Susan held up a pitcher of iced coffee and asked, “Or would you prefer iced tea? We have both.”
“Iced coffee would be wonderful, Mrs. Bowers.”
“It’s not Bowers, it’s Steveson.”
“Iced coffee then, Mrs. Stevenson.”
“Just Steveson, without the n. But call me Susan. My maiden name was Bowers.”
Susan Steveson busied herself pouring iced coffee into tall glasses. “And what is your name? I’m afraid my nephew never told me before he took off.” She glanced up at Emma. “He did say you were pretty though. And he’s right.”
Feeling a blush forming, Emma put the wine down on the counter and looked out the sliding doors. Beyond the deck was a gorgeous view of a rolling meadow, and beyond that, a wooded area.
She looked back at Susan. “My name’s Emma. Emma Whitecastle.”
Susan set a full glass and long spoon in front of Emma, then pushed a sugar bowl and creamer toward her. “You’ll have to sweeten it yourself. I also have artificial sweetener, if you’d like.”
Emma took a small sip. The coffee had a faint taste of vanilla. It didn’t need sugar. She poured in a little milk and stirred. “It’s delicious.”
“Whitecastle.” Susan rolled the name around on her tongue like a gumdrop while she stirred sugar into her own coffee. “Unusual name. You related to that fool on TV?”
“That fool is my husband.”
“Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have called him a fool.”
“It’s okay. He’s actually a soon-to-be ex-husband.” She paused to take a sip of coffee. “And he is a fool.”
Susan eyed Emma over her glass. “Something tells me he’s a bigger fool to let you go.”
Emma blushed again. “I don’t think Phil would agree with you. He’s sure I’m in cahoots with this Ian Reynolds person.”
“My nephew has his own problems. He’s in the middle of a divorce himself. Married over twenty-five years, then one day his wife runs off with someone else. Fortunately, his kids were already grown and out of the house.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. About his divorce, I mean. I have one daughter, Kelly. She leaves for college in the fall.”
In spite of the rocky start, Emma liked Susan Steveson. She might be able to get more information out of her about Ian Reynolds than her rude and cranky nephew.
They adjourned to a table on the deck. The three dogs followed them outside. The afternoon sun was half hidden by the trees, leaving it warm but not too hot.
“I was surprised by how hot it is here,” Emma remarked. “Being in the mountains, I thought it would be cooler.”
Susan shook her head. “We get the full four seasons up here. Summers can be scorching, and winters bring snow.” She turned to look at Emma. “But we like it. Glen and I moved away shortly after we were married but came back here to live when Phil’s parents died. He was a young teenager, a bit older than our kids. We raised him along with our own son and daughter. They’ve both married and moved away, but they loved growing up here.”
“No wonder Phil is so protective of the land. It’s his heritage.”
“That it is. He’s actually a lawyer. Has his own practice down in San Diego. Goes back and forth a lot. But I think as soon as his house sells and the divorce is final, he’ll move here full-time and commute to his office. Or maybe he’ll work from here.”
“There must be a lot of work to running a ranch.”
“The Bowers ranch isn’t a working ranch anymore. Most of our land is leased to other ranchers for grazing. We keep a couple of horses for our own riding, but it’s been years since we ran it as a real ranch.”
Susan got up, emptied two big bowls of water that were sitting on the deck, and refilled them with fresh water from a nearby spigot. The two big dogs lapped with gusto while the little dog jostled for position for his own drink. Baby stepped aside for him.
Susan laughed and pointed at the little dog. “Despite his size, Killer rules the roost around here, believe me.”
The two women settled into companionable silence for a while, enjoying the peace and watching the three dogs play. Emma thought about Archie. Although he was boarded at a doggie 5-star hotel, she really needed to get home and release him. Also, she had only booked her room at the Julian Hotel through tonight. Barbara had told her when she made her reservation that the hotel was booked solid for the entire weekend. So unless she made other lodging arrangements, Emma would have to go home tomorrow. But there was still more she wanted to know.
