is interested in it? Sales will go through the roof!”

“And you’ll be able to buy the latest car or gadget that you just can’t live without,” I teased him as my phone dinged.

By coincidence, I need to talk to him. He managed to slip out last night without giving us a statement. I’d like to know why. I’m in.

“I tell you what, Joe. I’ll meet with Showalter and talk to him.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said, pulling out his Blackberry.

“No, I’ll take care of this myself.”

“You’ll screw it up, Cam. You don’t know anything about negotiating a big deal.”

“I have no intention of signing anything, Joe. If he wants to talk about the book, then I’ll be glad to sit down with him and discuss it. And I’ll listen to his ideas for turning it into a play. That’s it. I won’t sign anything until I have a lawyer go over the contract.”

“I don’t know,” Joe said.

“I’ll take someone with me to make sure I don’t say or do anything stupid. Will that make you feel better?”

“You aren’t going to take that guy from across the street, are you?”

“No, I promise I’m not going to take Randy.”

“Then who are you going to take?”

“A cop.”

***

Joe got in touch with Showalter’s assistant, who promised to let me know the arrangements for the meeting as soon as possible. Fortunately for me, Joe had to fly back to New York for an important meeting with another client. But he made me promise to call him and let him know all the details when the meeting was over.

Dad came over after Joe left. “Who was that?” he asked, sitting down across from me.

“That was my agent, Joe Wilder.”

“Randy doesn’t seem to like him.”

“I think he was upset because he got stuck talking to Joe until I got here. He’s working on some big project over at The Crack’d Spine. He doesn’t like to divide his attention.”

“I don’t know,” Dad replied, “I got the feeling it was more than that.”

“Really?” I said, looking out the window at the bookstore. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Did Mike tell you anything about what happened last night?”

I looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t like hearing my customers coming in here, talking about murder. This is supposed to be a place for peace and quiet, where people can come to forget about their problems for a little while.”

“Well, Dad, you know that’s not going to happen all the time,” I said. “And what happened last night is a pretty big deal.”

“First the Ashtons, now the Ingrams. It’s like someone has declared war on the upper class.”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“I certainly hope so. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

“He might have mentioned something,” I hedged. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to talk about it with anyone, though.”

“I’m not just ‘anyone’, I’m your father.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Was it an accident?”

I shook my head.

“Not good.”

I shook my head again.

“You’re not going to get involved again, are you?”

I shrugged.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“Nope. That way, nothing I haven’t said can’t be used against me.”

He thought about that for a moment. “You realize that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.”

“If Mike finds out that you know, he’s going to think I told you. This way, I can deny everything, because I didn’t say a word.”

“Somehow, that makes sense,” Dad said, standing up. “Stay out of it, Cam. Let Mike handle this. It’s his job; that’s what we pay him for. You just stick to writing books.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”