The Ghost and the Mystery Writer (9 page)

“I know, but a high-profile person like Hillary Hemmingway? And if Walt's right, she's planning to use Jolene's murder in her next book. That is…well, macabre.”

“People are strange.”

She let out a weary sigh. “No kidding. Now what?”

“I know who's next on my list. I was going to have Brian interview her, but I think I better.”

“Yeah, it would be sort of difficult to explain to Brian about Hillary's notes—which I didn't read, but Walt did.”

“If it's okay with you, Danielle, I think I'll stop by Marlow House and interview her there. If I call her up and ask her to come to the station, then she'll have time to think about what she wants to say.”

“What if she denies seeing anything? Unless I can get my hands on her notes, we can't very well tell her Walt was in her room, looking over her shoulder.”

“Unfortunately, I expect her to deny witnessing the murder. Considering who she is, it wouldn't be good for her public image if it got out that she witnessed a murder taking place and failed to report it.”

“What if she didn't witness the murder?” Danielle asked.

“Are you suggesting Walt exaggerated what he read in her room?” he asked.

Danielle shook her head. “No, on the contrary. What if she was the one who murdered Jolene? Maybe she didn't witness the murder, but was the killer.”

“Danielle, I thought you liked Ms. Hemmingway. Now you suggest she might be the killer.”

“I liked Clarence Renton when I first met him, and look how that turned out.”

E
asing the attic door open
, Lily sniffed the air. The distinct scent of sweet cigar smoke drifted out from the room. Stepping into the attic, she closed the door behind her and glanced around.

“Walt, are you in here?” she whispered.

In response, the spotting scope spun around on its tripod and then came to a stop.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Lily said as she approached the attic window. “I should have gone with Dani to the police station. I wish she'd hurry up and get home. I'm dying to hear what the chief said.” Lily looked outside. Across the street the blinds to Ian's front window were open. She assumed he was somewhere in the house.

Lily looked to where she imagined Walt stood. “Hillary's still in her room. I can hear her typing.” Looking back out the window, she leaned against the windowpane and let out a sigh. “Who uses a typewriter these days? Do you realize what a pain that would be, no word processor?”

Lily stood at the window a few minutes, looking out. “It's not much fun talking with you when you never answer me.”

The spotting scope twirled once and stopped, barely missing Lily. She giggled and turned around, now leaning back against the edge of the windowsill. “I suppose that's something.” Lily smiled.

Pushing away from the windowsill, she walked to the sofa bed. It hadn't been made out into a bed since their one attic guest over Christmas week. Lily sat down and crossed one leg over the opposing knee. “You know, this is killing me not saying something to Ian. But what could I tell him?”

There was no response.

Lily sighed and leaned back, staring up to the ceiling. “After Dani left this morning, I looked through the trash.”

The room was quiet.

“I was hoping Hillary might have tossed some of her notes, and then I could show them to Ian. But even if I find them now, he'll just assume she wrote them after hearing about the murder in the paper this morning, and what will that prove?”

Lily lifted her head and glanced to the window. “Walt, do you really think Hillary was there when Jolene was murdered?” The spotting scope rocked gently up and down—like a nod.

“Hmmm, I never knew spotting scope could be its own language. Do you think Hillary was involved with the murder or just witnessed it?”

There was no response.

“I have to assume you don't have an opinion on that,” Lily said.

A persistent knock came at the window and then stopped.

Lily turned and faced the window. “What? Is that supposed to be Morse code or something?”

There was another knock.

Lily frowned. “What? I don't know Morse code.”

The spotting scope twirled again, and when it stopped, it was pointing out the window. Lily watched as it tilted to one side. The rim around its lens gently rapped the glass pane before the instrument settled back quietly on its tripod.

Jumping up from the sofa, Lily dashed to the window and looked outside. A police car had just parked in front of the house, and she spied Danielle's red Ford Flex turning into the side driveway.

“Oh, you're trying to tell me Dani is back. Sorry, I guess I can be dense.”

The spotting scope moved again, nodding up and down.

Lily glared at where she imagined Walt stood. “You don't have to agree with me.” Turning her attention back to the window, she watched as MacDonald got from the police car and started toward the walkway leading to the front door.

“I wonder why the chief came back with her. You think he's going to take Hillary in?”

