Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery (15 page)

Chapter 19

I
f we were hoping for peace and quiet when I got home, we were sadly disappointed. Mike followed us back to my house, with strict orders for Randy to keep me at the house, and the dire consequences if he failed to do so, something about stakes and ant hills.

He hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes before my phone rang. “Hello?”

“Did you meet with Showalter?”

“Yes, Joe, I did.”

“And? When are we going to see this on Broadway?”

“I’m not for sure, Joe. He said it was still being considered, and that he would be talking to his backers about it before any final decision is made.”

“That sounds like a definite yes to me,” Joe said excitedly. I could picture him walking around his office, doing some fist pumps.

“No, it’s not a definite yes.”

“Have a little more faith, Cam! You’re going to conquer Hollywood and Broadway at the same time. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I’m so glad I could help make your dreams come true, Joe,” I said sarcastically.

“That did sound bad, didn’t it?” Joe said.

“Just a bit.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I understand your excitement.”

“Why aren’t you more excited about this?” he asked.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes too high, in case this doesn’t work out the way we expect it to. Then I won’t be so disappointed. But if it does work out, then I’ll celebrate.”

“Is there something you aren’t telling me, Cam?” Joe asked suspiciously.

“Not a thing, Joe,” I assured him, even though I knew I was lying through my teeth.

“Keep me posted. I’ll try and call his people the beginning of next week.”

“You don’t have to do that. Showalter said he would contact me personally, so his people probably won’t know anything.”

“Then promise you’ll call the minute you know something.”

“Absolutely.”

He hung up, and I tossed my phone in the recliner.

“Your crazy agent?” Randy said as he handed me a bottle of water.

“Yeah, he wanted to know how the meeting with Stephen Showalter went yesterday.”

“I noticed you didn’t tell him about Showalter’s connection to the dead woman.”

“None of his business.”

Randy moved my phone out of the way, put it on the coffee table, and sat down in the recliner. “Is Showalter really thinking about turning your book into a play?”

“No, he just wanted to tell us about his connection to Susan.”

“I still can’t believe she’s his mother.”

I was tired of talking about the murder, the Ingrams, and ghosts. “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Do you want me to fix you something to eat?”

“Thanks, but no. I just want some peace and quiet for a while.”

“You’re not planning to crawl out the bedroom window and make a break for it, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

I grabbed my pillows that Mike had brought back to the house, and went to my room. I took a pain pill, took out a pair of clean lounging pants and a T-shirt from the dresser, and quickly changed. I didn’t want a repeat of the peeping ghost. Closing the blinds, I crawled into bed and closed my eyes. I slept off and on most of the afternoon. I heard voices coming from the living room at one point, but didn’t really care enough to get up and see who it was.

The persistent ringing of the doorbell woke me up. Why didn’t Randy answer the door? Squinting at the bedside clock, I saw it was just after six. Groaning, I made my way to the front door. A young man with brown wavy hair and chocolate brown eyes stood on the front porch. He was wearing a short sleeved T-shirt that showed off us muscular arms, a pair of jeans and brown boots. He looked like he had been crying “Can I help you?” I said.

“Is Chief Penhall here?”

“What makes you think he would be here?”

“I went by the station to see him, but he wasn’t there. The woman at the front desk told me that he was probably at Camille Shaw’s house. Is that you?”

“Yes, although most people call me Cam.”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Reed Ingram, Susan’s son.”

I shook his hand. He had a nice, firm grip. “Please, come in,” I said, releasing his hand and stepping back out of his way.

“Thank you,” he said. He walked past me and started looking around. “Nice house.”

“I like it,” I told him as I closed the door. “A few things I need to fix here and there, but it works for me.”

He nodded. “I see a few cracks, but those can easily be fixed. If you opened the space between here and the kitchen, it would give you more room, make it feel more warm and inviting.”

“I never thought of doing that. I’ll keep that in mind. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be great.”

I motioned for him to follow me into the kitchen, where I found a big pot of chicken tortilla soup and a pan of cornbread. I saw two notes leaning against the pot. “Thought you could use some homemade soup. Call me later. Love you, Mother” read one; “I got a better offer for dinner. Call if you need anything.” from Randy. Probably from Nigel.

“That smells really good,” Reed said.

I put the notes down. “Knowing my mother, she made enough to last me three or four days. Would you like some?”

“I don’t want to impose,” he said.

“You’re not,” I replied. “Would you mind putting that on the stove for me? Just turn the burner on three.”

“Sure,” he said. He put the pot on the stove and turned on the burner. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions you want to ask me,” I said, handing him a bottle of water from the fridge. “Fire away.”

“What happened to the back of your head?”

Reaching back, I gingerly touched the bandage that covered the stitches. “A minor disagreement with someone. Nothing serious.”

“Ouch,” he winced. “Should you even be up moving around?”

“I have a hard head. No concussion. It looks more painful than it really is.”

“Why did someone hit you?”

How could I answer that one? Mike had made his position crystal clear: no interfering with his investigation. Did that include not talking about it? “I came across some evidence that someone didn’t want me to turn over to the police.”

“Did it have something to do with my mother’s murder?”

“Maybe, I’m not sure. You would need to talk to Chief Penhall about that.”

