Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery (2 page)

Emma called to her, “Max said to ‘fix it,’ Joanna. What did he mean by that?”

Joanna Reid stopped in her tracks. She didn’t turn to look at Emma but hung suspended, half in and half out of her vehicle, for several seconds before disappearing into the driver’s seat. With a squeal of rubber, she pulled away from the curb.

two

“You really saw the
ghost of Max Naiman?” Phil Bowers sounded as excited as a kid meeting his sports hero. “Man, I loved his movies. My sons did, too. Never missed a one.”

He and Emma were on horseback, riding side by side along a trail in the hills outside Julian, the historic gold-mining town in the mountains north of San Diego. Phil was astride Astro, his large chestnut stallion, while Emma rode Daisy, a paint with a friendly disposition that was a new addition to the Bowers ranch. Trotting alongside them were Baby and Sweetie Pie, two German shepherds who also lived at the ranch. As they rode, she told Phil about her lunch with Joanna Reid.

Emma had driven straight to Julian after leaving the Ivy, spending much of the three-hour drive thinking about her lunch with Joanna. Whether or not Joanna wanted to discuss the appearance of Max’s ghost, Emma was now intrigued enough to want to know more, especially since Joanna had dropped the bomb that Max may have driven over the cliff on purpose. The question was how much did she want to be involved. The last time she had investigated a ghost’s death, it had resulted in pain and turmoil for her own family.

“I didn’t see him, Phil, I only heard him.”

“But you knew him? I mean, when he was alive, you actually knew him?”

Emma nodded, still thinking about what the ghost had said.

“What was he like?”

The eagerness in Phil’s voice brought Emma out of her thoughts and made her giggle. “Good grief, Phil, you sound like a star-struck groupie instead of a middle-aged tax attorney.”

Emma glanced over at Phil and smiled. He didn’t look like a tax attorney either. Seated comfortably on Astro, he looked like a mature rancher, which he was in addition to being a very successful lawyer. Most of the week he lived in San Diego close to his thriving law practice and his two grown sons. On weekends he drove up to Julian, where he lived on his family’s ranch with his aunt and uncle, Susan and Glen Steveson. Emma had visited Phil in San Diego and was amazed at how easily he fit into both the ranching and the business worlds. He was a confident man, sure of himself and blessed with both intelligence and street smarts. He was also compassionate and kind.

“Hey, I wanted to be him—or at least the characters he played.” Phil shot off a wink at Emma. “Any guy who got to kiss Angelina Jolie, Sandra Bullock,
and
Halle Berry is my hero.”

“And what about me?” Emma asked playfully.

“What about you?”

“I’ve kissed Max Naiman.”

Phil abruptly pulled up Astro and stared at Emma. “Are you kidding me?”

Emma slowed Daisy but didn’t stop. She kept moving and shot over her shoulder, “Nope. Kissed him plenty of times.”

Astro and Phil came alongside again. “Wow, my lips have kissed the lips that kissed the lips that kissed those hotties. It’s like”—he paused to think—“it’s like three degrees of kissing separation.”

Emma giggled again. “It’s not like I’ve had numerous passionate liplocks with Max, but our lips did touch on holidays and at dinner parties.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

They rode along in comfortable silence until Phil halted Astro and dismounted. Emma took the cue and got off Daisy. They were at a lookout point on the trail with a lovely view of the valley below. Years before, someone had installed a bench facing the view to give riders and hikers a place to rest and contemplate.

As soon as Emma had arrived at the cabin she’d built across from the Bowers ranch, Phil had called and suggested a short pre-dinner ride. He gave her time to change her clothes and stretch her legs after the long drive from Los Angeles. When she walked over to the Bowers place, Phil and the horses were waiting, and Phil had a special twinkle in his eye that made Emma glow.

At the lookout, the dogs dashed about, running and chasing each other, while Phil pulled a saddlebag from Astro. From it he extracted an insulated bag holding a bottle of champagne. From a bag on the other side of the saddle, he produced two plastic cups and a couple of napkins.

“What’s the occasion?” asked Emma.

Phil cocked an eyebrow in her direction. “I have to tell you? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

With great flair, he directed Emma to have a seat on one end of the bench and placed a napkin across her lap.

Holding the champagne bottle and pointing it away from them, he twisted off the wire cage and put another napkin over the stopper. “This could be tricky. After all that jostling on the horse, it might be a geyser.”

