Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery (23 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Her name is on the list, and it’s checked off. See, right here,” I said, going over to his side of the desk to show him.

“I’ve been over that list three times. How come I didn’t see it before?”

“Maybe you were only looking for particular names,” I said. “And no one has said anything about her, have they?”

“Not that I know of,” Mike replied. “I haven’t finished going over the witness statements yet.”

His cell phone rang. “What’s up, Reynolds? Are you sure? What about her car? I’ll put out a BOLO. Sit on the house for a while, just in case she comes back. Talk to the neighbors; see if anyone saw her today. Let me know if you learn anything.” He hung up and tossed his phone on the desk. “Well, she’s gone.”

“Maybe she had a late meeting,” I said.

“Nobody’s seen her since this morning. She could be anywhere.”

“That’s not true. She was at the coffeehouse, talking to Mother, when I got back from Red Oak. I guess that was around eleven-thirty.”

“What did she say?”

“She just wanted to make sure I was all right. She believes Joey killed his father.”

“Really?”

“She said he’s been trying to take over the company for the last four months, and that she overheard Joey tell his father he’d take the company, even if he had to kill him to do it.”

“Well, Clinton is dead, and Joey’s in jail. He can’t run the company from here.”

“Actually, this is where it gets a little interesting. The board of directors didn’t put Joey in charge.”

“Can’t really blame them for that,” Mike said. “You don’t put the fox in charge of the hen house just because the top dog is gone.”

“That’s true, but do they usually promote a secretary and make her interim president of a construction company?”

“Pamela’s in charge?”

“Not yet. According to her, Clinton wanted her to be interim president if something happened to him, but the board chose someone else. That was the same reaction I had when she told us. She said her father and brothers were heavily into construction when she was growing up, so she knows all about the business. In fact, she said that she’s been responsible for a lot of their business the last few years.”

“Well, isn’t that interesting?” Mike said, grabbing a notepad and pen. He wrote a few things down. “Anything else?”

“Nothing that I can think of off the top of my head. We’ve been looking at this from the business angle, at least as far as Clinton is concerned. But what about Susan? I doubt very seriously her death has anything to do with the construction company.”

Mike leaned back in his chair and looked up at me. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m just wondering about her desire to get back into acting. Have you talked to any of the actors or that director much?”

“No, not really,” he admitted.

“There’s been something that’s been bothering me, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” I told him. “Would you mind if I borrow your computer for a minute?”

“Be my guest.”

I sat down in the chair Reynolds had sat in earlier, and typed in a couple of names. I clicked a couple of pictures, and managed to put them side by side on the screen. “Come look at this,” I said to Mike.

He came around the desk and stood behind me. “What am I looking at?”

“What do you see?”

“I see pictures of the same woman. Is this that actress, oh, what’s her name…Rachel?”

I pointed to the picture on the left. “That’s Rachel.”

“So who’s that on the right?”

“That’s Susan.”

Mike leaned in for a closer look. “Up close, you can tell them apart,” he said “But Susan’s hair looks a bit darker.”

“Probably a dye job,” I told him, “not to mention a little nip and tuck here and there.”

“But if she was standing on the stage, with her back to the killer, they wouldn’t be able to tell if it was Susan or Rachel standing there.”

I nodded. “I’m starting to wonder if Susan was killed by accident.”

“And if Rachel was the real target,” Mike finished for me. “I think we better find out where she is, and fast.”

Chapter 29

R
achel wasn’t at her hotel, and she hadn’t been seen since about an hour before dinner. Since they were staying in Dallas, we couldn’t rush over there to talk to her. Mike did alert hotel security, and called a friend of his on the Dallas police force. There wasn’t much we could do beyond that, since we didn’t have concrete proof.

“So now what?” I said, leaning back in the chair.

“We need to talk to someone who had a ringside seat for what happened on the stage that night.”

“I can get the seating chart from Mother, if you don’t have it. I can’t remember who was sitting by the stage.”

“I’m thinking about someone who was a bit closer than that.”

“What, you mean Mac?”

“And Lillian.”

“You actually want me to talk to them about this? I thought you wanted me to stay out of it.”

“I’ve got possible eyewitnesses to a murder that I can’t talk to you, but you can. You’re just asking questions, in private. It’s not like they’re actual murder suspects.”

I rubbed my neck. “I’m…I mean, I don’t…”

“You don’t know what?”

“Lillian is a bit…emotional. It’s seriously overwhelming for me.”

“Why didn’t this happen with Stanley?”

“Stanley wasn’t a person who let his emotions rule him. Women are different. Just because she’s dead doesn’t make her any less emotional.”

“Can’t you just ask her to keep herself under control?”

“Are you serious?” I said. “Have you ever asked any woman to keep her emotions under control? How well did that work out for you?”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” Mike said, holding up his hand to stop me. “I still need to ask her some questions.”

“I don’t know where she is,” I lied.

“Didn’t Mac tell us that she never leaves the theatre. Ask him.”

“Do you see him standing here?”

“No.”

“What a surprise.”

“But then I don’t usually see him, do I?”

Okay, he had me there. “The next time I see him, I’ll ask him where she is.”

“Where who is?” Mac said.

Damn.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Mike asked, looking a bit amused.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you get this annoyed look on your face whenever he pops up.”

I waved at the chair next to me.

“Hello, Mac,” Mike said. “Nice of you to drop by.”

Mac looked at him, shocked, then turned to me. “Can he see me?”

I looked at Mike. “Can you see him?”

“Nope.”

“Then why is he talking to me?”

