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

shot?”
    “She didn’t say, but I’ll add it to the list of questions I already have.”
    “What did she say about that night?”
    I told him what Aggie and Stanley had told me while we ate, being careful not to mention that I had actually talked to Stanley. “Sounds like you have three different versions of what happened that night,” Mike said, pushing his empty plate to the side. “I suggest you write down what each one said, and then compare them. That will give you a better idea of what questions to ask. Too bad we can’t see the original report.”
    “Your grandfather said it was destroyed in a flood in 1978.”
    “Yeah, I checked for the file myself this morning.”
    “But I know someone who either has a copy or took the original without anyone knowing.”
    “Who?”
    “Cliff Scott.”
    “ And where did he keep this file?”
    “I’m assuming at his house.”
    Mike sat quietly for a minute. “I’ll go over there after we’re finished to check things out.”
    “I’ll go with you.”
    “Oh no, you won’t. This is an official police investigation. I can’t have a civilian messing up a crime scene.”
    “His house isn’t a crime scene!”
    “But it is a part of the official investigation. We’re trying to figure out who wanted him dead. We might find some answers in his personal papers.”
    “But I can help you go through them.”
    “You don’t know what to look for, Cam,” Mike said.
    We glared at each other for a minute. “At least let me look at the report when you find it.”
    “I can do that,” he said as he pulled out his wallet. “I’ve got to get going.”
    “Are you sure I can’t go with you?”
    “For the last time, no. Go do whatever it is you do when you aren’t working on a book.”
    “I work at the bookstore or the coffeehouse, depending on who needs me more.”
    “Then go do that,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll call you later.”
    I pulled out my phone as he left and quickly looked up Cliff Scott’s address. Ten minutes later, I parked up the street from Cliff’s house and got out. It was a pale yellow clapboard house surrounded by oak trees that sat at the end of a cul-de-sac. There were two houses that sat at least 150 yards from his house on either side. An empty carport sat on the left side, and a porch swing hung from one of the large trees in the front yard. I wondered what was going to happen to the house now that Cliff was gone. I imagined a family with small children living there, the kids running around the yard chasing each other. It was the type of house that I hoped to live in one day with a family of my own. The house on the left looked empty, and the house on the right looked just like Cliff’s, except it was white.
    “What are you doing here?”
    I jumped, startled, and turned to see Mike standing there. “Don’t sneak up on a person like that!”
    “You aren’t even supposed to be here!” he said.
    “You said I couldn’t go with you. You didn’t say anything about me coming here on my own.”
    “Don’t split hairs, Camille Shaw,” he growled. “I could have you arrested for interfering in an official investigation.”
    “I’m just standing here! How am I interfering?”
    Mike started to answer me, but stopped and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
    “Smell what?”
    “Gas,” he replied, sniffing the air again.
    “Now that you mention it, yes, I do.”
    He started toward the house and I followed him. “Stay there,” he said.
    “No chance.”
    “Don’t argue with me…”
    “Look!” I cut him off and pointed to the side of the house. “Fire!”
    “Get back!” he yelled, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the street . He threw me to the ground behind his Bronco before throwing himself on top of me…just as the house blew up.

Chapter 12
    Debris rained down on us. Mike reached for his walkie talkie. “This is Chief Penhall. We’ve got a house explosion and fire at 112 Oak Lawn Road. Send EMS and a