Slowly Phil loosened the cork, bit by bit, until there was a pop. It wasn’t a geyser, but some of the champagne did spill onto the ground. He turned back to Emma, pleased as punch with himself to have saved most of the bubbly.

“Madam?” he offered.

With a wide smile, Emma held out both glasses while Phil filled them. Done with his waiter chores, he put a napkin over the top of the bottle and returned it to the thermal bag to keep it cool, then he took a seat on the bench next to Emma.

He held out his glass to her. “Here’s to our two-year anniversary, Fancy Pants.”

She smiled at his nickname for her—a nickname that had started out as anything but friendly. “But we didn’t start dating until October.”

“Ah, but we met two years ago right here in Julian.”

“But in mid-May, not the beginning of the month.” She tried to keep her face straight while she teased him, but she couldn’t.

“You going to toast with me or argue with me?”

In response, Emma leaned forward, snatched Phil’s cowboy hat off his bald head, and planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth, letting her lips linger long enough to be tickled by his thick, graying moustache. With the kiss complete, she tapped her plastic glass against his. “To our second anniversary, Cowboy.”

“I wanted to celebrate this weekend,” Phil explained after taking a sip, “because it looks like my trip to Canada with my boys is on after all. We’ll be gone for almost three weeks in May. With Richard getting married in the fall and Tom off to grad school about the same time, it will probably be our last opportunity to spend this much time together.”

Emma fully understood. With Kelly away at Harvard, time with her daughter had become precious gifts snatched whenever Kelly came home. Soon both she and Phil would have empty nests. It was a sad yet exciting part of being a parent.

They sipped their champagne and looked out at the view, Emma cuddled against Phil’s strong body, content with themselves and with each other. The dogs, done playing, settled down under a tree while the horses waited patiently.

Several minutes later, Phil reached again for the champagne bottle and topped off their glasses. “Do you think Max was talking about his own death when he said to fix it, or was it something else?”

“I don’t know, Phil. Max had a great career going. I don’t know what his marriage was like, but he didn’t seem the type to crack and take his own life.” She ran a hand through her short blond hair. “He did, however, like his booze and had been stopped for DUIs in the past. The suggestion that he drove off the road deliberately was probably Joanna’s way of infusing the situation with additional drama.”

Phil took a drink and rolled the information around in his head. “So, how can I help you with this Max Naiman thing? I have a friend in law enforcement who might be able to get a copy of the police report on the accident.”

Emma straightened and leaned against the back of the bench. “There is no Max Naiman thing. Joanna asked to meet with me. We met, and she pushed aside any suggestions of mine to meet further.” She took a large swallow of champagne. “End of story.”

Amused, Phil topped off her glass again. “Look me in the eye, Fancy Pants, and tell me you aren’t the least bit curious about what happened to Max and why his ghost has surfaced now.”

Leaning forward, Emma latched her blue eyes onto Phil’s gray ones. “I’m not the least—,” she started, then stopped, annoyed with herself that she couldn’t finish the statement truthfully. “I don’t want to get involved,” she said instead and looked away.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Blowing out a gust of frustrated air, Emma leaned back again and stared up at the branches of the trees high overhead. “You’re right, Phil, I am curious about what happened with Max, and I do want to try to talk to him. But after what happened in Catalina, I’m a little gun-shy about uncovering other people’s secrets.”

Phil put down the bottle. Getting off the bench, he squatted in front of Emma and took her hands in his. “What happened in Catalina was not your fault.” He could tell by the way she avoided looking at him that she wasn’t convinced. “You brought Tessa justice. Didn’t she deserve that?”

Emma nodded but still didn’t look at Phil. She kept her eyes turned up toward the trees, hoping to ward off the tears she felt damming up behind her eyes.

“It was unfortunate how it played out,” he added. “But the outcome was not your fault.”

Emma lowered her chin and looked at Phil. “I still intend to mind my own business, whether or not Joanna calls and no matter what she offers.”

“Offers?”

“Yes. She offered to pay me to get rid of Max’s ghost. Pretty much said I could name my price.”

“A paying gig, no less?” He laughed. “This is opening up a whole new career for you, Fancy Pants.”

“I don’t want a new career,” she insisted with knitted brows. “I’m happy with the TV show, being a mom, and spending part of my time down here.”

Phil held up an index finger. “Don’t be so hasty. That TV show may not last forever.”

