Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery Read Free

been alive and well, living in this house?”
    “That’s not what I said.”
    “But you just said he didn’t commit suicide. So if he didn’t kill himself, then he’s still alive.”
    “Not necessarily.”
    I stood up and headed for the library door. “Mrs. Foley, I came out here under the impression that someone wanted to hire me. I didn’t come out here to listen to some crazy story about a man living in this house who may or may not be alive.”
    “But Miss Camille…”
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Foley, but I’m not staying. I have other things to do.”
    “I do wish you would stay, Miss Shaw,” a deep male voice said. “I am in need of your services.”

Chapter 3
    Taking a deep breath, I turned around to see a man standing there. I had no idea how he had managed to sneak into the library. There was only one door in or out of the room, and Aggie and I had been the only ones in the room. I took a couple of steps back.
    He had short brown hair, parted on the left side. He wore a tailored white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a black tie with thin white pinstripes crisscrossing the length of the tie, black dress pants, green and black pinstriped suspenders, and black Oxford shoes. He reminded me a little of Colin Firth in “The English Patient”.
    “I do hope you aren’t one of those women prone to fainting,” the man said.
    I realized I was standing there with my mouth hanging open, and I snapped it shut. “Of course not.”
    “Thank God for that,” he replied. “I hate hysterical women.”
    “I’m not hysterical.”
    “I suppose I’m assuming that because you look like you’re ready to run away.”
    “I’m still standing here, aren’t I?”
    “If I say ‘boo’, you’ll probably run out the door, screaming your head off.”
    “If I leave, it will be because you are a jerk.”
    “Do I look like someone who stands behind a counter and dispenses drinks?”
    I looked at Aggie, who just shook her head. “Stop being so rude to the young lady,” she admonished him.
    “She’s the one who called me a soda jerk.”
    “No, I called you a jerk, as in a rude, crude, socially unacceptable person.”
    He looked down his nose at me. “Hmphf, people like you aren’t normally invited here.”
    “People like me? And just what do you mean by that?”
    “You’re just some…writer. Whoever heard of a woman writer? Shouldn’t you be at home…”
    “Don’t say it,” I interrupted him.
    “…taking care of your husband and having babies?” he finished.
    “He said it,” I replied, looking at Aggie, who shrugged. “We haven’t even been formally introduced to each other, and you’re already insulting me. And you expect me to work with you?”
    “No, you’re going to work for me, not with me.”
    I turned to Aggie. “Thank you for an interesting evening. I’m pretty sure I can find my own way out.” I glared at the man before walking around him, out the library door and into the hallway.
    “Miss Camille, wait,” Aggie said, following me into the hallway.
    “Let her go,” he said.
    Aggie turned and looked at him. “If she walks out that door, you will never be able to find out the truth.”
    “Perhaps it is better if I don’t know. I’ve lived this long without knowing. What difference does it make?”
    “It makes a lot of difference,” she snapped. I stood quietly by the closet door, listening.
    “Why should it matter to you?”
    She walked over to him and looked up. “I gave up my entire adult life to stay here and take care of you. I had plenty of opportunities to leave, but I turned them all down to help you find out what happened that night. Don’t call what you’ve been doing ‘living’. You’ve been dead almost sixty years!”
    “Excuse me? Did you say dead?” I said.
    “Yes ma’am, that’s what I said.”
    I looked at the man. “Who are you?”
    “My name is Stanley Ashton III.”
    “You’re dead.”
    “I’m well aware of that.”
    I’m