Free Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery by Teresa Watson Page A

a ghost with a death wish has to be some kind of joke.”
    “Why don’t you float around the room, see if you can learn anything? People might say something to each other that they won’t say to me or the police.”
    “But that’s snitching.”
    “Look at it as being a ghostly investigator.”
    “The invisible cop,” he nodded. “I can live with that.”
    “You know where to find me. Try knocking or something first, though.”
    “I’ll do my best.”
    I returned to the main room. People were still in their seats, enjoying their coffee, but many of them were looking around uncomfortably. They knew something was going on; several speculated aloud that one of the actors had fallen and literally broken a leg. I headed for our table, and found a piece of apple pie sitting on the table in front of my chair. “Thank you, Mother,” I said gratefully as I sat down.
    “People have been asking me what’s going on, and I don’t know what to tell them,” she said as I took a bite of pie. “Do you think we should make some kind of announcement?”
    “And say what? ‘I’m terribly sorry, but there’s been a murder, and you all will be questioned individually by the police?’” I whispered.
    “We have to do something,” she replied, “before they all start trying to leave.”
    Sighing, I picked up my phone and sent Mike a quick text, asking him what he wanted me to do. I looked at his reply and shook my head. “You win. Mike wants me to say something while he sets up a perimeter around the building.”
    “So what are you going to say?” Mother asked as my phone dinged again.
    “I’ll wing it,” I replied, taking another bite before I stood up. Making my way toward the stage, I smiled and nodded at people, but I didn’t stop to answer any of the questions that were thrown my way. As I climbed the steps to the stage, I could hear quiet sobbing from behind the curtain.
    Stepping to the middle of the apron, I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, folks. If I could have your attention for a minute.” Everyone turned to look at me, and immediately I got nervous. I didn’t like speaking in front of crowds.
    “What’s going on, Cam?” someone called out.
    “First of all, the committee would like to thank all of you coming out and supporting our community theatre group. The response to this event has been overwhelming, and I know that there are already discussions to do this again in a few months.”
    “Why? We haven’t even finished seeing tonight’s show!” someone else said.
    “That’s true, but I assure you that we will arrange for you to see the show on a different night, free of charge. But the rest of tonight’s performance has been cancelled, I’m afraid.”
    People started to complain, and there was the sound of chairs scraping the floor. “However, I’m afraid that you can’t leave just yet,” I said loud enough to be heard.
    “Why not?” Walt said from our table.
    Everyone looked back at me. “Well, because there’s been a little accident on the stage, and the police will want to talk to you before you leave.”
    There were plenty sounds of righteous indignation at the idea of being interviewed by the police. Thankfully, Mike came from stage right to stand next to me. “Chief Penhall, I demand that you tell us exactly what’s going on right now, or I will be filing a formal complaint in the morning,” Charles Prufrock Jr. said.
    I sighed. Prufrock was a local lawyer, and a royal pain in the buns. We had an encounter with him last year, and he had certainly not endeared himself to me, and vice versa.
    “Calm down, Mr. Prufrock,” Mike told him. “There has been an unfortunate accident tonight, and someone has passed away.”
    Gasps could be heard all through the room, and again, people stood up to leave. “This is not going well,” I said quietly.
    “It never does,” Mike replied. He gave a shrill whistle, and everyone stopped moving. “I’m sorry, folks, but like Ms. Shaw said,