Ghost a la Mode [Granny Apples 01]

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “By the way,” Emma said to the curator as she paid her for the copies, “Ish Reynolds did not murder her husband, as that tag under the photograph says in the other room”

  “All the historical accounts say that she did and was even hung for it” Maude looked at her with curiosity. “Do you have proof of it being otherwise?”

  “If I did, would you change that photo caption?”

  Maude thought a minute before speaking. “Yes, I believe we would. After all, we’d want it to be accurate.”

  She pointed to the papers clutched in Maude’s hand. “Read those letters. That’s the proof.”

  Emma grinned. Not at Maude, but at the ghost of Granny Apples. As if on springs, the spirit hopped up and down in joy before disappearing.

  Happy to have fulfilled her promise to Granny, her aunt Kitty, and her mother, Emma was now ready to go home. But first she was going to drive out to the Bowers ranch and leave a copy of John Winslow’s letters with them. She didn’t care what transpired over the property, but she wanted them to know she’d been right about Granny. Her family tree was murder-free, at least that she knew. She also wanted Susan and Phillip to have the same information Ian Reynolds had and know what he was planning to use in his bid to grab the property.

  She had taken a few steps away from the museum, toward the park, her head down as she concentrated on tucking the letters into her bag, when she heard a whispery voice.

  “Emma.”

  Snapping her head up, she saw nothing.

  “Emma,” came the slightly shrouded male voice again. This time from behind her.

  Snatching off her sunglasses, she pivoted 180 degrees, coming face to face with a ghost. Emma staggered, grasping the trunk of a nearby tree to steady herself. She felt the blood drain from her face like water from a bath.

  “Emma,” the ghost said again.

  Emma stared at the spirit, recognizing it on the spot.

  It was the ghost of Ian Reynolds.

  THE GHOST SAID NOTHING further, just spoke her name a couple more times before disappearing. Emma stumbled to the nearest picnic table and dropped on a bench, her teeth chattering like castanets.

  With great care, her mind computed what she had just seen. She was sure it was Ian Reynolds. The ghost looked exactly as she had seen him last night. The same clothing. The same hairstyle. The same voice. Everything the same as when she’d last seen him standing in front of the Rong Branch with Phillip Bowers. But if the ghost was truly Ian’s spirit, that meant-she put the brakes on her thoughts, not wanting to enter the dark cave of probability.

  Emma looked up into the trees that shaded the table. Heard the birds chattering like old friends. Felt the heavy heat of the June sun and smelled the clean, fresh mountain air. Cars and trucks went by. So did a small covey of motorcycles. The streets were starting to feel the pitter-patter of vehicles belonging to early weekend travelers. People who hadn’t heard yet that a murder had taken place in the quiet little town.

  Shaking herself, Emma willed her brain to complete her earlier thought. If the ghost that had just visited her was indeed Ian Reynolds’ spirit, that meant Ian was dead.

  “Ian’s dead,” she said to herself out loud in a barely audible tone. From her bag, her cell phone rang. In her shock, Emma didn’t hear it. It rang again.

  “Dead” She repeated the word, drawing it out into two syllables, forcing her reluctant memory to make note of it, to understand and hold on to what it meant. If Ian was dead, did that mean Phil Bowers was a killer? Or had Ian returned to the cemetery and stumbled upon something unsavory?

  She looked in the direction of the Pioneer Cemetery but couldn’t see it from where she sat. Yet she knew it was there and that a body had been found. Was Ian’s body the one in the graveyard, or was that someone else, and Ian’s body was still to be discovered?

  The third ring penetrated Emma’s dazed thoughts. She pulled her phone out of her bag and looked at the display, taking a moment to let the name register. It was Milo Ravenscroft. On the fourth ring, she answered.

  “Emma, thank God I reached you.” He sounded anxious. “Are you still in Julian?”

  She looked around the park, still thinking about Ian Reynolds, looking to see if his ghost was present. She saw nothing, not even Granny.

  “Yes, but I’m leaving soon.” She shook herself, demanding that her mind and body concentrate on Milo’s call. Milo was the one person who might be able to answer her questions.

