Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery (21 page)

He held out his left hand and helped me to my feet. Guiding me down the hall, he left me alone in my room to change clothes. When I came out, Mike was on the phone. “I think she just overdid it yesterday. I’ll make sure she gets some rest. Uh-huh, well, I would appreciate that. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t tell me I have to suffer through your company the rest of the day?”
I groaned as he hung up.

“I’m afraid so. I called my doctor to ask for his advice. He isn’t too happy that I let you run around yesterday. We really screwed up, in other words. He said if you aren’t feeling better in the morning, to let him know and he might make a house call. But if it gets really bad, it’s back to the emergency room you go.”

“I’ll pass,” I said, lying down on the couch. “I’ve had enough of that place this week.”

I heard my phone ring inside my bag. Groaning, I started to sit up, but Mike stopped me. “I’ll get it.
” He found it in a side pocket. “Hello?”

“What are you doing answering Cam’s phone?” Randy said.

“She’s a bit under the weather at the moment.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Too much excitement, not enough rest. She’s been put on bed rest by my doctor for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

“Who is it?” I asked him.

“It’s Randy.”

I held my hand out for the phone. “What’s up, Randy?”

“Not a thing. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Do you want me to come over and rescue you from the mean cop?”

“No, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

He hesitated before answering. “For some reason, Jo decided to go out to the Ashton house to talk to Stanley. And now I can’t get a hold of her.”

Chapter 37

“She did what?” I said, sitting up too fast. The room spun around. “What did she do that for?”

“It’s all she’s talked about since the night we went out there and she saw Stanley.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy,” I said. “What time did she go out there?”

“About ten. She was supposed to be back by noon. I told her if I didn’t hear from her by then, I’d call to make sure everything was alright. I’ve been calling her every ten minutes since noon, but I can’t get a hold of her.”

I massaged my left temple. “Can you go out there and check on her?”

“I’m expecting that shipment at any moment. I’ve got to stay here. I was going to ask you to do it, but after what Mike said, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“We’ll go,” I assured him. “I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Thanks.” Sighing, I tossed my phone on the coffee table.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s Jo. She went out to the Ashton house to talk to Stanley around ten, and she was supposed to be back by noon. She and Randy had a plan worked out. If she didn’t come back at noon, he was supposed to call her. Well, he’s called her four times and can’t get an answer. He wants us to go out and look for her.”

“Well, you can
forget it. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll call the station and have a patrol go out there to look for her.”

My phone rang again, and Mike snatched it off the table. “Hello? She did? Where has she been? You tell her that the next time she does something that stupid again, I’ll arrest her, lock her up and throw away the key.” He shut off my phone and stuck it in his pocket.

“I take it she showed up?”

“Yes, she did. The little twit forgot to charge her phone before she went out there, and it died. Then she got a flat tire on the way back, and that’s why she was late.”

“What are you planning to do with my phone?”

“I’ve turned it off and I’m keeping it so no one bothers you for the rest of the day. You’re going to do what you should have done yesterday, what I should have made sure you did yesterday.”

I decided not to argue with him. “Would you mind getting a washcloth out of my bathroom and running it under some cold water? It might help.”

“Sure.” I heard him go down the hall, and he came back with a wet washcloth a minute later. “Here. Now lay down
.”

“You need to take it easy on your arm,” I pointed out.

“Well, then I guess we’ll both get some rest today, won’t we?” he replied, handing me the washcloth.

I put the washcloth on my forehead, and it felt so good. I was asleep in five minutes. For the next four hours, Mike woke me up to make sure I was okay. You have no idea how irritating that gets after the first hour. I’m pretty sure I told him to get bent, get stuffed and a few other anatomically impossible things during those four hours.

