The Ghost and the Mystery Writer by Anna J. McIntyre

think about what she wants to say.”
    â€œWhat if she denies seeing anything? Unless I can get my hands on her notes, we can’t very well tell her Walt was in her room, looking over her shoulder.”
    â€œUnfortunately, I expect her to deny witnessing the murder. Considering who she is, it wouldn’t be good for her public image if it got out that she witnessed a murder taking place and failed to report it.”
    â€œWhat if she didn’t witness the murder?” Danielle asked.
    â€œAre you suggesting Walt exaggerated what he read in her room?” he asked.
    Danielle shook her head. “No, on the contrary. What if she was the one who murdered Jolene? Maybe she didn’t witness the murder, but was the killer.”
    â€œDanielle, I thought you liked Ms. Hemmingway. Now you suggest she might be the killer.”
    â€œI liked Clarence Renton when I first met him, and look how that turned out.”

Chapter Twelve
    E asing the attic door open , Lily sniffed the air. The distinct scent of sweet cigar smoke drifted out from the room. Stepping into the attic, she closed the door behind her and glanced around.
    â€œWalt, are you in here?” she whispered.
    In response, the spotting scope spun around on its tripod and then came to a stop.
    â€œI’ll take that as a yes,” Lily said as she approached the attic window. “I should have gone with Dani to the police station. I wish she’d hurry up and get home. I’m dying to hear what the chief said.” Lily looked outside. Across the street the blinds to Ian’s front window were open. She assumed he was somewhere in the house.
    Lily looked to where she imagined Walt stood. “Hillary’s still in her room. I can hear her typing.” Looking back out the window, she leaned against the windowpane and let out a sigh. “Who uses a typewriter these days? Do you realize what a pain that would be, no word processor?”
    Lily stood at the window a few minutes, looking out. “It’s not much fun talking with you when you never answer me.”
    The spotting scope twirled once and stopped, barely missing Lily. She giggled and turned around, now leaning back against the edge of the windowsill. “I suppose that’s something.” Lily smiled.
    Pushing away from the windowsill, she walked to the sofa bed. It hadn’t been made out into a bed since their one attic guest over Christmas week. Lily sat down and crossed one leg over the opposing knee. “You know, this is killing me not saying something to Ian. But what could I tell him?”
    There was no response.
    Lily sighed and leaned back, staring up to the ceiling. “After Dani left this morning, I looked through the trash.”
    The room was quiet.
    â€œI was hoping Hillary might have tossed some of her notes, and then I could show them to Ian. But even if I find them now, he’ll just assume she wrote them after hearing about the murder in the paper this morning, and what will that prove?”
    Lily lifted her head and glanced to the window. “Walt, do you really think Hillary was there when Jolene was murdered?” The spotting scope rocked gently up and down—like a nod.
    â€œHmmm, I never knew spotting scope could be its own language. Do you think Hillary was involved with the murder or just witnessed it?”
    There was no response.
    â€œI have to assume you don’t have an opinion on that,” Lily said.
    A persistent knock came at the window and then stopped.
    Lily turned and faced the window. “What? Is that supposed to be Morse code or something?”
    There was another knock.
    Lily frowned. “What? I don’t know Morse code.”
    The spotting scope twirled again, and when it stopped, it was pointing out the window. Lily watched as it tilted to one side. The rim around its lens gently rapped the glass pane before the instrument settled back quietly on its tripod.
    Jumping up from the