Ghost of a Gamble (Granny Apples Mystery)

by Jaffarian, Sue Ann

  Milo and Tracy would stay close to Dolly’s house and research and contact other local mediums who might have been contacted by Nemo or his people to see if they could identify who was actually in charge of this scheme. The two young men watching Dolly and Laura were obviously not the brains of the outfit. Emma’s money was on the well-dressed man who had showed up at Laura’s wagon. Tracy was also going to do more research about the Lucky Buck Casino robbery and Nelson Morehouse. Milo decided to go through his mother’s things looking for something that might connect her to Nemo.

  “I’m very puzzled by Nemo’s appearance here at Dolly’s,” Milo had said shortly before they each went off to their assignments.

  “Why, darling?” Tracy had asked. “He knew Dolly.”

  “Yes, but generally ghosts cannot connect randomly to places they’ve never been or people they’re never met or had close contact with,” Milo explained. “But Nemo showed up here like he owned the place.”

  “Milo’s right,” confirmed Emma. “If Lenny hadn’t connected with me here when I arrived, he could not have found me at Laura’s or my hotel. Lenny told me that Nemo had been in contact with Dolly over the years, but didn’t say if he’d been to this house specifically.”

  Milo looked puzzled. “We know Nemo knew Dolly, but she wasn’t here at the time he popped in. He must have been here before, to the house, when he was alive.”

  “How long has your mother lived here?” asked Quinn.

  Milo did some math in his head. “I bought this place for her when I had my first big bestseller. That had to be about eight or nine years ago. No.” He paused. “It was actually just over ten years ago. They had just built this complex. She’d been living in a small apartment near downtown for a number of years and I felt the area was getting unsafe.”

  “Depending on his health,” said Emma, “Nemo might not have been incapacitated for the past ten years. He might have visited here during that time.”

  “As much as I hate to intrude on her privacy, I think I need to have a look through my mother’s things. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find another birth certificate.” Milo shook his head in frustration. “Maybe this one will say I’m Nemo’s son.”

  When they pulled into the parking lot of the Desert Sun Nursing Home, Quinn asked Emma, “So do you have a plan, or are you hoping they will simply spill their guts to you about a possible murder victim?”

  “Not sure yet,” Emma told him.

  After the police left, she’d written up her own notes using her iPad, jotting down key information that came out during the police questioning, before she forgot it. She consulted those notes before getting out of the SUV.

  “I think I’ll start by asking for Frankie Varga.”

  “That was Nemo’s nurse, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she answered, “or caretaker. Either way, he might have been the last person to see Dolly. It might be best to focus on Dolly’s disappearance rather than Nemo’s death.”

  “Lead the way,” Quinn told her.

  The front door of Desert Sun opened onto a very large area with a couple of sofas and chairs. A few patients were in the lobby, some in wheelchairs, some using canes to shuffle around. Through a wide door just off the lobby, Emma spied a large room with tables and more chairs and sofas. Babble from a daytime talk show drifted into the lobby from the room, and Emma caught the voice of her ex-husband. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  In spite of the facility being clean and cheerfully decorated, the smell of slow-moving time hung over it like a waiting shroud. It was a very nice and upscale place as rest homes went, but in the end it was still a place where people came to wait out the end of their lives. Its occupants were people who were no longer able to care for themselves, or who had no one able to care for them at home, whether due to the extent of their illnesses or by default. Several of the patients in the lobby eyed them with interest. She and Quinn were new faces—two bright sparks to their otherwise dull day. Emma smiled at them and approached the large semicircular reception desk.

  A thick brown woman with short salt-and-pepper hair manned the reception desk. She was dressed in maroon scrubs that were a little snug across her ample chest. Glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose as she paged through a magazine. Her name tag read Gloria.

  “All visitors must sign in.” Without looking up, Gloria tapped a clipboard resting on the counter.

  “We’re not here to see a patient,” Emma told her. “We’d like to see Frankie Varga.”

  Gloria looked up, giving Emma her full attention. “Frankie isn’t working today. Can someone else help you?”

  “Is there someone here now who was on duty last night?” From the corner of her eye, Emma saw Quinn go over to one of the old men in a wheelchair who’d been watching them.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Gloria.

  “We’re looking for a woman who was here visiting someone last night.” From her bag, Emma produced a photo of Dolly. It was a recent photo similar to one of the ones Milo gave the police.

  Gloria pushed her glasses farther up her nose and looked the photo over. “Isn’t that the woman the police are looking for?”

  “Yes, I’m a friend of her son’s and we’re double-checking every place she might have gone yesterday.”