  “Soon is not soon enough. Get in your car and leave now. Right this minute.”

  “Why?” The urgency in his voice put her on alert. “What’s the matter? Did you look at the photos I sent you?”

  “Yes, but forget that for now. Right before I called you I had a vision. I think there’s going to be a murder in Julian.”

  “There already has been, Milo.” She said the words slowly and with care, like eggs being carried over rocky terrain. “I heard about it this morning.” She swallowed hard before speaking. “And I think his ghost just visited me.”

  “His ghost?”

  Still shocked and confused, Emma nodded up and down before realizing Milo couldn’t see her. “Yes, at least I think so. Unless there are two bodies.”

  “I saw a body, Emma, in a graveyard-an old graveyard. But I couldn’t see his face.” Emma heard him take a deep breath before continuing. “And I saw you.”

  A vibration ran up and down her spine like strings on a stroked cello. She put her sunglasses back on, as if they could hide her from harm like an invisibility shield.

  “You were running in the graveyard, frightened and hurt.”

  “That’s a pretty accurate description of last night. I was in the graveyard and frightened, and I stumbled and hurt myself. Not badly, just scrapes and bruises. But there was no body. At least no fresh ones.”

  She thought about Ian, both alive and dead, and how quickly he’d gone from one state of being into the other.

  “Last night I was frightened by a man who was following me. But today, just before you called, a ghost came to me that looked like him.”

  There was a long silence on Milo’s end. Emma stayed quiet, knowing he was thinking it over.

  “And you’re sure it was the same man?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “And last night you’re sure he was alive when he chased you? That it wasn’t his ghost trying to scare you?”

  “Considering he and I had coffee together soon after, I’m pretty sure he was alive in the cemetery last night. And he wasn’t exactly chasing me. He was following me, watching me.”

  While she talked, she watched the traffic on the road several yards away. People were coming and going in a normal manner while she sat in the park talking about murder and ghosts.

  “What’s more, he heard me talking to the ghosts in the graveyard last night, and he wasn’t at all surprised by it.”

  When Milo didn’t respond, she added, “As I told you last night, the ghosts scattered as soon as they sensed his presence. Granny, too. She wouldn’t let him see her.”

  Again Milo didn’t answer. His silence was making her more nervous. She plowed on, clarifying. “The ghost who just visited me and the man who chased me last night are one and the same. It’s the man in the photos I sent you. The young one, not the bald one.

  She hoped at some point he’d stop her and offer words of advice and comfort. He did not.

  “Do you know who the man in the photos is, Milo?”

  “Yes, I do. And you’re right, Emma. His name isn’t Ian Reynolds. It’s Garrett Bell.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yes, I do. Professionally, at least.”

  “He was a client?”

  “No, Emma, he wasn’t. He’s a professional clairvoyant, like me. Or at least he was.”

  In the warmth of day, Emma started shivering again. Taking off her sunglasses, she made sure there were no spirits around before attributing her bone-numbing chill to fear. She was alone.


  “I’m puzzled, Milo. If Ian, or this Garrett person, could see ghosts, why did they flee from him? Is it because they didn’t like him or trust him, as you said last night?”

  “I’m not entirely sure why, but probably a bit of both, especially the trust part. Garrett …,” Milo started to say, but his words were broken up by static. Then the call was dropped.

  Emma immediately dialed him again but got a busy tone. Frustrated, she put the phone down on the table and waited for Milo to call her back. She resumed watching the street. A sheriff’s vehicle went by. So did another small group of bikers. It seemed like forever before Milo rang through again, although it was less than a minute.

  Without saying hello, Emma said, “I lost you just as you started to tell me about Garrett Bell.”

  “Garret Bell was a clairvoyant who used his gifts unethically for his own benefit and to benefit others with dishonest motives. He wasn’t interested in helping people or in comforting them over lost loved ones.”

  “You mean he used the spirits for financial gain?”