“What can you tell me about Ian Reynolds, Susan?”
“Hmm, not much, I’m afraid. He’s mostly dealt with Phil, and the dealings have not been pleasant. I do know that he claims to be a descendant of that Granny Apples woman, just like you.” She looked at Emma, her blue eyes measuring and weighing. “Are you really? You know, related to that murderer?”
“I am not a murderer!”
Without notice, Granny had appeared next to the table. Outside, with a slight breeze in the air, Emma hadn’t noticed the usual accompanying chill. The spirit stood with her hands on her bony hips and glared at Susan Steveson.
Emma ignored her, or tried to. She and Susan were getting along so well, she didn’t want to take the chance of spoiling it by looking like a nut job.
“Yes. I’m related on my mother’s side. I just found out about Ish Reynolds and Julian and the story of her hanging. It’s a fascinating story, so I decided to look into it.”
“Tell her, Emma,” Granny insisted. “Tell her I didn’t kill nobody.”
“However,” Emma continued, trying not to look at Granny. “We have reason to believe that Ish Reynolds didn’t kill her husband—that they were both murdered.”
Susan Steveson’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Really? And how did you come to that conclusion?”
Spinning the wheels in her head as fast as possible, Emma searched for a plausible lie—something other than her ghost told me. The irony wasn’t lost on Emma that the truth was stranger than the fiction.
“I was going through some old letters and documents.” Emma prayed Susan wouldn’t see through the fabrication. “There were references to the hanging and the property.” Keep it simple, she told herself. It’s easier to lie if you keep it simple.
“I understand that Ish and Jacob’s son, Winston, sold the property after his parents died to a John Winslow, but there was no mention of how it got into the Bowers family.”
Emma was so glad that the ghost of Albert Robinson had paid her a visit. The information she was able to regurgitate to Susan Steveson made her sound credible and not crazy, as long as she didn’t have to reveal her source.
While Susan considered what Emma had just told her, Granny started pacing. Emma noticed that the two big dogs, who were sprawled on the deck, watched her movements but overall seemed uninterested. Killer, on the other hand, started pacing with the ghost, keeping at her heels as if she were his trainer and he the best-behaved dog at puppy school.
Susan pointed at Killer and laughed. “Look at that fool pacing back and forth. It’s as if he is keeping time to a silent marching band.”
Emma laughed along with her. Catching Granny’s eye, she tried to get her to stop walking back and forth. The ghost looked down, noticing the dog.
“Darn animal,” Granny said, finally coming to a stop. The dog halted with her and looked up, its tail wagging. “Doesn’t it have anything better to do?”
Susan laughed again. “Even for Killer, that’s pretty strange behavior.”
Emma wanted to go back to the hotel and crawl under the quilt and stay there until it was time to go home. Keeping company with ghosts was stressful, and Granny wasn’t helping any.
“Well, Emma, I can tell you how the Bowers family got that particular piece of property.” Susan turned from
Killer’s peculiar behavior and looked at her. “If family legends are to be believed, we didn’t come by it honestly, I can tell you that.”
Susan Steveson was about to tell Emma how the Bowers family got their hands on Ish and Jacob’s land when the three dogs started barking and leapt to their feet. They charged off the deck and disappeared around the side of the house toward the garage. Killer, having abandoned Granny, brought up the rear, his short little legs pumping like pistons in the wake of Baby and Sweetie Pie. Emma, on the edge of her seat waiting for Susan’s explanation, hung her head in frustration.
Susan didn’t make a move to control the animals, and Emma noted the barking, though loud, was different than the angry protests upon her arrival. Through the barking, the sound of tires on the driveway reached their ears.
Susan glanced at her watch. “I’ll bet that’s Phil. Still early for Glen. He’s off playing golf with his cronies. Goes to the coast, makes a full day of it.”
“Maybe I should go,” Emma suggested.
“Go?” Granny stared at Emma, her hazy face scrunched in disbelief. “Just when we’re about to find out about my land?”