I woke up on my own the fifth time. It was after six, and my stomach was growling. I slowly sat up, and was thrilled to discover I wasn’t dizzy. Mike was in the recliner asleep, a pile of papers in his lap. I had to admit that it had been rather nice of him to take time off from work to take care of me, although it was rather a weird feeling. I wasn’t used to someone wanting to take care of me. David wasn’t a touchy feely kind of guy; whenever I got sick, he usually stayed away from me until I was completely healthy again. He was always telling me what to do, how to dress and how to act, desperate to impress his superiors at work. There’s only so much of that a person can take before they crack.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Mike said.

“How nice it is to have someone concerned enough about me to stay with me and make sure I was alright,” I said without thinking. Realizing what I had said, I looked at him, feeling very embarrassed. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that.” I stood up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s see what we’ve got in the fridge, shall we?” I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “I’ve got some leftover potato soup and cornbread in here, all homemade. Does that sound good?”

Mike closed the fridge door and stood in front of me. “I owe you an apology.”

“We’ve been over this already. What happened yesterday wasn’t your fault…”

“When I told you that I only kissed you to shut you up. That wasn’t true. I did it because I wanted to.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You’re pigheaded, stubborn, intelligent, funny, and bright. When you get fired up about something, it lights up your eyes. When you laugh, you get the biggest smile on your face. There are times when I want to strangle you, other times I just want to hold you and protect you.”

“I’m not some weak-kneed female, Mike.”

“I never said you were, Cam. Any woman who has a Sig Sauer in a safe in her bedroom is not weak.”

“Oh, so you admire me just for my gun? That sounds almost sexist.”

“Can’t you let someone compliment you without making a joke or getting offended?”

“It’s a defense mechanism. I can’t help it.” I started to walk away, but he grabbed my right forearm and stopped me. He brushed some hair out of my eyes, placed his hand on my neck, pulled me closer, and gave me a slow, tender kiss. “Oh my,” I whispered when he stopped.

“I truly
am sorry for being so harsh with you. I saw the hurt in your eyes as soon as I said that kiss didn’t mean anything, and I wanted to take it back on the spot.”

“It’s okay.”

He stared into my eyes as he wrapped his arms around me. “I can’t promise I won’t do something stupid again.”

“I can’t promise that, either.”

“We’ll go slow,” Mike said, kissing my cheek.

“Definitely slow,” I replied.

“Absolutely,” he agreed before he started kissing me again. Slowly at first, then more urgently. And of course, as things started to heat up, the doorbell rang. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Reluctantly, I stepped out of his arms and went to answer the door. Randy and Jo were standing on the front porch. “What do you want?”

“We came by to see if you were feeling better,” Randy said, pushing the door open wider and walking around me into the living room. “I see the bodyguard is still here. When does he get off duty?”

“When the person or persons involved are locked up in my jail,” Mike said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Now what do you really want?”

Jo came inside and I closed the door. “I wanted to talk to you about Stanley,” she said.

“What about him?”

“Well, something’s wrong with him.”

“What could possibly be wrong with him? He’s dead,” Mike said.

Jo looked at Mike nervously. “He’s…fading.”

“What do you mean, he’s fading?” I said.

“When I went out to see him today, I noticed he looked more transparent than the last time. Not as solid, if that helps. You must be getting closer to finding his killer.”

“Well, that doesn’t help much,” I replied. “We’ve got several suspects. I’m not sure how to narrow down the list.”

Jo opened her oversized purse and pulled out a folder. “I did a search on variations of the family members’ names. I’m not sure if it will help, but here you go. I tried to find Stanley IV, but it’s like he dropped off the radar in 1970.”

“We know he’s still alive, because his trust fund account has been active,” I said, rubbing my right temple. I could feel a small headache coming back.

Mike must have noticed what I was doing, because he came over and made me sit down on the couch. “No more of this tonight,” he said. “She needs a little more rest.”

“I promise we’ll get together tomorrow, okay?”

“We’ll talk when you feel up to it, Cam,” Randy said. “Don’t rush it. I doubt anything is going to happen tomorrow. Besides, Jo and I have boxes to unpack at the bookstore.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

I assured him I would, and they left. Mike took the file out of my hand and put it on the coffee table. “I’ll heat up some of that soup in the fridge.
You just sit.”