“It’s one reason why I came over here,” Reed admitted. “I...found my grandfather’s body earlier today. I know it’s probably too soon, but I wanted to see if Chief Penhall had learned anything yet.”

I felt my mouth drop open in surprise. Mike hadn't mentioned anything to me on the drive home from the theatre. “I am so sorry, Mr. Ingram, I had no idea,” I said, closing my mouth. I wasn’t good with situations like this. My father was the one who was the consoler, who knew the right words to say in situations like this.

He could see my discomfort. “Please, call me Reed. I can leave if you want me to,” he said.

“No, it’s all right. Please, sit down.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down while I turned the oven on to warm up the cornbread. “What else did you want to talk to Chief Penhall about?”

“You were there, weren’t you?” he said. “When they found my mother, I mean.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Was my father there?”

“He was there for a while,” I replied. “I saw him talking to several people before the first act.”

“But was he there when she was found?”

“That I don’t know,” I told him.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed her,” Reed said bitterly.

“Really?” I said, surprised by his candor. “Why is that?”

“They didn’t get along at all,” he said. “I don’t even know why they were still married. They didn’t even sleep in the same bedroom anymore.”

Pulling a spoon out of the utensils drawer, I took the lid off the soup and stirred it. “A lot of married couples don’t sleep in the same bedroom,” I told him. “That doesn’t mean they don’t love each other.”

“Let me rephrase it: They weren’t sleeping in the same house.”

“Ah.”

“They haven’t lived together for three years. The first time she threw him out, he came over to my place. I ended up sleeping on the couch for two weeks. The next time, he stayed at a hotel.”

The oven beeped, indicating it was ready, so I slipped the cornbread inside. “So why did they stayed married?”

“She liked the prestige that came with being an Ingram. That it screwed up any plans he had, both professionally and personally, was just an added bonus. My grandfather didn’t like her much, either, but he did his best to be supportive.”

“Was your father seeing someone else?”

“I think he was, but he didn’t talk about it, and I didn’t ask.”

“And professionally?”

“He didn’t like what Grandpa was doing with the company. Dad wanted to take over the company, kick Grandpa out, and dump the low-income housing division. He only wanted to build high-end houses.”

I went over to a cabinet by the sink, and took down a couple of bowls and plates. Reed got up, took the dishes from me, and set the table while I got out some silverware. “How did you feel about that?”

“My dad is a fool,” Reed said. “He can only see the bottom dollar. He doesn’t see the faces of those families when we present the keys to them. The little kids who jump up and down in the middle of their new bedrooms. That’s what it’s all about.”

“I understand you work on one of the construction crews.”

He nodded. “I enjoy it. I’ve always liked working with my hands. I spent more time at my grandfather’s office than I did in my own house. I’d rather work for my money instead of having it handed to me on a silver platter.”

I was starting to like this guy.

“Cheating on the cop already?”

Oh, good Lord. This was not the time for Mac to show up.

“Who’s this guy?”

I didn’t answer.

“Cop got your tongue?” Mac said.

I checked the soup. “Why don’t you hand me the bowls and I’ll fill them up?” I said to Reed.

“Sure,” he said, grabbing the bowls and coming over to stand by me.

“Well, isn’t this warm and cozy?” Mac said.

After I finished serving up the soup, Reed put them back on the table. “Where’s a hot pad?” he asked me. “I’ll get the pan out of the oven.”

Opening a drawer by the stove, I pulled out a blue oven mitt and handed it to him. Thanking me, he opened the oven door, pulled out the pan, and put it on the hot plate Mother had brought over on the table. Just as he started to sit down, Mac shoved the chair out from under him, and Reed hit the floor. “What the hell?” he said, looking up at me. “Do you do this to all your guests?”

“I…I didn’t do it,” I replied, trying hard not to laugh. I held out my hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Let me guess: Your house is haunted,” Reed retorted, grabbing the chair and sitting down.

“Kinda.”

“I can’t believe you would…wait, what? What do you mean ‘kinda’?”

I resisted the urge to scratch the back of my head where the stitches were. “It’s not haunted, per se. Sometimes I can see ghosts.”

Reed looked at me incredulously. “So what they say about you is true.”

Now it was my turn to look shocked. “What are they saying about me?”

“The thing with the Ashtons,” Reed said. “People said that you were talking to Stanley Ashton’s ghost when you were at his house.”

“Who told you that?”

“Several people, my mother included. But I think she heard it down at the beauty parlor, so you know you can take what you hear there with a grain of salt.”

Good thing he didn’t realize that a lot of what was said down there was true. I made a rash decision. “It’s true,” I said as I took a Dr Pepper out of the fridge and sat down across from him.

“Wow, really?”

“Really. But I would prefer that you not say anything to anyone else, please.”

“But it’s so cool,” he said.

“He’s right,” Mac agreed. “It is cool to be able to talk to me.”

“Shut up,” I muttered.

Reed looked offended.

“No, not you. The ghost.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Mac.”

“Cool name.”

“I agree,” the ghost said.

“He says thanks,” I told Reed.

I could see Mac staring at Reed. “He looks like his grandmother.”

“He does?” I said out loud without thinking.

Mac nodded. “Yeah, he does. He should go down to the theatre so she can see him.”

“Did he say something about me?” Reed asked.