Free Who Killed the Ghost in the Library: A Ghost writer Mystery by Teresa Watson

left my car parked in front of the bookstore and walked across the street for my morning muffin. But before I could walk inside, I heard someone call out to me. Turning around, I saw the police chief headed my way. “Good morning, Mike. What can I do for you?”
    “I was wondering if you’d like to have breakfast with me.”
    “Really? Is this a social or official inquiry?”
    “Official, I’m afraid. Would you accept if I asked in a more social capacity?”
    “I’d have to think about it.”
    “Hm, good to know.”
    “I was going into the coffeehouse. Care to join me?”
    “Actually, I usually have something a bit more filling than muffins for breakfast. Do you think your parents would mind if you went somewhere else once?”
    “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”
    “Come on, then. I’ll drive.”
    “No offense, but I really don’t want to be seen in a police car. Just tell me where we’re going, and I’ll meet you there.”
    We ended up at The Grub, a small diner near the edge of town. It was a popular place, especially with the local police, firefighters and truckers. We went inside, where everyone called out to Mike as we walked to a back booth. A young blonde waitress came over with two coffee mugs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. “Hiya, Mike,” she said as she put the mugs down in front of us. “Little late this morning, aren’t ya?”
    “I had a stop to make first, Cassie,” he replied as she poured his coffee.
    She looked at me. “Ya want some coffee?”
    “No, thank you though. Could I have some orange juice?”
    Nodding, she turned to Mike. “Your usual breakfast?”
    “Make it two orders.”
    She looked down her nose at me before walking off. “Is she always this friendly to new customers?”
    “Relax,” he said. “She probably sees you as competition. She’s been after me for the last six months.”
    “She can have you,” I said.
    “Ouch, harsh. A bit grumpy this morning, aren’t you? Maybe you need something stronger than orange juice.”
    “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    “Still upset about Cliff Scott’s death?”
    “No, it was something else. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” I said, quickly changing the subject. There was no way I was going to explain to him about being haunted by a ghost.
    “I know you haven’t given your statement yet, but I wanted to go over your conversation with Cliff again.”
    “Why?”
    “Let’s just say I’m curious.”
    “Let’s just say I don’t believe you.”
    Mike cleared his throat. “I might have gotten a call from someone last night, telling me I should help you.”
    “Who would do that…oh, your grandfather.”
    “Yeah. I’m pretty sure your grandmother was behind it. Frankly, I don’t know what you need help with. Like I said last night, officially it’s a suicide.”
    “And like I told you yesterday, your grandfather and Cliff both thought this was murder, not suicide.”
    “Have you uncovered anything that would make me change my mind?”
    “Aggie and Cliff both said that Stanley was left-handed. The gun was found in his right hand.”
    “Maybe he was ambidextrous.”
    “I’ll ask Aggie. There was no suicide note.”
    “Not all suicides leave a note.”
    “Cliff believed there was no way Stanley would kill himself without blaming someone for driving him to it. He said Stanley was too narcissistic.”
    “I don’t think that would keep him from offing himself,” Mike replied as Cassie put our plates in front of us. “Thanks, Cassie.”
    “Who killed themselves?” she said.
    “No one,” I said. “It’s a hypothetical situation.”
    “Oh,” Cassie said, losing interest and walking away.
    “Sorry, I didn’t think it was any of her business.”
    “She’s too young to know about the Ashtons. Heck, so are we, for that matter. Did Crazy Aggie…”
    “I wish you’d stop calling her that.”
    “Fine. Did Aggie see anyone leaving the house after she heard the