Sue Ann Jaffarian - [Granny Apples 01]

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Emma took two steps toward Carolyn, hoping to head off any possible problem, when she heard Grant say something. She stopped in her tracks and turned back to him.

  “I’m sorry, Grant. What did you say?”

  “I said, get over it, Emma. I’m never coming back.”

  She glanced over at Carolyn, relieved to see that Granny Apples had once again moved on. She was returning to the patio, moving like a puff of steam in Emma’s direction. Trailing the ghost was Archie, ball in mouth, tail wagging. It seemed Archie was clairvoyant, too. Emma laughed.

  “You think that’s funny, Emma? You think I don’t mean it?”

  Throwing her good humor aside like an annoying cape, Emma turned on him. “I hope you do mean it, Grant. Otherwise, you’ve put me, Kelly, and both our families through a lot of pain for nothing.”

  Grant Whitecastle started to say something more, but Emma raised her hand, stopping him.

  “Live your life, Grant, whatever way you wish to live it. All I want is what’s mine. Half of our assets and half of Kelly’s support and education. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’d better believe I mean it.”

  Appearing next to Grant, Granny caught Emma’s eye and winked at her.

  Grant stared at Emma. “What happened to you, Emma? You’ve become such a bitch.”

  “You happened to me, Grant.”

  As soon as the clump of dark blond hair fell to the bathroom tile, Emma grabbed another handful. She sawed away at it with a large pair of scissors. Soon it was on the floor with the others, creating a soft miniature haystack. She stopped cutting just long enough to grab her wine glass and take a big swig. Then it was back to work with the shears.

  “Darn Grant. Darn Carolyn. Darn ghost.” Putting down the scissors, she refilled her glass from a half-empty bottle resting on the bathroom vanity.

  The rest of the afternoon, Emma didn’t see the ghost of Granny Apples again. But she did see how young and sexy Carolyn Bryant looked in her Juicy Couture and long red hair. Even the men who were appalled by Grant’s behavior couldn’t keep their eyes from caressing the young home wrecker. No matter how much bravado she’d displayed to Grant, Emma felt beaten, old, and used up next to Carolyn. As soon as the last of their guests had left, Emma helped clean up, then retreated to her room with the bottle of wine.

  Kelly was gone, too. She was going to spend three weeks with Grant and Carolyn, most of it in Italy at the villa of a friend of theirs—or rather, a friend of Grant’s. When she and Grant officially split up, most of their show-biz friends dropped Emma like a bad review. And since most of their socializing had been centered around Hollywood, that meant she’d left the marriage with no friends except for Tracy. It had been the harsh reality of being the castoff non-show-business spouse of a powerful TV personality.

  Emma was taking another drink of wine when she heard a noise no louder than the rustle of leaves coming from her bedroom. It was accompanied by a slight chill in the air.

  Without leaving the bathroom, she called out, “If that’s you, Granny, tell me what you want straight out or don’t come back. I’m having a breakdown here. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

  “I can tell you what Granny wants.”

  Emma spun around. Standing at the door between the bedroom and bathroom was Elizabeth Miller. She was freshly showered and dressed in a nightgown and matching robe the color of ripe apricots. Her silvery hair, worn in a becoming bob, framed her lovely and comforting face. Startled at the sight of her daughter’s do-it-yourself hairdo, she raised a hand to her mouth. But just as quickly, she collected herself.

  “I’m sorry, dear, for the intrusion. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  Wine glass in one hand, scissors in the other, Emma stood in front of her mother as if she’d been caught raiding the cookie jar. “I was just … um … just … ”

  “Having a breakdown?”

  Instead of answering, Emma looked at her reflection in the mirror. On the left side of her head, her hair had been hacked off just below the ear. The right side was still shoulder length. Quiet tears started running down her cheeks at the carnage.

  “Grant told me he liked my hair longer.”

  “So you thought you’d fix his wagon by cutting it off?”

  When Emma shook her head, half of her hair moved. “Not really, Mother.” She put down the scissors and wine glass. Grabbing a bunch of tissues from a nearby box, she wiped her face and nose. “I didn’t cut it for revenge. At least I don’t think so. Grant likes long hair. Look at Carolyn’s hair. It’s down the middle of her back.”

  “The tart was wearing hair extensions. I’ll guarantee it.”

  Emma turned to give her mother a weak smile. “Maybe so, but I just didn’t want to be the type of woman Grant Whitecastle likes anymore.”

  “Good for you.”

  Emma heard the words, but her mother’s lips never moved. If Granny was here, she needed to get Elizabeth out of the way as fast as possible. She shifted her eyes side to side as casually as she could but saw nothing.

  “Sit down, dear.” Elizabeth pulled her robe tighter around her as if warding off a chill.

  “But—,” Emma stammered.

  “Sit.”

  Emma sat in the small vanity chair as her mother picked up the scissors and stood behind her. They looked at their reflections in the mirror. Her mother gave her a look filled with encouragement.

  “I’ll just even this up for you.” She started cutting the rest of Emma’s hair. “Tomorrow you should go to my salon and have them style it properly.”