“I’m not sure Phil will be happy to see me here.” Emma glanced at Granny, then at Susan, confused herself about which woman she was addressing.
“Nonsense,” Susan said, patting Emma’s arm. “Stay where you are. We can clear the air between you two.”
“She’s right,” Granny said.
Emma wasn’t so sure.
She heard a door in the house open, and the three dogs came charging back out onto the deck. Right behind them was Phillip Bowers. He filled the door from the family room to the deck, glowering at her.
“What in the hell are you doing here, Fancy Pants? I thought I told you to stay away or I’d have you arrested!”
“Now, Phil,” Susan started, trying to calm him.
Ignoring his aunt, he continued addressing Emma. “You think I’m kidding?”
“Phillip.” Susan put a little edge into her voice. “Emma came here to apologize for her intrusion. We’ve been having a nice chat.”
He looked at his aunt like she had three heads, then back at Emma. “Out of here. Now,” he ordered.
Emma looked at Granny. The ghost had her arms crossed in front of her and was tapping her foot in annoyance. She looked at Phil, who was just as angry but for a different reason. She needed to decide on the spot what to do: stand her ground or flee.
“Phil,” Emma began, then stopped to clear her throat. “I have no idea who Ian Reynolds is. But you didn’t give me a chance to tell you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I believe her, Phil,” Susan chimed in.
“Damn it, Aunt Susan. You’d invite the Manson family in for coffee and scones.”
Emma stood up and bristled. “Your aunt’s been very gracious to me, and she’s been kind enough to listen—something you failed to do.”
“That’s the way.” Granny started hopping around like a diminutive prize fighter. “Don’t let him boss you around.” Killer circled the ghost, hopping up and down in an erratic pattern. The other two dogs sat alert, their attention divided between the live people and the dead.
Phil started to snap at Emma, but Killer’s antics kept grabbing his attention. “What in the hell is wrong with that animal?”
“He’s been acting a bit strange all afternoon,” said Susan, glad the dog had diverted her nephew’s attention, at least for a bit. “Stranger than usual.”
Phil Bowers turned back to Emma. “No doubt your visit has something to do with this.”
“Me?” Emma clapped a hand over her heart in protest. “That dog has hardly paid me any mind since I arrived.” She wasn’t about to add that it was her unseen companion that the dog was in such a dither over.
Susan got up and moved between Phil and Emma. “Tell you what, kids. Why don’t you both sit down and talk rationally. I’ll just whip us up some steaks for dinner.”
“She’s a vegetarian,” Phil said to his aunt.
“How do you know that?” Emma was surprised, and the surprise raised her hackles. She didn’t like the way this man made assumptions, but what got her goat was that his assumptions were almost always correct. “Was that tidbit of information on my car’s bumper, too?”
“No self-respecting meat eater goes into the Rong Branch and orders a veggie burger.”
“No problem,” chimed in Susan with a forced smile. “Do you eat fish, Emma? Or are you a strict vegetarian?”
“I eat fish.”
“Good. I have some fresh salmon, too. You two can just go to your own corners and chow down on your individual preferences.” She patted her nephew on his shoulder. “Maybe with a full belly, you’ll be ready to be civil.”
Emma took her narrowed eyes off of Phil and looked at Susan. “I don’t want to be any trouble, Susan.”
“Nonsense, no trouble at all.”
“You’ve been trouble ever since you set foot on the property, Fancy Pants.”
Susan was halfway through the door to the house when she spun on her heels and returned to stand in front of Phil. He towered over her. “Okay, enough!” she snapped, looking up at him. “Emma is curious about her family’s history. That’s what she told me, and I believe her. Now sit down and behave yourself. I’ll get you a beer. Maybe that will take the edge off your ugly mood.”
She turned to Emma. “Would you like a cold beer, Emma?”
“Yes, that would be great, Susan. Thank you.”
