Free The Ghost and the Mystery Writer by Anna J. McIntyre

didn’t know it was Jolene, just some older woman.”
    â€œWhat do you mean you knew the killer tossed the rings off the pier? How would you have known that? And why would you accuse Hillary of being the killer?”
    â€œLast night, I read all that—everything you just told me—up in Hillary’s room.” Walt started pacing again.
    Perplexed, Danielle frowned, considering Walt’s words. She looked up at him. “Please sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”
    In the next instant Walt was sitting on the chair facing Danielle, a lit cigar now in his hand.
    â€œOkay, run this by me again. You were in Hillary’s room last night?”
    â€œI know you don’t like me going into the guests’ rooms, but I saw she was still up when I went to the attic last night. I was curious to see if she was writing.”
    â€œYou know I hate it when you go into the guests’ bedrooms. She could have been getting dressed or something, and that’s just so creepy. I’d hate to think of a ghost lurking around in my room while I’m taking my clothes off. Couldn’t you have just listened for the typewriter?”
    â€œI suppose I could have, but that’s hardly the point right now,” Walt snapped.
    â€œWhat is your point, and why would you make some crazy accusation about Hillary being the killer?”
    â€œI think she killed Jolene.”
    â€œShe didn’t even know Jolene.”
    â€œDanielle, listen to me, and forget for a moment I broke your rule about invading a guest’s privacy.”
    Danielle let out a sigh and leaned back in the sofa, crossing her legs while crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m listening.”
    â€œWhen I went into her room last night, she was completely dressed in a flannel nightgown, from her chin to her toes. And trust me, if I decide to become a ghostly peeping tom, hers is not the room I would invade.”
    â€œI didn’t say you went in there with prurient intent, it’s just that—”
    â€œYes, yes. I understand,” Walt said impatiently. “When I went into her room, she was writing on a legal pad of paper. By the looks of her room, it was not her only legal pad.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThere was paper strewn all over the place. She’d fill up a page, rip it off, toss it to the floor, and then write some more.”
    Danielle shrugged. “So? What does this have to do with her being the killer? Sounds to me like she was getting all her ideas down. She did say she’d been experiencing writer’s block, and it suddenly ended.”
    â€œI read some of what she’d written.”
    â€œI imagine for Hillary she’d be more offended knowing you peeked at her notes rather than peeking up her nighty.”
    Walt scowled. “I may be dead, but even suggesting I’d want to peek up her nighty makes me want to kill myself.”
    â€œThat’s not nice,” Danielle scolded.
    â€œShe’s old enough to be my grandmother.”
    â€œYou mean granddaughter,” Danielle teased.
    â€œDo you want to hear this or not?”
    â€œI’m sorry. It’s just been a long day, and I’m getting loopy. But Hillary did say she considered it bad luck to tell people about her storyline when she’s early into a project.”
    â€œHer story is Jolene’s.”
    â€œJolene’s? What do you mean Jolene’s?”
    â€œEverything you told me about the murder—even the rings being tossed off the pier—I already knew all that because Hillary had written about it. I read it. Her next book is about Jolene’s murder.”
    â€œThat’s impossible. When did you read her notes? This morning?”
    â€œI told you, last night. Before I went up to the attic.”
    Danielle shook her head. “No. That’s impossible. You know how you are with time. I bet it was this morning. Hillary probably went out