  Emma watched her mother in the mirror. She wanted to look around for Granny Apples but didn’t dare.

  After taking a couple of snips, Elizabeth said, “The ghost of Granny Apples was at the party today, wasn’t she?”

  “A ghost? Oh, Mother, don’t be silly.”

  Elizabeth smiled at her daughter’s reflection. “You never were a good liar, Emma.” She made another snip at the back of Emma’s head.

  With a deep sigh, Emma searched her brain for something to say that would be truthful but not alarming. She need not have worried. Her mother was prepared.

  “I well remember the distinct chill when Granny was near. Nothing quite like it, is there?”

  Her mother didn’t seem upset at all by the news that the ghost was back, so Emma came clean. “I didn’t exactly invite her to the party, Mother, but I’ve been trying to reach her. She wants me to help her with something.”

  “And you should.”

  “That’s what Kitty said.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emma wanted to kick herself. The wine was loosening her tongue. “I meant Milo.”

  Elizabeth stopped cutting. “You meant Kitty, dear, didn’t you?”

  Emma turned in the chair to look at her mother. Elizabeth seemed relaxed and casual about the conversation, not at all upset, as she had expected.

  “Kitty came to me, too, the night we buried her.”

  Emma’s mouth hung open, as it had many times since first learning about Granny Apples.

  At her mother’s urging, Emma turned back around in the chair. Elizabeth continued cutting and talking.

  “Kitty told me it was time to help Granny, and that you are the one to do it.”

  “Aunt Kitty came to you? You saw her?”

  “No, I didn’t see her, but I heard her. Plain as day.”

  Emma saw in the mirror that her mother had tears in her eyes. Emma snatched another tissue from the box and handed it to her.

  “I never saw Granny either, just heard her.” She paused to dab at her eyes. “Can you see them, Emma?”

  “Yes, I can. Not clearly, not like I can see you, but there is definitely a real image when I do. Almost like a hologram. And it’s not all the time. Some
times, I just hear Granny.”

  Behind her, Elizabeth shivered. “She’s here now, isn’t she? Granny, I mean.”

  “Yes, Mother. At least I heard her speak shortly after you came in. Should I ask her to leave?”

  In the mirror, Emma watched her mother shake her head.

  “No, please don’t.” She took another cut of Emma’s hair. “I was never afraid of Granny. Your father was much more concerned about her than I was. And concerned about me.”

  “That’s why he sent her away?”

  “Yes. He thought he was protecting me.”

  “Did Dad ever hear or see her?”

  “Not that I know of. But I think if he knows she’s back, he’ll become alarmed again. I really don’t want that.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head and glanced around the bathroom. “Granny, I know you’re here. I can feel you.”

  Emma glanced around, too, and this time saw Granny Apples. She was perched on the edge of the tub, listening.

  “I’m right here, Elizabeth,” the ghost said.

  At the sound, Elizabeth jerked her head around, then relaxed. A small smile crossed her face.

  “She’s seated on the edge of the tub,” Emma told her mother.

  Elizabeth glanced in the direction Emma indicated, then turned back to look at Emma in the mirror. “It’s quite simple, really. Granny wants someone to find out who killed her and her husband. Since we’re descended from her only son, Winston Reynolds, she feels one of us should do it.” She turned back toward the tub. “Is that correct, Ish?”

  “Yes,” the ghost replied in her whispery voice. “Someone shot my man, Jacob, and hung me. I want to know who and why.”

  Emma was startled. “But that was over a hundred years ago, wasn’t it? How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, dear,” Elizabeth told her. “You were always so good at puzzles.”

  “But Mother …”

  Elizabeth started to cut the last bit of Emma’s hair. “Kelly’s gone for a few weeks, and your father and I will be leaving in a couple of days. It will be a good project for you while we’re gone. And it might even keep you out of mischief.”

  When she finished cutting, Elizabeth cupped her daughter’s hair gently near her ears and examined the look in the mirror.

  “You know, Emma, a really short, layered style might look darling on you. Instead of going to my stuffy old salon, why don’t you make an appointment at that trendy new shop on Colorado Boulevard? I’ve heard good things about it. I’ll bet they could give you a whole new look, if that’s what you’re after.”

  Elizabeth turned toward the tub. “What do you think, Granny?”

  “Better than that ol’ tart, that’s for sure.” Granny paused, then added, “She’s no real redhead neither.”

  Emma and her mother snapped their heads around to stare at the tub.

  Granny shrugged. “Just thought you folks should know.”

  Dressed in linen trousers, a sleeveless blouse, and a bulky sweater, Emma sat once again at the wooden table in the darkened room in Milo’s house. In front of her was a large pad of lined note paper; in her hand, a pen. This time she’d come prepared.

  Following her mother’s advice, she’d gone to the new, hip hair salon on Colorado Boulevard and had them reshape her chopped-off hair. While she was at it, she had highlights added. The end result was a very short, stylish cut that enhanced her large blue eyes and made her look younger. It took some getting used to, but it was a stunning look and easy to care for.