I waited until he went back in the kitchen before picking up the file again. I looked over the list of names that Jo had compiled. Picking up a pencil, I started circling the ones that I thought had promise. Then I wrote “Stanley Arthur Ashton IV” and started playing around with it myself. I used variations of the first name to begin with, and then moved on to the middle name. I wrote down a name, stopped and stared at it. It was like a jumble puzzle: you move the letters around to make a word. And that’s what I did until I had a name, and I knew I was right. But I just couldn’t believe it.

“What are you doing?” Mike said as he brought me a bowl of soup.

I looked up at him. “I found Stanley IV,” I said, handing him the piece of paper I had been writing on.

He took it from me and looked at it. “You can’t be serious.” I nodded. “I don’t believe it.”

The name I had written down was Artie Shatton, the mechanic.

Chapter 38

“I’ve known him
most of my life,” Mike said, sitting down next to me, “there’s no way he’s Stanley IV.”

“What do you know about him?”

He scratched the back of his head and thought about it a minute. “Well, he came to town and opened his garage around 1984. I don’t think he’s ever been married. He’s good at his job, always works on the police cars whenever we need something fixed.”

“In other words, you don’t know anything, beyond the basic appearances.”

“You’re making him sound like some kind of criminal mastermind, Cam. Artie Shatton is a kind, gentle man. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“But you don’t know that for sure. Give me my phone.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to call Jo, and have her do some digging around in Artie’s life.” Mike didn’t look like he thought this was a good idea. “If you truly believe he isn’t Stanley IV, then having Jo check him out won’t hurt anything, will it? She will disprove my theory, and we can move on. No harm, no foul.”

“Fine,” Mike said, “but I’ll call. You just eat your soup while it’s hot.”

“
God, you are seriously a bossy butt.”

“Get used to it,” he replied, pulling out his phone and calling Jo.

I took the soup back to the kitchen, got the shredded cheese out of the fridge, put some in the soup, and warmed it up for thirty seconds in the microwave. Putting the cheese back, I got out the cornbread and warmed up a piece when the soup was done. I noticed another bowl of soup on the counter, so I took out the cornbread and warmed the second bowl of soup, along with another piece of cornbread. Instead of carrying everything into the living room, I set the table. “Come on, everything’s hot.”

Mike hung up the phone as he came into the kitchen. “Smells great,” he said.

“What did Jo say?”

“That she thinks you’re nuts, but she’ll check Artie out just to clear his name.”

“She said I was nuts?”

“Well, I believe her exact comment was that the
blow to your head yesterday must have scrambled your brains, and that she thought this sounded a bit far-fetched.”

I sat down and started eating. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Mike sat down across from me and began to eat as well. “Say he is Stanley IV. What possible reason could he have for coming back here? There’s no statute of limitation on murder; surely he had to know we would arrest him.”

“How does Amelia know that her son killed his father?” I said.

“Why would she lie about it?” Mike countered.

“But how does she know that he did it? She wasn’t there. She was with my grandmother, remember?”

“He probably told her he did it, or she discovered the truth after she got home.”

I thought about it. “But why did he do it, if he did do it?”

“You saw the birth certificate that had been altered. How would you feel if you found out that the woman who had raised you wasn’t your mother?”

“Not ticked off enough to kill for it.”

“You never know how you’re going to react to something until it happens,” Mike said, breaking off a piece of cornbread and eating it. “We could sit here all night and try to figure this out, but it wouldn’t do any good. Let’s just wait and see what information Jo turns up.”

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right.
It really was just a wild guess. But for some reason, I knew I was right. I remembered something else Jo had said. “She said he was fading.”

“What?” Mike said, finishing his soup. “Who’s fading?”

“Remember Jo said that Stanley was more transparent than the last time she saw him? I think she said that I must be getting close to finding his killer.”