  “Yes. He’d help people locate spirits who could help them find out things that could be used for other purposes. People would come to him with information about old bank heists or stolen gems, missing artwork, stuff like that, and he’d contact spirits to help locate them. If the items were recovered, he received a large fee.”

  “That doesn’t sound illegal”

  “Most of the stolen items were never returned to their proper owners. That is illegal. His services were used mostly by fortune hunters. And though he’d been charged with illegal activity on several occasions, he’d managed to slip out of it. He’d even been suspected of using spirits to convince elderly folks to change their wills in favor of other family members, who then paid Garrett a hefty fee when they collected. Usually, collection was sooner rather than later.”

  Emma shivered again. “That’s despicable.”

  “Yes, it is. And the worse part is, often the spirits don’t even realize they’re being used in such a manner. But like us, they can often sense when someone isn’t right. That could be why they fled when Garrett was around.”

  “You mean buzz about Garrett Bell’s activities has made it to the Ghost Gazette?”

  “Go ahead and laugh. But while I doubt the spirits have broadcast his shenanigans, I’m sure most of them have picked up the negative vibrations, or aura, that has built up around him over the years.

  Emma was on the brink of making a nervous crack about a disturbance in the Force, but she decided to keep the joke to herself.

  “Emma, are you in a visible, public place?”

  “Yes, I’m in a park. Lots of people driving by. Some even walking by.”

  “Good. Stay public as much as possible. Don’t go anywhere where you can be trapped alone. And above all, stay out of that cemetery.”

  “Do you think Ian’s ghost-I mean Garrett’s ghost-will hurt me?”

  Just as Emma asked the question, the sheriff’s SUV drove by again, this time moving slowly. Emma watched it. The people inside watched her.

  “No, I don’t think his ghost will hurt you. I’m more worried about the person who killed him. That’s the real danger. That person is alive and at large.”

  Emma thought again about Phillip Bowers. He was with Ian/ Garrett the last time she saw him. And Phil had quite a temper. But try as she might, she couldn’t see Phil Bowers going up to the cemetery to have it out with Ian. Besides, he had said he was going to take the waitress home. Then she remembered that Ian was supposed to stay at the Julian Hotel last night. Emma wondered if he’d ever checked in.

  “Why did Ian’s-Garrett’s-ghost come to me?”

  “Hard to say. He knew you could see him. Could be he wanted to tell you something, perhaps warn you or let you know about his death. But more likely, Garrett’s spirit probably hasn’t adjusted yet to being dead.”

  “Uh-huh” Emma watched the sheriff’s SUV drive by again, then do a U-turn and head back in her direction.

  “Sometimes spirits are in shock for a while,” Milo continued explaining, not picking up on Emma’s hesitation. “Some eventually pass over and never return to earth. You might never see it again.”

  “I see,” she murmured, watching the SUV park in front of her. A woman in plain clothes got out of the passenger’s side. A uniformed officer climbed out of the driver’s side. They were looking right at her.

  “The other man in the photo-he might have been one of the last people to see Garrett Bell alive. Quick, Milo, any vibes on him?”

  “Interesting character, that one. His bark’s worse than his bite. I don’t think he did the deed, but I’ve been wrong before.”

  The officers started walking her way.

  “Milo, gotta run. I’m about to be visited by the authorities.”

  “Be careful what you say to them, Emma. Police aren’t always the most open-minded beings. But,” he cautioned before ending the call, “don’t try to lie to them. They can smell a lie. It’s what they do. Tell them the truth, but be smart about it.”

  “Are you Emma Whitecastle?” the woman asked.

  Emma nodded as she closed her phone.

  “I’m Detective Jani Hallam of the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. This is Deputy Jorgenson.” The woman turned toward the officer. “Let them know we’ve located her.”

  “HOW DID YOU KNOW who I was?”

  “Mr. Bowers described you. We went to your hotel, but you’d checked out. The woman at the hotel said your car was still parked there, so we knew you couldn’t have gone too far.”

  The detective moved closer to Emma and took a small pad and pencil from the jacket of her pantsuit. She was compact and fit, with dark hair that curled slightly below her ears. “We’d like to ask you a few questions, Ms. Whitecastle.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “We’d like to ask you about Ian Reynolds. We understand you were with him last night at the Rong Branch Restaurant.”