I
f the prospect
of an interview with the police chief was making Hillary Hemmingway nervous, Walt thought she was doing an excellent job concealing her emotions. In his opinion, she looked more grandmotherly than like a bestselling mystery author. But he had never known a mystery author before, so he wasn't certain what one was supposed to look like.

Walt sat on the edge of the small desk in the parlor and watched as Hillary settled onto the sofa. MacDonald took a seat on the chair facing her.

“What's this about, Chief MacDonald?” Hillary asked in a calm tone.

“I understand you were at the Pier Café when Jolene Carmichael was murdered.”

“Was that the woman's name?” Hillary asked. “Now that you mention it, I think Danielle told me…or did I read it in the paper?”

“I was under the impression you knew her.” MacDonald studied Hillary's expression.

“The woman who was murdered?” Hillary shook her head. “Not that I know of, although the name is familiar, but then I believe Danielle mentioned it. I'm not very good with names.” She flashed him a smile.

“You knew all about her murder,” Walt scoffed.

“According to witnesses, when she came into the Pier Café before her murder, she stopped and talked to you.”

Hillary gasped. “The woman who was murdered was in the restaurant that night?”

“Yes, and she stopped at your table. You two exchanged words.”

“Oh my, was that nice woman the one who was killed?” Hillary paused a moment, her forehead drawn into a frown. Finally, she said, “Now that you mention it, there was something familiar about her. I don't remember thinking it at the time, but now that you mention it…”

“But you talked to her?”

“Yes. She stopped by my table. Asked me what kind of pie I was eating.”

“Pie?”

“She asked me if it was good, what kind it was. I assumed she was thinking of getting pie herself and wanted to know if I liked the piece I was eating. Oh my, you say she's the one who was killed?”

“So you didn't know Jolene Carmichael?”

“No. Not personally. She was the one who found those gold coins across the street, wasn't she?”

“Yes, that was her. So you never met Jolene before that evening at Pier Café?” the chief asked.

“Didn't I already answer that question? I haven't been in Frederickport long, and I haven't met that many people since I got here.”

“Why were you at Pier Café that night?”

“Having pie. Didn't I just say that?” Hillary asked.

“It was rather late to be out alone, wasn't it? Or perhaps you weren't alone?” MacDonald studied Hillary.

“I suppose it was late, but I feel safe in Frederickport. Of course…now…now with there having been a murder, I suppose that was foolish of me.”

“Can you tell me about that night?”

“Oh…of course. You're wondering if I saw anything. Anything that might help you solve the murder.”

“Did you?”

“I suppose I might have seen something that I wasn't aware of seeing.” Hillary leaned forward and flashed him a smile. “Something that might help you solve the murder. At least, that's how it works in my books.” Hillary sat up straight again.

“Why don't you tell me what you remember about that night.”

“I've been having the worst case of writer's block. That's why I decided to come to Frederickport and stay at Marlow House. I thought it might help get my creative juices flowing.”

“Has it?”

Hillary smiled again. “I suppose it has. But it didn't work immediately. In fact, that's why I went out that night. I was frustrated, discouraged. Danielle had already gone to bed, and Lily was in Portland with Ian. I was bored—antsy. I tried watching some television. Finally, I decided to take a walk, clear my head.”

Hillary leaned forward again, hands resting on her knees. “I wish I could tell you something that might help you, Chief. But I don't remember seeing anyone—or anything—on my walk down to the pier. In fact, I don't think any cars drove by. It was pretty quiet out.”

“What happened once you reached the pier?”

“My first thought was to get some ice cream at that little shop down there. They make marvelous homemade ice cream, you know. But it was closed. So I decided to go into the Pier Café instead. I really didn't talk to anyone in there, just the waitress who took my order and—well, your murder victim. But aside from our brief discussion over pie, that was the extent of our conversation. I'm sorry.”

“What did you do after you left the restaurant?”

“Don't you want to know what happened in the restaurant?”

“I thought you just said you only had a brief conversation with Jolene and the waitress.”

“Perhaps I saw your victim talking to someone. Or perhaps arguing with another customer—or the server. Maybe I saw someone follow her out of the restaurant.”

The chief arched his brows. “Did you?”

Leaning back again, Hillary shook her head. “No. But shouldn't you be asking those types of questions? That's what I have my detectives ask. But no, I didn't notice anything like that. In fact, I hadn't even noticed her walk into the diner. I was reading and eating my pie when she approached me and asked what kind it was. She took a seat after that, and I went back to eating and reading. I didn't really notice her again, or when she left.”