“So?” he replied, taking his bowl to the sink and rinsing it out.

“If Artie is Stanley’s son, then why didn’t Stanley fade away before now?”

“Well, for starters, we only have Jo’s word that he’s fading, and she’s not the most reliable source,” Mike said, taking my empty bowl.

“You’re not going to pull the ‘crazy ghost lady’ card again, are you? Because you can’t do that. You’ve seen Stanley, too.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said, putting the bowls and spoons in the dishwasher.

I got up, went into the living room and sat in the recliner. Mike followed me, taking a seat on the couch. “We have to go out there tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“I want to ask him exactly what he remembers about the night he was killed. If we can figure out which direction the shot came from, we might be able to see if there really is a secret passage.”

“What we need are the blueprints for the house
,” Mike replied.

“Too late for that.”

“Unless you have connections.” He took out his phone and made a call. “Donna? Mike. Listen, I need a favor. Do you think you can get me the blueprints and anything else you can find on the Ashton house? Yeah, that house. I know it was built a long time ago, but surely there’s something in the historical files, right? Yeah, it’s kind of urgent. I sort of need them tonight.” He held the phone away from his ear, and I could hear a lot of yelling. I won’t repeat any of it, but trust me, nothing Donna said was nice. “I’m sorry about interrupting your family night, Donna. Oh, the kids are gone, and it’s just you and your husband. I’m really sorry, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I’ll owe you one, I prom…ok, I’ll owe you two. Thanks, Donna. Give me a call when you find something.” He hung up quickly as she started yelling again.

“And who is Donna?”

“Someone I dated a long time ago. She’s still fond of me.”

“Oh, I could tell by all the lovely names she was calling you. Do all the women you date call you names like that?”

“Only the ones that really like me.” He turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found an old western starring Joel McCrea. I lasted maybe twenty minutes before I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was dark outside. The light in the kitchen was on, so I got up and went in there. Mike had the blueprints spread out on the table.

“Having fun yet?”

“Loads of fun, can’t you tell?” he replied, leaning back and rubbing his face. “I’ve been going over these plans for the past thirty minutes, and if there are any secret passages in that house, I can’t find them here.”

I went to my office, grabbed a magnifying glass, went into the living room and took my glasses out of my bag. I handed the magnifying glass
to Mike and put on my glasses. “These look like recent blueprints. Donna couldn’t find the originals?”

“No, s
he said this was all there was.”

I spent a few minutes studying them. It looked like the master bedroom was
on the second floor above the library. To me, this would be a logical place to have a secret passageway. If the man of the house was working late, he could take the passage directly to the bedroom to avoid disturbing the rest of the house. I told Mike this. “It’s what I would do.”

“But that doesn’t mean that’s what Stanley’s father did,” Mike pointed out.

Thinking about the layout of the library, I knew there two bookcases behind the desk, as well four more on the other side of the room directly across from the desk. “If Stanley was shot from across the room, then the passageway had to be there, or else someone had been hiding out in the room, perhaps behind the heavy drapes,” I said, explaining the room layout to Mike. “Then they stepped out, shot him, and either took the passageway, or managed to slip out into the main hallway, where they could have disappeared into any room. When Aggie discovered the body, they could simply run into the room like they had been somewhere else in the house.”

“Lots of con
jecture in that statement, Cam.”

“If you’ve got something better, I’m open to suggestions.”

“Maybe they came in through the windows.”

“Bushes all around the windows. Unless they were pre-cut to make an open space, there’s no way someone could go through them. I noticed that the yard is well-maintained. I wonder who does that.”

“Aggie probably hired someone.”

We spent another hour looking over the plans, trying to pinpoint other places to check out on our visit tomorrow. Mike looked at his watch. “I’m going to stay one more night, if that’s okay with you, just to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m feeling fine, really.”

“I’d still feel better if I stayed. Whoever shot up the house the other night might come back.”

