Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery (29 page)

Chapter 47 – The Aftermath

Artie Shatton, aka Stanley Arthur Ashton IV, died in jail, two months after his arrest. And without him around to testify against her, Amelia Ashton wasn’t charged with anything. There was just no way to prove that she had anything to do with her husband’s death.

She bought the Ashton house, then put it on the market, resigned from the board at the bank, closed out her account and Artie’s trust fund account, and left town again. But before she left, she did give Charles Prufrock $50,000 to repair the damage to his office.

I did have a chance to talk to her once before she left town. We met at the coffeehouse
a week after the shooting. “I want to apologize for what my son put you through,” she said after we got something to drink. “I…I had no idea he was so unbalanced.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with being unbalanced, Amelia. I believe it was because you and Aggie Foley tried to frame him for murder. He was only fourteen years old then. When we interviewed you at the police station, you stuck with the story. It’s like you believed it after all these years, and you couldn’t remember the truth.
I think Aggie let your husband hire me to investigate because she believed there was no way the truth she killed him would come out after all these years.”

She didn’t say anything to that. There wasn’t any way she could defend what she had done to him. “Are you going to write about this?” she asked, taking a drink of her hot tea.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I’ve had a couple of calls from publishers, and some major newspapers. It’s not my story to tell.”

“Maybe you should,” she said. I looked at her, surprised. “It’s got everything a bestselling book needs: lov
e, betrayal, money, and murder.”

“But what about protecting the family name, like Artie said?”

“If what he said is true, and he is dying, then I’ll be the only one left. I don’t plan on coming back here once I leave. How many people around here do you think already know the truth about what happened back then, and what has happened now? Truth be told, I haven’t cared what any of them have thought since I left here all those years ago. Write the story, and with my blessing. I’ll sign a release form, so you won’t get sued or anything like that. You keep whatever profits you make from the book.”

“That’s very generous and kind of you,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do for all the trouble we’ve caused you.”

“Have you…have you been back to the house?”

She nodded. “Once, just to see if he was there. I wandered around the house for over an hour, but he never showed up. It’s like your friend said: you did what he asked you to do. You found his killer.”

I wanted to feel sorry for her, and maybe in a way, I did. But on the other hand, I couldn’t help but blame her, too. Aggie Foley was more culpable, the mastermind behind all of it. And if Clifford Scott hadn’t gotten greedy, he’d still be alive, too.

Amelia finished her tea and stood up. “Oh, one other thing,” she said, reaching into her purse. “Here’s a key to the house. I thought you might want to go out there and look around, go through the things that are still out there. Take whatever you need for your story, if you decide to write it.” She smiled at me, a rather sad, tired smile, and left.

Two weeks later, I got a registered letter from the law offices of Prufrock, and the release that Amelia had promised me was inside. There was also a letter from Prufrock himself, reminding me not to say anything about him in the story, or he would sue me for libel, slander and anything else that applied. Still a slimy jerk.

I talked it over with my family, Randy and Mike, and they all agreed that it would be a good idea to write the story. Mike told me that I should hurry and interview Artie, because his health was failing fast. But Artie refused to talk to me. He sent a note, stating he didn’t care what I said about him or the family, because he wouldn’t be around to read it. He died over a month later.

No one wanted to buy the Ashton house, so I was able to spend time out there, looking through the family’s private papers. I found some old love letters that Amelia had written to Stanley. He kept them in a cigar box in his desk. I guess she never knew he still had them. He did
love her, in his own way. At no time during any of my visits there did I see him. But I know in my heart that he was the one that shone a light in his son’s eyes and saved us all that day.

Going out to the guest house was a bit creepier. With Artie’s death, Aggie had no living heirs, so I was free to go through her things as well. A lot of her correspondence was signed “Agatha Ashton”, not Foley.
I didn’t find anything of Ray’s in the guest house, but there were a lot of Stanley’s things out there. There was even a pair of men’s slippers sitting by the front, as if they were waiting for someone to walk in the door and put them on. That woman definitely had more than a screw loose.

I waited until Artie passed away before writing the book. I’m not sure why; I didn’t owe him anything. He was a murderer, after all. But I felt like he needed to leave this world with a little shred of dignity, even if it was a false sense of dignity, and something he would never know about. He had been through enough, and I wasn’t going to pile on more.

While I wrote the book, I quietly started dating Mike. I learned that dating a policeman meant he was always on call, and that sometimes he had to break dates to respond to a call. But I didn’t take it personally; it was his job. He was good at it, and I was proud of him. And he learned that dating a writer meant late nights of writing, lots of caffeine, grumbling, rewrites, editing, hair pulling, and having your date fall asleep on you as the opening credits of a movie started. But we made it work, because Mike gave me the love and support that was missing in my relationship with David. Randy, on the other hand, was doing his level best to sabotage us every chance he got…and failing miserably.

There was a bit of a bidding war for the book, which surprised me. I didn’t think anyone outside of Texas would be interested in reading about things that happened in a small town. Boy, was I proven wrong. The book was a big hit, and my agent called me the other day to say that a big Hollywood producer wanted to make it into a movie. I haven’t decided how I feel about that yet, or if I’m even going to say yes. My agent says I would be a fool to turn down the offer. I’ll let you know what I decide later.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, I got a phone call from my mother, and what she said scared me to death.

“Camille, your grandmother and Mike’s grandfather have gone missing.”

About the Author

The daughter of a Methodist minister, I’ve spent most of my life in Texas and New Mexico. I graduated from West Texas A&M University with a bachelor’s degree in 2000. Among my many titles, I am a daughter, sister, granddaughter, mother, wife, and writer. I currently live in North Texas with my husband, and am suffering from empty nest syndrome!
Who Killed the Ghost in the Library?
is my first full-length novel; I have also written six novellas.

You can follow me on Twitter (@
authorTeresaW). You can check my website,
www.myfunnyviewoflife.com
or my Facebook page,
www.facebook.com/teresaleewatson
for updates on upcoming stories. Please let me know what you think of the story by sending me an email at
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