“I’m financially comfortable, Phil, no matter what happens to that show, and you know it.”

“I’m not saying do it full-time, just when someone needs help. Until now you’ve only helped ghosts. There might be some live people, like Joanna, who could use your services.”

“No, thanks. I’ll leave being a professional spirit go-between to Milo.” Emma got up and stretched. “Speaking of ghosts, have you seen Granny lately? She’s been MIA from the house for several days at a stretch for the past month—not like her at all.”

Granny was Emma’s great-great-great-grandmother Ish Rey-nolds, a hundred-plus-year-old ghost better known as Granny Apples because of the apple pies she had made when she was alive. Granny was the reason Emma had discovered Julian. She was also the reason Emma discovered she had the gift to see and speak with spirits—and the reason Emma met and fell in love with Phil Bowers.

“You know I can’t see or hear Granny.” Phil gave her a coy smile.

“Nice try, Cowboy. You may not be able to see or hear her, but you’ve become pretty perceptive about knowing when she’s around.”

“No flies on you, Fancy Pants.”

Phil kicked back the champagne in his glass. He picked up the bottle and asked through gesture if Emma wanted more. She shook her head and finished off what she had. Phil emptied the remaining champagne onto the ground and packed the bottle back into his saddlebag. He did the same with their glasses, the napkins, and the cork, packing out everything they had packed in.

Emma climbed back on Daisy. “So, have you
sensed
Granny around lately?”

“Who do you think helped me pick out your anniversary present?”

“What anniversary present?”

“You’re sitting on it.”

“Daisy?”

“Happy anniversary, Fancy Pants. You are officially a horsewoman. We’ll keep Daisy in our stable for you with our horses.” Phil whistled to the dogs and mounted Astro. “Unless, of course, you don’t like her.”

Emma squealed with delight. “No, Phil, she’s perfect.”

She leaned over toward Phil. He cozied Astro up to Daisy and met Emma halfway for a thank-you kiss.

“But how did Granny help you pick out Daisy?”

He laughed. “Granny and I have developed our own communication system. We don’t need a mediator.” When he saw Emma’s puzzled look, he continued. “It’s simple. I ask Granny a yes or no question. If it’s yes, she blows into my right ear. If it’s no, she blows into my left ear.”

“Ghosts don’t have breath, Phil; they can’t blow anything anywhere, although I’ve known them to create air currents or gusts.”

“Well, somehow she moves the air on one side or the other to get her point across. I’d narrowed your gift down to between two horses. Granny cast the final vote for Daisy.” He gave Emma a blunt nod. “So if the nag throws you, blame Granny.”

Emma stared at Phil, stunned that he and Granny had figured out how to communicate between themselves without her, then reminded herself with a smile that Phil wasn’t just smart, he was resourceful. “Are you sure it’s Granny you’re talking to? If you can’t hear or see her, who knows who you might be conversing with. Might be the ghost of Pancho Villa or even Richard Nixon.”

“Or maybe it’s the spirit of Marilyn Monroe,” he shot back at her. “I wouldn’t mind that one bit.”

Emma was about to say something sassy when her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pants pocket and looked at it. “It’s Kelly.” She hit the answer button. “Kelly?”

After a few seconds, Emma gave up and ended the call. “Darn, no decent reception up here.”

“We’ll be home soon. Hope it’s nothing important.”

“Before I left the cabin I emailed her, asking if she’d heard anything from Lainey Naiman lately. I’m pretty sure they’re still in touch, though I’m not sure how often.”

Phil had pointed Astro toward home but now turned his mount around to face Emma and Daisy. “What happened to not wanting to be involved?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” He directed Astro back down the trail. “Then I’m sticking to the story that Marilyn Monroe helped pick out that horse.”

three

As soon as they
returned to the ranch, Phil told Emma to go call Kelly. He and Hector Mendoza, a strapping local high-school boy who worked at the ranch part-time, would take care of the horses. Working on the ranch was a Mendoza family tradition. Two brothers before Hector had held the job, each relinquishing it to the next in line when the current one went off to college or entered a full-time career. No longer a working ranch, Phil’s family now leased out most of their land and kept just a few acres and a handful of horses for themselves.

Emma handed Hector the reins to Daisy and redialed Kelly while she strolled toward the house. Kelly’s voicemail kicked in as Emma climbed the steps to the redwood deck at the back of the house. Baby and Sweetie Pie had run ahead of her and were now on the deck slurping at their water bowl while Killer, the family’s tiny bichon frisé, danced and yipped excitedly from the other side of the closed patio door to welcome everyone home.