  “Yes, I was. In fact, so was Phillip Bowers.”

  “Yes, we know that.”

  Emma was about to say more when she caught sight of an image slightly to her left. It shimmered in the shadows of a nearby tree before becoming more pronounced. Taking off her sunglasses, she turned her head slightly, just enough to get a better view and hopefully not enough to catch the attention of the officers. But she couldn’t hide her surprise. The ghost of Garrett Bell was back. As soon as she saw him, he started moving toward her.

  “Is something the matter, Ms. Whitecastle?”

  “Huh?” She turned her attention back to Detective Hallam. “Uh, no. I thought I saw something, but it was just a reflection on my glasses. Sorry.” Emma straightened her shoulders. “You were asking me about Ian Reynolds?”

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Reynolds?”

  Now there was a trick question. Alive, she saw him last night. Literally, she was seeing him this very moment. Sensing that the detective meant alive, and realizing that Detective Hallam hadn’t mentioned yet the fact that Ian was dead, she assumed the former.

  “Last night. The three of us were the last customers to leave the restaurant. Ian and Phil were standing in front of it when I went back to my hotel.”

  “And you never saw him again?”

  Emma’s mind did some quick gymnastics. Technically, that was the last time she’d seen Ian Reynolds. The entity she was seeing now was really Garrett Bell. She knew she was splitting hairs, but it wasn’t really lying to say she’d never seen him again, was it? Milo had warned her to be truthful but careful.

  “No, I didn’t. He said something about staying at my hotel, but I never saw him again last night or this morning at breakfast.”

  “May I sit down, Ms. Whitecastle?”

  “Of course. And please, call me Emma.” She gave the detective a small smile, noting at the same time that the deputy remained standing.

  “Is there a problem, Detective? I mean, why all the questions
about Ian? We just met for the first time yesterday.”

  “You’d never met him before? Ever? Never talked to him on the phone? Or through correspondence or e-mails?”

  “Never.”

  “Mr. Bowers seems to think he was a relative of yours.”

  Emma shrugged. “That’s what he claimed.” She peered at Detective Hallam, then shifted her gaze to the young, scrawny deputy standing just behind her, shifting from foot to foot. “You said was a relative, Detective. Past tense.”

  “Ian Reynolds was murdered last night. Up in the old cemetery.”

  Even though Emma already knew, hearing the official pronouncement shocked her all over again. “I heard about a murder at breakfast this morning, but I had no idea who it was.”

  “Phil Bowers says you and Mr. Reynolds were up in the cemetery together yesterday.”

  “Not together, no. I went up there and he followed. It was near dark, and he scared the tar out of me. I tried to run away and fell down those steep steps. You know, the wooden ones that go up the hill.” Emma held her palm out and stripped off the bandage, showing the officers the still raw and ugly scrape from the night before. “I did this on the railing. My legs are bruised also.”

  “Why were you trying to get away from him?”

  “He was a stranger, Detective, and it was almost dark. He didn’t announce himself, even when I called out to whoever was there. Instead, he crept behind trees, getting closer to me. Wouldn’t you try to get away, too?”

  “I see your point. Was this before or after you were at the Rong Branch with him?”

  “Before. Like I told you, after the Rong Branch, I went to my hotel. I was very tired and went straight to bed”

  “I’m confused, Emma. If Mr. Reynolds frightened you, why did you go with him to the Rong Branch?”

  Emma told the detective about coming to Julian to learn more about her family and stumbling into the fight between Bowers and Reynolds over the old homestead property. She continued to answer questions about the property and its history, and why she was in the graveyard-conveniently leaving out communing with the ghosts. She explained to the detective that she was doing lastminute research on old family graves before going home the next day. She even dug in her bag and produced the rubbing. She answered all questions, keeping anything about spirits and ghosts out of it. Partway through the interrogation, the ghost of Garrett Bell disappeared. Emma gave a sigh of relief. Then the detective tossed her a hardball.