  “They told us about it when we started the day shift this morning.” Her eyes went from the photo to Emma’s face and clouded with caution. “She was here visiting old man Morehouse, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she was,” Emma answered, wondering how much the facility had disclosed to their staff. Had they mentioned they thought Nemo had been murdered, or that Dolly was a suspect? “Have you ever seen her before? Maybe visiting him another time?”

  Gloria studied the photo again. “Can’t say I have.”

  When Gloria made no move to ask someone else or to offer any further assistance, Emma asked, “Is there someone here now who was on duty last night? Maybe they remember seeing her.”

  “No one here now would have been here last night.”

  “I understand Mr. Morehouse passed away last night?” Emma hadn’t wanted to bring up Nemo, but she needed to find a way to scale Gloria’s formidable wall.

  “Yes, he did.”

  Emma waited for more explanation, but got none. “I know he was very old and sick.”

  “Yes, he was. Like most of the guests here.”

  “Did he have many visitors?” Emma asked, not giving up. “Family members maybe or other friends like Dolly? Maybe one of them can help us find her.”

  “You really should talk to the police about this, Ms… . I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Emma. Emma Whitecastle.” Emma said her name quickly, hoping it wouldn’t be linked to the man’s voice coming from the TV in the other room. “Like I said, I’m a friend of Ms. Meskiel’s son and I’m helping search for her. Any help would be very, very appreciated.”

  “Well, Emma, you really should speak with our director. His name is Gene Garby. We were told any questions should be directed to him or to the police. He’s not here right now, but will be back this afternoon.” Gloria reached over and plucked a business card from a card holder on the desk. “Here’s his card. But call and make an appointment first. He’s in charge of a couple of facilities so he’s very busy.”

  “Thank you,” Emma told her, taking the card and looking at it. “Is Mr. Garby any relation to Detective Howard Garby? He’s with the Las Vegas Police Department.”

  Gloria shrugged. “Don’t know. But I do know that Mr. Garby is a local. He grew up in Boulder City.” Gloria gave Emma a meaningful look from over the upper rim of her glasses, which had slipped down her nose again. “And I do hope you find that woman.”

  Emma wasn’t sure if the look said, Find her safe and sound, or Find her because she’s a killer. Either way, Emma was sure Gloria knew more, much more, than she was letting on.

  Emma pulled out one of her own business cards and jotted her cell number on the back. She pl
aced it on the counter and pushed it toward Gloria. “If anything turns up, please give me a call.”

  Gloria started to pick it up. “I’ll pass this along to Mr. Garby.”

  Emma gave Gloria her own significant look. “No, that’s for you.”

  Gloria picked up the card and read both the front and the back. She jerked her head in the direction of the other room. “You related to that buffoon on the TV?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Emma’s comment caused a sly smile to cross Gloria’s face. She tucked the card into her pocket and went back to her magazine without another word.

  Quinn was now chatting up an old woman sitting on one of the sofas by the front door. Emma went over to them. In front of the woman was a walker with yellow tennis balls on the back two legs. Dressed in a floral dress with her white hair impeccably done, the frail woman looked like a colorful and delicate hummingbird taking a break from a feeder. Quinn was all charm as he asked her questions and all ears as he listened.

  “This is my friend Emma,” Quinn told her in a break in the conversation. “Emma, this is my new friend Claudine Houser.”

  Claudine smiled at Emma, showing a very nice set of false teeth behind her pale pink lipstick. “Why, you’re pretty as a picture.”

  Usually Emma took compliments about her looks in stride, but the genuine and old-fashioned comment from Claudine made Emma blush like a schoolgirl.

  “Thank you, Claudine,” Emma responded. “You’re looking lovely yourself. Are you waiting for someone?”

  “My son,” she answered with a big smile. “Today’s my ninety-third birthday. He’s going to pick me up and take me to dinner.”

  “Why, happy birthday!” remarked Quinn. “But isn’t it a little early for dinner?”

  “Not when you’re my age. Nor his. Edward is seventy himself. Wouldn’t be surprised if one day soon he and I are sitting here side by side. If he ever got ill, that hussy wife of his would slap him in here without a second thought.” Claudine closed one eye and gave them both a knowing nod. “She’s his fourth, you know. And a lot younger. After his money, if you ask me. Frankly, my favorite was number two. Her name was Susan. They divorced after seven years because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

  Emma raised a questioning brow in Quinn’s direction. He winked at her in response.

  “Claudine,” Quinn said, guiding the woman back to their previous conversation. “Tell Emma what you told me about Nemo.”

  Emma sat in a chair next to Claudine and encouraged the woman with a warm smile.