“You noticed something,” Walt voiced to deaf ears.

“Tell me about when you left the restaurant.”

Hillary shrugged. “I walked back here. Nothing much to tell.”

“Did you go right home, or perhaps you walked down to the beach?”

“No. I left the restaurant and just came straight back here.”

“Did you walk along the beach side of the street?” he asked.

“No. I crossed the street at the entrance of the pier and walked back on the sidewalk, on Marlow House's side of the street, not the beach side.”

“You're not telling the truth. You were there. You saw everything,” Walt grumbled.

“You didn't walk down the pier or on the beach?”

Hillary frowned. “Didn't I just say that?”

“When you left the restaurant, did you see anyone on the pier?”

“I noticed a couple fishermen. I think there might have been some other people on the pier, but I honestly wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry, Chief, I wish I could help you.”

“
S
he's
upstairs in her room, typing away,” Danielle said when she entered the parlor after Hillary ended her interview with the chief and went back upstairs. In the parlor, Danielle found Lily, MacDonald, and Walt.

“Just like I expected, she admitted seeing nothing,” MacDonald said after Danielle closed the door behind her.

“She obviously saw something. There is no way she just happened to come up with a murder scene identical to what actually happened,” Danielle said.

He shook his head. “I don't know what to tell you. I wish I could read what Walt actually read.”

Walt narrowed his eyes at the chief. “Is he implying I might not have read what I claimed to have?”

“I don't think that's what he's implying,” Danielle said.

“It's possible Walt read more into those notes than was actually there. He may be imagining similarities that are nothing more than explainable coincidences.”

Danielle cringed and looked apologetically at Walt. “Or maybe that's what he's implying.”

“Excuse me?” MacDonald glanced from Danielle to where he imagined Walt stood.

“Walt's pretty clear about what he read, Chief. The fact you don't believe him, well…” Danielle began.

“It's not that I don't believe him, Danielle. I'm sure he's sincere in what he thinks he read. But let's face it, Ms. Hemmingway writes murder mysteries, and she came here to write her next novel. Frankly, it's no surprise to me she chose to use this setting in her book. We all knew she would be writing a murder mystery before Jolene was killed.”

“What about her killer and the real killer both removing Jolene's rings?” Danielle asked.

“I can't honestly say Ms. Hemmingway's killer removed Jolene's rings—but I see what you're saying. Fact is, when someone is murdered, it's common for the killer to remove anything of value.”

“True, but for both killers to toss the valuables off the pier?” Lily asked.

MacDonald glanced at Lily. “That's one reason I'd like to read those notes myself. Maybe her killer tossed the weapon off the pier, not the rings.”

“I know what I read!” Walt said angrily before disappearing.

“You've just insulted Walt,” Danielle said with a sigh. “He just left.”

“I'm sorry. Without being able to read those notes myself, there's really nothing I have to go on. It's possible she did witness the crime. But I seriously doubt she was involved with the murder.” He stood up. “And since I have a murder to solve, I need to get going.”

“I think the whole thing's creepy,” Lily said as she followed Danielle and the chief to the entry hall.

MacDonald paused at the front door a moment before exiting. He looked at Danielle. “Maybe you might consider taking a walk on the beach, perhaps you'll see Jolene again?”

“Or the killer,” Lily suggested.

MacDonald opened the door. “My gut tells me this killer was after Jolene. But Lily is right. There is a killer out there, and I want you both to be careful.”

S
he hated to fly
. But the sooner they got into the air, the sooner she could have a drink. That was one thing she liked about flying first class—they kept the beverages flowing. Shifting uncomfortably in the seat, she shoved her purse under the seat ahead of her and fastened her seatbelt. Fidgeting nervously, she wished the other passengers would step it up and get boarded so they could get off the ground, and she could get a cocktail.

Wringing her hands nervously, she stared out the side window. A moment later a male voice said, “Hello, neighbor.”

Melony glanced to her immediate right and found herself staring into an incredible set of deep blue eyes.

“I guess this is my seat,” the male passenger with the incredible blue eyes said as he took the place next to her. He flashed her a smile, showing off straight white teeth. Once seated, he extended a right hand in greeting, “I'm Chris. I guess we'll be flying together.”

