Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery (22 page)

“Maybe she’s working both sides,” Mac suggested. “Playing the father off of the son.”

I told Randy what Mac said. “How old would you say Pamela Dimwitty is, Randy? Late thirties, early forties?”

“Somewhere around there, yeah. Why?”

“I’m just wondering if there’s something going on between her and Joey.”

“Ewh,” Randy said, shuddering. “Talk about daddy issues.”

“Sugar daddy maybe,” Mac said.

“I could see the sugar daddy angle,” I replied. “I wonder how much she makes at Ingram Construction.”

“If she’s been as heavily involved in the business as we think, then she’s probably making way more than any regular secretary would,” Randy said.

Pacing the floor, I rubbed my left temple again. Randy and Mac watched me go back and forth. “You’re wearing out my carpet,” Randy said after a couple of minutes.

“Sorry,” I said, walking over to the counter and leaning against it.

“What are you thinking about so hard?”

“I feel like we’re running around in circles. I’m not sure if we’re getting closer to the truth, or further away from it.”

Randy came over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you need to go home and get some rest,” he said, looking concerned.

“I think I better tell Mike what Mac saw. We need to know what’s missing. I’m planning to talk to Grandma Alma later.”

“She’s busy this afternoon,” Randy said. “We’re having a wedding reception for her and Walt tomorrow night, so she’s trying to find a new dress. A couple of her friends were going to take her shopping.”

“Nuts.”

“Why don’t you go home, get some rest, and do some work that you’re actually getting paid for?” Randy suggested.

He had a point. Neglecting clients was not good for my bank account, not that I was desperate for money. The book I had written about my first encounter with ghosts was still doing well, and Joe was still trying to negotiate a movie deal. Go figure.

Mac disappeared before I left, and I figured he’d show up at my house at some point this afternoon. I figured Mike was tied up with Joey, so I went to Pop’s Burger Station instead, picked up some lunch, then drove home. After changing into a pair of lounging pants and a purple T-shirt, I ate, answered some emails, read the funnies, then opened my current manuscript, and got to work.

The writing went better than I expected. In fact, it went so well that I almost jumped out of my chair when the doorbell rang. Irritated at being interrupted, I stomped to the door and threw it open. “What are you doing here?” I said to Mike, who was wearing an Oxford shirt, a nice pair of dark jeans, and his boots.

“Um, we have dinner plans, remember?” he replied, his eyes looking at my clothes. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Sort of,” I replied. “Come on in.”

“How’s the book coming?” he asked me as he walked in.

I closed the door behind him. “Good. I got on a roll this afternoon, and I was so focused on what I was doing…”

He held up his hand to stop me. “I totally understand. I’ve stood you up a time or two myself because of work.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, giving him a big hug. “Forgive me?”

“It depends. Is there anything to eat in the fridge?”

“Besides the penicillin I’m going growing, I don’t know,” I said, realizing in all the madness, I still hadn’t gone to the store. “There might be some pork chops in the freezer.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and headed for the kitchen. “I can work with that,” he said. “Get back to work.”

“I couldn’t do that,” I protested. “You’re a guest in my house. My mother would kill me.”

“We’re dating. It’s okay for me to fix meals at your house. I’m not going to tell her, are you?”

“But it’s not right. I should be…”

Mike turned me around and shoved me out of the kitchen. “You should be working on that book. You have a deadline, and I don’t think you want your agent to start calling you every waking moment. Now go, I’ve got this covered.”

I reluctantly went back to work, but it didn’t take long for me to get back into the story. Before I knew it, Mike was putting a steaming plate of food of pork chops, mashed potatoes and black eyed peas next to my computer. “This looks great,” I told him as he set up a TV tray beside the desk.

He smiled, left the room, and came back with his own plate. I started to say something else, but he held up one finger and left again. I sat back in my chair and watched as he brought in a candlestick with one of my mulled cider candles in it. Putting it on his tray, he pulled out a lighter and lit the candle. He came back with silverware, napkins and drinks. “Here you go,” he said, handing me the utensils and a drink.

“Wow, you’re spoiling me here,” I told him. “I don’t know how I’m going to go back to plain old TV dinners after this.”

“You don’t eat TV dinners,” he laughed as he sat down.

“Good point,” I said as I cut into the pork chop. “Oh my gosh, I’ve died and gone to heaven. This is fantastic! You’re going to make someone a good wife when you get married.”

“Are you proposing?” Mike teased.

The pork chop went down the wrong pipe, and I started choking. He jumped up and pounded me on the back until I stopped. “Sorry,” I gasped, taking a drink of Dr Pepper. “You caught me off guard with that one.”

“Watch it, you’ll give me a complex,” he said, sitting back down. “You’ll make me think you don’t want to marry me.”

“Now who’s proposing?”

We both just looked at each other. “Well, this is awkward,” he said.

“Why don’t we change the subject?” I suggested. “How did things go with Joey Ingram this afternoon?”

“Talk about doing a 180,” he said. “He clammed up and asked for his lawyer, who isn’t available until tomorrow. So Joey is cooling his heels in one of our comfortable cells for the night.”

I suddenly remembered what Mac had told me earlier. “Have you looked at your file on the investigation today?”

“That’s a funny question to ask me.”

“Have you?”

“Not since this morning.”

“When Pamela Dimwitty came to see you?”