I figured that wouldn’t be a bad idea, considering there was still plywood on the windows. “What happened to your window guy?”

“Sorry about that. He had a rush job
. Someone shot out Prufrock’s office windows last night.”

“Wow, really? I can’t imagine why. I’m sure all of his clients are satisfied customers.”

“I do know that it’s the same type of caliber as the ones used here.”

“What are the odds? Prufrock is Amelia’s lawyer,” I said. “And same caliber doesn’t mean the same gun, right?”

“We’d have to do a ballistics match to prove that.”

“Which, of course, you’re going to do.”

“I asked them to work on it.”

I yawned. “I’m going to bed. Do you need anything before I turn in?”

“I’m good. I think I’ll watch some TV for a little while.”

“Alright, then. Good night.”

“Good night, Cam.”

Sunday

The next morning, I felt much better. Looking at the clock, I realized I had missed the early service at church. Considering the week that I’d had, I was pretty sure my parents would understand.

I took a shower and got dressed, picking a pair of khaki pants and a blue Oxford shirt
to wear with my trusty sneakers. When I came out of my bedroom, I heard the shower running in the hallway. Hurrying into the living room, I grabbed my messenger bag and took it back to my bedroom. I closed the door, got the Sig Sauer out of the safe and put it in my bag, making sure the safety was on first. I had a funny feeling about going out there. Better safe than sorry.

I put my bag by the front door, and went into the kitchen to fix breakfast. By the time Mike came out, I had set the table,
the bacon was cooked, and I was putting the scrambled eggs in a bowl. The oven timer dinged, and I pulled out a pan of biscuits. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” he said as he sat down.

“No,” I laughed, “I just wanted to do something to say thank you for yesterday.”

“You’re welcome. Got any coffee?”

“I’m not a coffee drinker, sorry. But I do have orange juice, tea, milk, Dr Pepper and water.” The doorbell rang. “The only person who would dare come here on a S
unday is Randy,” I said, putting the bowl of eggs on the table before going to the door. Sure enough, it was Randy…again. “Why are you here?”

“I knew you didn’t have any coffee, and I was sure
Penhall would need some,” he replied, holding up a large take out cup from The Grub.

I took the cup from him. “T
hank you for bringing it over. Bye.” I tried to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the doorway, shoved his hip against the door and walked around me. Sighing, I closed the door and followed him into the kitchen. Randy had already commandeered my seat, putting food on the plate. “Please, help yourself.”

“Thanks, I will.”

I handed Mike the coffee. “Do you have a camera or some kind of bug in my house that tells you when I’m up?” I asked Randy. “I love you like a brother, but I’ve seen more of you in the past four days than I usually do in a week.”

“Maybe he’s jealous,” Mike said, taking a drink of his coffee. The way Randy was heaping the food on his plate, Mike was lucky he had put food on his plate first.

Glaring at Randy, I made more eggs and bacon for myself, poured myself some juice and sat down. “Answer my question, Randolph Scott Cross. Why are you here?”

Mike laughed, choking on his food. I had to whack him on his back a few times to dislodge the food.

Randy glared at me, obviously ticked I had used his full name in front of Mike. “I was with Jo when you called her about Artie Shatton. I thought you were totally off your rocker last night, Penhall.”

Mike pointed at me. “Don’t look at me. It was her crazy idea. I told her she was way off base.”

“Then you better apologize to her,” he replied, putting strawberry jam on his biscuit.

“Excuse me?”
I said.

“Artie Shatton
is
Stanley Arthur Ashton IV.”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” I said, sitting back in my chair in shock.

“You’re Methodist, not Catholic,” Randy reminded me. I kicked him under the table.

“Are you sure?” Mike said.

“I’ve got the paperwork in the car. I’ll go get it.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin, stood up and left.

“I apologize for doubting you,” Mike said.

“We both had our doubts last night. Do you think Amelia knows?”

“I won’t know that until I ask her.”