“Kelly, it’s Mom,” Emma said to the machine. “Sorry, we were out riding, and the reception was awful. Give me a call back.” Kelly was Emma’s twenty-year-old daughter. She lived in Boston, finishing up her sophomore year at Harvard.

The back patio slider door opened, and Killer made a beeline for Emma. Happy to see her, the little dog danced on his hind legs for attention. After a few pats, he sniffed around her like a bloodhound.

“He’s looking for Archie,” explained Susan Steveson, Phil’s aunt, as she came through the patio door with a tray holding glasses of lemonade. “And Granny.”

“Sorry, pal,” Emma said to the white ball of fluff at her feet as she took a seat at the large wooden patio table, “but Archie stayed home this time.” Killer sat at her feet looking up at her, his black button eyes bright with expectation, as if she might pull Archie out of her pocket at any moment.

Archie, the black Scottish terrier belonging to Emma’s parents, often traveled with her to Julian. He’d made friends with the Bowers animals, especially Killer. Granny was also a hit with the dogs and played with them regularly. Like Emma, the animals could see and hear ghosts.

Emma shrugged at the determined animal. “Not sure where Granny is these days.”

“She pops in and out,” answered Susan, putting the tray down on the table in front of Emma. “But I don’t think she’s been around for a while.”

Emma looked at Susan with surprise. “Don’t tell me you chat with her like Phil does.”

Susan laughed. “No, it still creeps me out, though not as much as it used to.” She lowered her plump, sturdy body into a chair at the table and pushed her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose with one finger. “But I know when she’s here because of the way the dogs behave, especially Killer. He dances and runs around like he’s playing all by himself.”

She looked down at Killer, who’d finally realized Emma was alone and laid down on the deck to pout. “But we know better, don’t we, boy?”

Susan took a glass from the tray. “So, you like Daisy?”

A wide smile crossed Emma’s face as she helped herself to a glass of lemonade. “I love Daisy.” Emma looked out across the property toward the stable. “Hard to believe it’s already been two years since I first came to your door.”

“Yes, a lot of water’s gone under the bridge since my nephew tried to run you off the property.” Susan chuckled. Phil’s aunt was an optimist with a healthy dose of reality. “Glad you persisted. You both seem so much happier these days.”

Emma reached out and briefly touched Susan’s arm with affection. “Yes, Susan, I’d say we are. Both of us were going through ugly divorces then, and look where we are now.”

“You think that nephew of mine and you will ever live under one roof?”

The question surprised Emma. Susan wasn’t one to meddle in other people’s business. Neither was Elizabeth Miller, Emma’s mother, yet both had asked the same question in less than two weeks. Emma knew that Susan and her mother had become friends. Now she wondered if they were in cahoots in other ways.

“We practically live together now—at least we do when I’m here at the cabin.”

Emma’s “cabin” was a spacious three-bedroom, two-story home with two stone fireplaces, a combination office/den, and a state-of-the-art kitchen. It was directly across from the entrance to the ranch and shared the same access road. The cabin was located on the property where Granny’s homestead had been built back in the late 1800s—property Phil and his family deeded over to Emma, returning it back to its original family.

From the time Emma had started building the cabin, she’d driven down to Julian at least twice a month. As soon as it was near completion, she and Phil started staying at the cabin in domestic bliss. When she wasn’t in Julian, Phil looked after the place. He drove up to Julian from San Diego almost every Thursday night and often worked from Julian if there was no need for him to be physically at his law firm. Emma knew that he often stayed at the cabin without her and worked from the cabin, preferring the quiet over the hustle and bustle at the ranch. Sometimes Phil drove up to Pasadena, where Emma lived with her parents, but it wasn’t the same as when they stayed at the cabin. Over time and without her really realizing it, the cabin had become their home.

“True,” was all Susan replied, but she studied Emma with a frankness that announced living together wasn’t what she meant.

Emma knew Phil wanted to marry her. They had talked about it several times. She loved Phil Bowers deeply, with a mature love she’d never had for the arrogant and vain Grant Whitecastle. Phil made her feel safe and secure and in a heartbeat could turn her insides to jelly like a lovesick teenager. More importantly, she trusted him as she had never trusted Grant.

