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

sure, by this point, a normally sane person would have run out the front door screaming. It’s not every day you meet a ghost, and I’ll freely admit that my first instinct was to bolt. But I have this terminal affliction called curiosity, which makes me question everything I don’t understand. Obviously, a sixty-year-old ghost standing in front of me called for some answers, and I wasn’t going to leave until I got them.
    “But you’re standing here in front of me, so obviously you’re not dead.”
    “I’m pretty sure I’m dead. I mean, the bullet that went through my heart was a killer, no pun intended.”
    “Nice of you to put the bullet through your heart an d not your head.” Wait a minute; was I really having a conversation with a dead man? This was getting too weird, even for me. I reached into the closet, pulled out my jacket and closed the door.
    “ I beg your pardon?” he said. “I didn’t put a bullet through my heart.”
    “But you just said you did.”
    “No, I didn’t. I said ‘the bullet went through my heart’. I never said I shot myself.”
    “I told you he wouldn’t shoot himself,” Aggie reminded me. “He’ s a God-fearing man.”
    “Then what are you trying to say?”
    “I was murdered.”

Chapter 4
    A few minutes later, my jacket was hanging in the closet again, and we were sitting in the library. Aggie had gotten me a glass of ice water, and I was in a high back chair, waiting for Stanley to tell me his story.
    “It was March 23, 195 4…”
    “How can you be so sure about the date?”
    He sighed. “Look on my desk over there. You’ll find a small desk calendar.” I got up, walked over to the desk, and found the calendar sitting top center. It was open to the date he mentioned. “Satisfied? May I continue now?” I nodded. “I had come home late from the office because I had been stuck in a meeting with some government bureaucrat. Amelia and the children weren’t here when I arrived. Just as well; I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the whining.”
    “Children whine,” I pointed out.
    “Not theirs, hers. She was upset with me about cancelled vacation plans. She wanted to go to Los Angeles, but I was too busy at work to go.”
    “Where were you, Aggie?”
    “My husband and I were in the guest house. Mrs. Ashton had sent me away right after supper. She said she was going to put the children to bed early and wait for Mr. Stanley to come home.”
    “But I thought you said that they were gone when you got here.”
    “They were,” he replied. “I looked all over the house for them, but couldn’t find them anywhere. I assumed that she had taken them to her parents’ house for a visit.”
    “You didn’t check with Aggie to see where they were?”
    “There was no need. I wasn’t overly concerned. I was relieved that they weren’t here, for the reason previously stated.”
    “So what happened after that?”
    “I took the plate Aggie had left for me in the oven, turned the oven off, picked up a fork and brought the plate in here to eat. I sat at my desk and worked for a while. When I finished my dinner, I took the plate to the kitchen, put it in the sink and came back in here. Shortly after that, someone shot me. I fell out of my chair onto the floor.”
    “We heard the shot from the guest house and came rushing up here,” Aggie said. “Found him on the floor by his desk. He had this surprised look on his face.”
    “Was he still alive?”
    She shook her head. “Like I said, it went right through his heart. Killed him instantly. There wasn’t anything anyone could do for him. The gun was in his right hand.”
    “You didn’t see who it was?” He shook his head. “What did you do then, Aggie?”
    “Called the police, of course, and then called around trying to find Mrs. Ashton.”
    “She wasn’t at her parents’ house?”
    “No,” Aggie replied. “I have no idea where she was that night. She never told me. But she was here about an hour after Mr.