  Only a couple of days had passed since Emma, her mother, and Granny had had their girl’s night in the bathroom, and Emma hadn’t had time to focus on the task of helping Granny. But now, with her parents gone on their trip and Kelly in Europe with Grant, Emma found herself eager to delve into what had happened to Ish and Jacob Reynolds over a hundred years ago in Julian.

  She’d returned to Milo for help. She felt certain that Granny would talk to her now without him, but she still was on shaky ground when it came to conversing with spirits. And Milo was eager to assist Emma. In all his years working with the dead, he’d never had a live person partner up with one for a specific purpose, and he was excited to be a part of it. He was also curious about Emma Whitecastle. It was obvious that she could both hear and see spirits, but would she also be able to discern spirits of other dead individuals beyond her own ancestors and family? And if she could, would she be open to her gift or shut it out once her mission for Granny Apples was completed?

  The candles were lit, the room cold. Emma and Milo sat across the table from each other. Granny was positioned between them, her hazy image stronger than ever in anticipation of finally receiving help.

  “I was in the house making pies for the church social when I heard the shots.” Granny’s whispery voice was steady and even. “I ran out of the house and found Jacob behind the barn. He was dead. Shot in the back.”

  “Did the sheriff suspect you?” asked Emma.

  “No. He asked questions, that’s all. There were footsteps in the dirt. Big feet in boots. And Jacob had been beaten first.”

  “You didn’t hear anything but the shots?”

  “The wind was blowing hard that day. I was in the house, busy. Winston had gone to town to meet his friend Billy.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have done it or why?”

  “Near as I can tell, it was for the gold.”

  Emma and Milo looked across the table at each other but remained silent.

  “A few weeks before, Jacob found gold on our property, near the stream. That’s why we left Kansas, to chase gold. Jacob never found enough to get rich, but we were able to buy our homestead and settle down. It’d been nearly twenty years since he stopped panning. I thought he’d gotten over it. But I guess once you get gold fever, you have it forever. I told him not to tell anyone—that he should wait until we’d mined a fair amount before the claim jumpers and ruffians got wind of it. But Jacob didn’t listen. He got drunk in town and told everyone. It’d been a fair number of years since any real gold had been found in the area, so people were excited.

  “After we buried Jacob, lots of folks offered to buy the property, mostly for the gold. Winston hated farming and wanted to go somewhere to school. Always set his heart on being a lawyer. But I loved the land. Couldn’t think of selling it. I figured we could find enough gold to send Winston to school, or maybe sell a couple of small claims to do it. I could always hire someone to help with the farm chores.”

  “So that’s how Winston got up here to the Los Angeles area and started our family?”

  “Not while I was alive. Never got the chance. Before we made the decision of what to do, I was killed.”

  Emma looked over at the ghost. Her image was pulsating between clear and fading in its visibility. “Granny, if this is too difficult, we can stop.”

  “I’ve waited over a hundred years to tell this story. By God, I’m going to tell it.”

  “Okay, but let us know if you want to stop.”

  Milo looked from the ghost to Emma, pleased with the way Emma was handling the situation. Unlike her earlier visits, she was handling this encounter with Granny well, giving the ghost the same consideration as she would a live person. It usually took newbies more time than this to get comfortable with the idea of conversing with the dead. His hopes for Emma’s gift were growing.

  “I was in the barn feeding the livestock. It was early in the morning, just a few weeks after we buried Jacob. I heard heavy steps. It was two men. One of them struck me to the ground.”

  “Did you know them?”

  Granny shook her head. “They wore hoods and surprised me. When I came to, I was by the old oak with a rope around my neck. There was a third man, also hooded.”

  Emma shivered, but i
t wasn’t from the cold air. “What about Winston?”

  “He was out in the far field plowing, getting an early start.”

  The spirit’s image wavered, and Milo and Emma thought they would lose her. The air got colder, and the image strengthened.

  “The third man told me they didn’t take to women killing their men. Said they were doing what the law wouldn’t. Before I could say anything, I was gone.”

  During Granny’s story, Emma had taken notes. She looked them over once Granny was done.

  “Can Jacob tell you who shot him?” Emma asked. “I mean, haven’t you seen him there—wherever you are?”

  “He never saw them. He was only half conscious during the beating. Don’t even remember being shot.”

  “Can he come here and talk to me? It might help.”

  “He don’t want to.”

  Milo interrupted. “Emma, it’s not like the spirits are all hanging about in some big room, waiting to be called.” He glanced at Granny. “You see, we’re not really sure how it works. Some believe that spirits stay on earth because they have unfinished business, like Granny. I’ve been working with the spirit world for decades, and even I know very little. And sometimes what I think I know is turned on its ear. But basically, I believe they come and go at random, with or without something that ties them here. Some have no desire to return to earth and commune with the living. Others are here all the time. Some have a specific purpose. Others just enjoy being around us and familiar places.”

  “So,” Emma said, addressing him, “it’s just a go-with-the-flow kind of thing.”

  “Pretty much, yes. Except that it does seem that they are only heard and seen when they want to be, providing the living person is able to discern them. Not everyone is, which is why people come to me. I am the bridge to those without the gift.”