Melony wondered if she had been living in New York for too long, considering she wanted to recoil from the friendly greeting rather than embrace it. Unprepared for such a cheerful hello from a handsome stranger, she had been primed—and preferred—a quiet uninterrupted flight. The only interruption she wanted was when the steward brought her another cocktail.

Her first thought,
He has to be gay
. It wasn't that he was feminine looking—just the contrary. But in her experience a man this good looking was inevitably gay. Reluctantly, she accepted his brief handshake and watched as he settled into the seat next to her and buckled his seatbelt.

“I'm headed to Oregon, what about you?” he asked in a friendly tone after buckling his seat.

Without thought she responded, “Oregon.” Her gaze swept over him. At first glance, she was so captivated by his eyes—that smile—that face—she hadn't really looked at what he wore. Now noting his clothes, she was fairly certain he was no New Yorker, not with those worn denim jeans and colorful T-shirt. He reminded her of a surfer—or a beach bum.
A beach bum riding in first class?

He broke into a wide smile. “Then we'll be flying the entire way together, great.” He settled back into his seat, his eyes still on her. “I take it this is a business trip for you?”

Melony frowned, “Umm…business? No, why do you ask that?”

Boldly, his eyes looked her up and down, taking in her silk business suit. “Not exactly vacation wear. Nice though.” He smiled again.

“I take it this is a vacation for you?” she countered, without answering his question.

“I'm heading home now—but no, it wasn't a vacation. But I wrapped up business a little earlier than I expected, and I'm heading home a little earlier. Hope to surprise someone.” He leaned back in his seat and smiled.

Glancing at his left hand, she didn't see a wedding ring. She almost asked if he had a girlfriend waiting at home.
Is that who he intends to surprise?
It might answer her gay question. From her experience, gay men tended to be more open about their sexual orientation these days. At least that was true in her circle of friends.

“You have a girlfriend you're surprising?” Melony asked.

He arched his brows and smiled over at her. “Girlfriend…no…”

Aha, I was right, he is gay! I can always tell.

“Maybe,” he added.

Melony frowned. “Maybe?”

“I think I'd like her to be…maybe she already is.” Chris let out a sigh.

“You don't know?”

Chris shrugged and then looked at Melony, studying her for a moment. “What about you? You traveling alone, or did you ditch your guy for first class?”

Melony smiled. “No, I'm traveling alone.”

“So it is business?”

Melony glanced away and looked out the window. “In a way. Family business.”

“Depending on the family, that can be good times or bad. Hope yours is good.”

“Not particularly good. My mother just died. I'm going back to settle her estate.”

Chris's smile immediately vanished. His hand reached out and briefly touched hers. “I'm sorry.”

Melony shrugged and looked from the window back to Chris, who had just removed his hand from hers. “My mother and I weren't particularly close.”

“I don't imagine that makes it any easier for you. Sometimes, it can make it harder.”

Melony let out a sigh. “I suppose you're right.”

“If you're settling her estate, I assume your father's not in the picture.”

“He passed away a number of years ago.”

“I'm sorry. Do you have any brothers or sisters waiting for you in Oregon?”

Melony shook her head. “No, it's just me. I'm an only child.”

Chris smiled. “I'm an only child too. I think it would have been nice to have a brother or sister, but then when I see how some of my friends fight with their siblings, I think maybe I had the better deal.”

“Are your parents still alive?”

Chris shook his head. “No, I lost them both.”

“I'm sorry. I guess that makes us both orphans?” Melony said sadly.

“I suppose it does. Although, I once heard you're technically an orphan if you've lost just one parent.”

“Interesting…I've been an orphan all this time and didn't realize it,” Melony said dully, looking back out the window.

“So where in Oregon are you headed? Portland?”

“My first stop. But from there, I rent a car and drive to my mother's place a couple hours from Portland,” Melony explained.

“Are you returning to your hometown?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. It's where I grew up.”

“Maybe you don't have siblings waiting for you, but I imagine you've lots of old friends there,” Chris suggested.

“I really never kept in contact with anyone. It's been years since I've been back. I don't imagine I'll see any old friends while I'm there. I intend to take care of business and then head home.”

“Not even at the funeral?” Chris asked.

“There won't be a funeral.”

From the speaker the stewardess's voice blared, telling the passengers the plane was preparing to take off, but first she wanted everyone to make sure they were properly buckled up, and items securely stored, before explaining the flight's safety procedures.