“Yeah.”

I chewed on my lip, unsure how to tell him the next part. “You need to go through the file as soon as possible. There’s something missing.”

“How in the world could you possibly know that?” Mike said incredulously. “You haven’t been in my office since early this morning.”

“Let’s just say that you and Pamela weren’t the only ones in your office today.”

“What do you mean…wait a minute. Did you send Mac in there to spy on me?”

“No! I would never do something like that. He went of his own volition.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to find out what you knew that we didn’t to help with our investigation.”

“Our investigation? I thought you were going to butt out.”

“Tell that to Mac.”

“So you’re telling me that Mac managed to take something from the file?” Mike said. “Does this mean you have it, and you’re going to give it back?”

“He didn’t, and I don’t. It was Pamela Dimwitty.”

“That’s impossible. I didn’t leave her alone in my office…”

“…until after she told you about the set up with Joey,” I finished for him. “Mac said you took off and left her in there. She checked to make sure that no one was coming, then she went through the file on your desk, and took a piece of paper out. He said she stuffed it into her purse and left.”

“Could he tell what it was she took?”

I shook my head.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I honestly forgot,” I told him. “I had a headache, Mac and Randy were both nagging me, and I just wanted to step back for a little while. Not very good excuses, I know. I remember thinking at the time that I should have called you…”

“Get dressed,” Mike said, standing up.

“What? Where are we going?”

“Down to the station. You can’t go down there looking like that.”

“But dinner…”

“We can heat it up later,” he said. “Go get dressed. I need to know what she took.”

I saved my work and shut off the computer while Mike took our plates to the kitchen. I threw on a pair of jeans, my sneakers, and grabbed a denim jacket out of the closet. When I came around the corner, he was holding my keys and phone. I turned on the alarm, and he locked the door behind us before we got into his truck.

We didn’t say anything the whole way down to the station, and I knew he was mad. I felt bad about not telling him sooner. He parked his truck in his usual spot, slamming the door when he got out. I rushed to catch up with him. “Mike.”

“What?” he said, turning around to look at me.

“I’m really sorry.”

He put his hand on my cheek. “I’m not mad at you, Cam. I promise.” He lowered his hand and grabbed mine, leading the way inside.

Reynolds came around the corner as we walked in. “Chief, what are you doing here?” he said. “I thought you went home a couple of hours ago.”

“I did. I need you to get the security tapes for my office and the hallway from this morning.”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“I’ll let you know in a minute,” Mike replied as we walked toward his office. Letting go of my hand, he unlocked his door and flipped on the light. “Tell me again what Mac said.”

“Pamela told you about the setup, you rushed out the door, yelling for two of your officers. He said she waited a couple of minutes, looked up and down the hallway to make sure that no one was around, then went over to your desk and went through the file. She must have found what she was looking for, because she pulled something out, put in her purse and left.”

Mike sat down at his desk and started going through the file. Reynolds came in with a disc. “Here you go, Chief,” he said. “What are you looking for?”

“Use my laptop, and find the part where that Dimwitty woman came into the station this morning.”

Reynolds sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, turned the laptop around, inserted the disc, and started looking through the footage. I watched over his shoulder. “Wait, back up,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing. “There she is.”

Mike got up and stood beside me as we watched Pamela enter the station. She talked to Sally, who picked up the phone, obviously to call Mike, who appeared a minute later and escorted her down the hall. About seven minutes later, Mike, along with Reynolds and another officer, came running into the lobby and out the front door.

Reynolds changed camera feeds, and we were inside Mike’s office. He and Pamela came into the office, she sat down in the same chair Reynolds was sitting in, and she started talking. Mike got a look of concern on his face, asked her a few questions, then she must have told him that it was all a setup by Joey, because he jumped out of his chair and was out the door before she could finish what she was saying. She got up, went to the doorway, looked up and down the hall, and then went back to his desk. She started going through the files on the right side of his desk, moving to the ones in the center of his desk when she was done. Pulling out a folder, she flipped it open and started quickly going through the papers.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Reynolds said.

“You and me both,” Mike said. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I should have made sure someone escorted her out.”

“Sounds like it’s more my fault than yours, Mike,” I said.

Pamela must have found what she was looking for, because she was reading something. Her mouth fell open and she shook her head. She picked up the top page, folded and stuffed it in her purse, then straightened the papers, closed the file, and put it back where she had found it. “Looks like she’s done something like this before,” I said.

“I certainly couldn’t tell that she had been through anything on my desk,” Mike said.

“So what are we going to do, Chief?” Reynolds asked, pausing the video as Pamela started to walk out of Mike’s office.

“Send Walters to arrest her for obstruction of justice,” Mike said.

“Walters is at the hospital with his wife. She went into labor just after you left. I told him I’d cover for him.”

“Then you go arrest her. Put her into interview room one when you get here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mike sat down behind his desk again after Reynolds left. He started going through the file, looking at each page before moving on to the next one. “Can you tell me what is usually in one of those files?” I asked him. “Maybe we can narrow down what she was looking at that way.”

“The initial report, M.E. reports, witness statements, evidence list, crime scene photos…”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted him. “You said witness statements.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still have a copy of the guest list I gave you?”

He flipped through the pages. “Right here,” he said, holding it out to me.

I took it from him and quickly scanned the list. “She was there that night.”