“Susan,” Emma began, “I love Phil; please don’t ever doubt that.”

Phil’s aunt looked at Emma, her rosy cheeks softened with understanding. “I know that, dear. You wear it like those tight jeans you favor.”

Emma laughed. “Are you saying my jeans are too tight?”

Susan leaned forward, saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “Not one bit. If I had your figure, I’d be wearing them, too.”

She straightened and took a drink of lemonade, keeping her twinkling eyes on Emma. “I know you two will never have a traditional marriage with both of you in one spot night and day, like me and Glen. You have your career in Los Angeles, and Phil has his down here. You seem to have worked out the logistics of being together, and your kids get along fine, but I’m just old-fashioned enough to want to see you two wed.” She lightly slapped the table with the hand not holding the glass. “There, now I’ve said it.”

“It’s about time someone did.”

Emma whipped her head around at the voice only she heard—she and Killer. The little dog hopped up and started dancing on his hind legs.

“Granny must be here,” Susan announced. Her voice was even, but a slight shiver ran through it. “That’s how that fool dog behaves when she’s around.”

Emma looked over at the railing, where Killer was circling like a whirling dervish around a slim, hazy column only Emma and the dog could see. In short order, the column materialized into the outline of a diminutive pioneer woman dressed in a floor-length skirt, long-sleeved blouse, and boots. Her face was weathered and slightly pinched. A thick braid of hair circled her head. “You and Phil need to get hitched. He’s a darn fine man.”

“You show up now?” Emma said to the ghost. “Just in time for
this
conversation? How convenient.”

“Don’t get testy with me,” the apparition shot back. “I’m just giving my opinion.” The ornery ghost stuck out her pointed chin. “And I didn’t just show up. I was listening while you told Phil about that Max ghost. Then I disappeared, seeing he was getting all mushy with you.”

Emma sighed and turned back to Susan. “Seems Granny agrees with you and Mother about Phil and me.” Emma put her glass down. “Susan, I’ve come to think of you like a second mother, so I’m going to tell you what I told my own mother.” She fiddled with a stray leaf that had drifted onto the table. “I love Phil so much, I worry about hurting him.”

“That’s only natural, dear. No one wants to hurt those they love, but sometimes it happens.”

“I’ve only known two men in my life, and I’ve loved both—Grant and Phil.” Emma paused to put her thoughts in order, worried about coming off as tacky with a verbal misstep. “I worry about Phil being a rebound, since I met him while in the middle of my divorce from Grant.” She paused to take a breath. “Maybe I should date more—see other men before deciding he’s the one I want to be with forever. The last thing I want is another divorce.”

Emma looked from Susan to Granny. “Do you both understand that?”

The ghost scowled. “What I understand is Phil is a good man, and you’re a fool if you let him get away.”

Emma smiled and turned back to Susan. “Granny just reminded me that good men don’t grow on trees.”

“And Granny would be right.” Susan smiled at Emma. “Good women don’t grow on trees either.”

Susan stood up and went to the railing. She looked out over the trees and rolling land a moment before turning back around. “Do you want to date someone else? Have you met someone, Emma?”

“No to both of those questions. It’s not so much wanting to date others as wondering if I should.” Confused herself about her feelings, Emma hoped she was explaining herself clearly.

Granny looked at Susan. “Would you talk some sense into the little fool?”

Susan thought it only a two-way conversation. “Believe it or not, Emma, I understand what you’re saying.”

“That’s not what she needs to hear.” Granny stomped her left foot in frustration. Emma was glad Susan couldn’t see or hear the ghost.

“The last thing I want for Phil,” Susan continued, “would be another divorce. The first one near about killed him. I know you both love each other, but I also know that, in time, what you have now won’t be enough for him.”

“That’s exactly what my mother advised me.”

“You’re mother is a very smart woman, and I’m sure, like me, she worried about making a mistake when she married. I don’t know of a sensible bride who doesn’t.” Susan pushed off from the railing and stood over Emma, lightly touching her shoulder. “Follow your heart, Emma, and it will tell you what it needs, not just what it wants.”

Susan turned to look back over the rail. Phil, done with tending the horses, was heading for the house. “But,” Susan said, watching Phil walk toward them, “you hurt my nephew any more than is usual and customary in such matters, and I’ll skin you alive myself.”

Granny crossed her arms. “I don’t know what all that customary gibberish meant, but I’ll skin ya, too.”