“A beer sure sounds good to me.” Emma turned quickly at the sound of the whispery voice. For a moment, she’d totally forgotten about Granny. The ghost had stopped hopping about and was sitting on a bench at the side of the deck. All three dogs lay at her feet. Emma scowled at the ghost, ordering her without words to behave.
When Emma turned back around, Phillip Bowers was staring at her, deep furrows carved into his forehead like fields waiting to be planted.
“Hearing things, Fancy Pants?”
“What?”
“The way your head turned and your ears pricked reminded me of the dogs when they pick up a sound from the woods. You did the same thing in the Rong Branch.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Stop calling me Fancy Pants.”
He filled his lungs and expanded his chest like a cocky rooster, then he looked her up and down. “Well, at least you’re dressed sensibly now. And you don’t stink of manure.”
Emma started to say something, but Susan Steveson interrupted her snippy retort by returning to the deck with two cold beers. She handed a bottle to each of them.
“Now, you two just relax and behave yourselves. We’re going to sort this all out. You’ll see.” She went back into the house.
After sitting down, Phil took a long swig from his beer and leaned back in his chair. He stared out at the woods bordering the property. He may have quieted down, but his body language announced that his surly demeanor was not going away any time soon.
Emma sat back down at the table and took her own drink of beer. It was cold and refreshing. She’d wanted a beer ever since lunch. “At least the Bowers ranch didn’t lose its liquor license.”
Phil Bowers took another long drink from his bottle. Then slowly, almost without notice, one corner of his mouth curled upwards under his moustache. It was a smile. A small smile, but it was a start.
Susan returned to the deck with a bowl of pretzels and two more beers nestled in a small bucket of ice. The bucket was silver, with star cutouts along the rim. “Good. Nice to see you kids at least trying to get along.” She placed the bucket and bowl on the table along with a few napkins.
Phil downed the rest of his beer and reached for one of the bottles in the bucket. With a quick twist, he removed the cap, his body language a
little less hostile with each slurp of suds.
“You know, Phil, you two have a lot in common.” Susan started back into the house, still talking. “Emma here is going through a divorce, too. She’s divorcing Grant Whitecastle—you know, that idiot talk-show host on TV.”
Phil Bowers didn’t exactly send Emma sprawling into the side of her car, but Emma felt that the only thing that stopped him was that she was a woman, or maybe it was the presence of his aunt. She was sure, given his druthers, he’d have splattered her over the hood of the Lexus like bird droppings.
As soon as the churlish Bowers heard that she was connected to Grant Whitecastle, he’d slammed his beer down on the table. Foam erupted from the bottle like lava from a volcano. Grabbing her purse and then her arm, he yanked Emma up and started marching her roughly down the steps of the deck and around the house to her car, half dragging her across the scrub grass like a sack of grain. He never uttered a word the whole time.
Trotting behind them was Susan, yelling at Phil to let Emma go. Granny was beating on Phil Bowers with her fists, but each blow went through his body like a knife through water. The dogs circled them all in a barking frenzy.
“Get your hands off me!” Emma yanked her arm away. Even free, she could still feel where his fingers had dug into her skin. “What in the world is wrong with you?”
Phil Bowers stared at her without saying a word, barely keeping a lid on his rage. The scent of his anger bubbled and stank like week-old garbage.
“Phil,” Susan demanded, “what is this about?”
“She’s a plant, Aunt Susan.” He spoke without taking his burning eyes from Emma’s face. “Reynolds said he was going to the media if we didn’t give in. Said the history of the land would make good TV.”
Susan Steveson turned eyes wide with disbelief on Emma. “Is this true, Emma? Were you playing me like some country rube?”
“No, Susan, it’s not true.” Emma’s eyes darted from Susan to Phil. “It’s true, I’m the estranged wife of Grant Whitecastle, but I have nothing to do with his show. In fact, except for our daughter, I have nothing to do with him anymore.” She paused, sifting through her brain for something that might convince them, but all she came up with was garbled mush. Still, she forged on, hoping something would come out that would convince them she was on the level. “And it’s true that I’m a descendant of Ish and Jacob Reynolds.”
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