“He’s done it before.”

“Yes, but this time, he’s looking right at me.”

“Oh, get over it,” I snapped.

“Mac, we need your help,” Mike said. “We’re looking for the Ingrams. Would you happen to know where they are?”

“At their house.”

“What?” I said, surprised. “I thought Lillian never left the theatre.”

“Clinton has managed to coax her into leaving. After all these years, the first place she wanted to go was to their house.”

“That makes sense,” I replied. “I mean, when she was alive, that’s where she was the happiest.”

“Excuse me,” Mike said, “clueless man over here feeling a bit left out. Where is she?”

“Mac says she’s at the Ingram house.”

Mike stood up. “Then we should go over there.”

“Right now? Right this minute?” I said.

“I think it’s important, especially if Susan was killed because she looked like Rachel,” Mike replied. “She could still be in danger.”

“Whoa, really?” Mac said. “Is that why you want to talk to Lillian?”

“We need to know what she saw that night, Mac,” I said. “She was backstage that night; besides the killer, she’s the only witness.”

“She is going to freak out,” he said. “I’ve tried to ask her what happened, but she just gets upset, things start to move, and she glows that bright, blinding light.”

“Not what I wanted to hear.”

“Wait until tomorrow,” Mac suggested. “Let me talk to her first. Maybe between Clinton and myself, we can get her to calmly tell us what happened.”

When I told Mike what Mac said, he frowned. “I’m not sure we should wait.”

Mac looked at me. “I saw what happened to you the other night when Lillian was upset, and that was a mild reaction for her. I’ve seen her do worse. I really think you need to wait, because I’m not sure what the effect is going to be on you physically. Even he wouldn’t be willing to put you in harm’s way if he understood.”

“If you think that’s what we should do, then we’ll do it,” I said.

“Great,” Mike said, “let’s go.”

“No, we aren’t going.”

“But you just said…”

“Mac said we should wait, and he made a very valid argument that I can’t disagree with. Let him talk to Lillian first.” I looked at Mac. “Go ahead, and good luck.”

He tipped his fedora at me, and disappeared. Mike came around his desk and dropped into the chair next to me. “Are you all right?” he said, a look of concern on his face.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You seem a bit…cranky.”

He was right. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you liked talking to your ghostly friends.”

“They’re not my friends, Mike.”

“Visitors then. Why don’t you want to talk to them?”

“I told you, I can’t handle Lillian’s emotions.”

“Isn’t there something you can do to…I don’t know…protect yourself?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, you’re the one who can talk to them!”

“That doesn’t make me an expert, Mike!” I said, jumping up. I started pacing the floor behind the chairs. “There’s no handbook for this, at least not that I know of. I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. Even Jolanda doesn’t know what to do. This isn’t like the last time. I only had Stanley to deal with. Now, every time I turn around, another ghost pops up. Handling one is hard enough, but three! I’d like to see you try and do it. I’m the only human who can hear their conversations. Do you know what that’s like? We’ve got three murders to deal with, and the only people who can give us any answers are Mac, Lillian, and Clinton, and I’m not even sure if they’re telling me the truth all the time. Do you have any idea what that’s like? I have no idea how to tell if a ghost is lying to me or not. I’m a bloody writer, not a cop! Why are they coming to me with all their problems? Does it really matter who killed them after all this time?”

“It mattered to Stanley,” Mike said quietly. “And I seem to remember you did everything you could to find the answers for him.”

“And I ended up at the bottom of a well for my trouble.”

“And Stanley saved our lives,” Mike pointed out.

“You’re not helping.”

Mike got up, pulled me out of my chair and wrapped his arms around me. “Look, I don’t have all the answers, either. I don’t know why you’re able to see these ghosts when the rest of us can’t. You’ve always been a very sensitive person, Cam, and maybe they know that. They see you as someone who can help them.”

“I’m a ghostwriter, not a ghostbuster, Mike.”

“But you put your writing to good use when you helped Stanley. You were able to write the truth about what happened all those years ago and you set things right. The story is out there, everyone knows about it. Mac, Lillian, and Clinton are three more people who have met tragic ends. Maybe you’re supposed to give them their happy endings, like you did for Stanley.”

“You forgot about Susan.”

“Okay, four people. My point is that you seem to have been given this gift, for whatever reason. You’re like the lady of justice for the other side.”

“Isn’t the lady of justice blind?”

“You know what I mean. Stop being argumentative.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.”

“There’s not much I can do for Mac or Lillian, but I can do my best for Clinton and Susan. Somehow, all four of these deaths are connected. We just have to find out how. And we’re going to have to do it together. But you have to remember, there are living people that don’t want you to find the answers. They’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure the truth doesn’t come out. You have to be careful. No going off by yourself to talk to anyone, I don’t care who it is. Take Randy or your dad with you. Anyone. But don’t go off by yourself.”

“I can’t believe you are saying this.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying it, either. But we have to be realistic about this. You bring something extra to the table that no one has before. There’s no handbook for it, like you said. We’re making up the rules as we go along.”

“You know, most guys would run in the other direction when they found out their girlfriend could talk to ghosts.”

“Good thing I’m not most guys,” he laughed, kissing me on the forehead.

I put my head on his chest, and we stood still for a moment. “So what do we do now?” I asked him.

“Let’s go back to your house and finish our dinner. There’s a football game we can watch while we eat.”

“You’re lucky I like sports, bub,” I said, reluctantly stepping out of his arms to grab my bag.

“That’s true, but you still root for the wrong team.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”