  Claudine leaned toward Emma and whispered, “Good riddance to bad rubbish is what I say. I remember Nemo when he was all high and mighty and running around with those mobsters back in the day. Quite the big shot. Thought he was still a big shot when he came here.”

  “Did you actually know Nemo back in the sixties or just through the news?” As Emma asked the question, a hazy apparition started to appear off to the side of Claudine.

  Emma turned her head and saw a few more spirits materializing. They were hovering near various patients. She hadn’t noticed them when she came in. It must have taken time for the ghosts to feel comfortable enough to show themselves to her. One old man, nearly as bent as the cane he was using, shuffled along mumbling. Next to him floated the spirit of an elderly woman. The woman looked at Emma and gave her a friendly wave.

  “That’s Edgar,” Claudine told Emma, indicating the man with the cane. “Pay him no mind, he thinks he’s talking to his dead wife. Poor thing.”

  Emma glanced over at Quinn, who was watching her with raised brows. Having no doubt he was asking about the presence of ghosts, Emma gave him a nod confirming his suspicions.

  The spirit coming into focus near them was that of an older man, but not as old as Claudine. He didn’t say anything, but hovered a hazy hand above Claudine’s shoulder.

  “You don’t believe in ghosts?” Quinn asked Claudine.

  She pursed her lips before answering. “Time was I would have given you a sound no to that question, but lately I’ve been feeling like my late husband, Bert, is close by.” She chuckled. It sounded like the squeak of a baby mouse. “Maybe that’s because I’m getting closer to the grave myself.” She looked over at Edgar, still chatting away to his unseen wife. “I know thinking he’s talking to Helen brings Edgar a lot of comfort. I almost envy him.” The ghost by Claudine tried to squeeze her shoulder but she couldn’t feel it and the ghost’s hand slipped through her.

  “I’m sure Bert is very close by,” Emma said to Claudine. Claudine smiled at her and so did the ghost.

  “Getting back to Nemo Morehouse,” said Quinn. “Did you actually know him years ago?”

  “Why yes, I did,” answered Claudine. “Both Bert and I worked for the Lucky Buck, and Nemo was in there all the time. The Lucky Buck was a hotel and casino, but nothing grand like you see nowadays. It’s gone now. It’s been gone for many years.”

  Quinn and Emma exchanged looks. Emma turned to Burt’s ghost and questioned him with her eyes.

  The ghost confirmed the information with a nod of his head.

  Quinn scooted a bit closer to Claudine. “I’d read somewhere that Nemo had something to do with a robbery at the Lucky Buck.”

  “He sure did,” Claudine said, “although no one could pin it on him. Everyone thinks it was that other man, the one who disappeared. But sure as I’m sitting here, Nemo was behind it. For a short time they even suspected my Bert since he worked in accounting, but he was cleared.”

  “Do you remember who that other man was?” asked Emma.

  “Speidel,” answered the ghost of Bert Houser. “His name was Lenny Speidel.”

  Claudine, unable to hear the ghost, knit her brows as she gave thought to the question. “Oh dear, my memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”

  Emma glanced up at the ghost then said to Claudine, “Was it maybe Lenny or Leonard Speidel?”

  Claudine brightened and pointed a gnarled finger at Emma. “Yes. Yes. I think that was it. Speidel, like the watch company. He used to come into the casino with Nemo all the time, then after the robbery we never saw him again. Everyone was sure he disappeared with the money.” She looked around, then leaned forward, indicating for Quinn and Emma to come closer. “I’ve always thought Nemo was behind it, though, and killed Lenny so he could have all the money.”

  Emma took out the photo of Dolly and held it out to Claudine. “Have you ever seen this woman?”

  She peered at it, then brought it up closer to her face. Over her shoulder, Bert looked at the photo. “No. I don’t think so,” Claudine answered. “Why?”

  “She was here last night visiting Nemo shortly before he died.”

  Claudine shook her head. “I don’t remember her, but I wasn’t feeling that well last night. I went to bed right after supper so I’d have enough energy for today.”

  “Did Nemo have a lot of visitors?” asked Emma.

  After careful thought, Claudine answered, “No. I don’t recall him having any.”

  The ghost of Bert Houser came close to Emma. “That woman was here last night. I saw her.”

  Emma cast her eyes quickly up at Bert.

  Quinn watched her. “Any luck with Frankie Varga?”

  She shook her head and gave him her attention. “No. He’s not in today.”

  “Humpf,” snorted Claudine. “With any luck, Frankie won’t be back now that his pet is gone.”

  Emma looked at the old woman with interest. “You don’t like Frankie?”

  “Not one bit. And not many others here do either, including the staff. The only resident he cared about or did anything for was Nemo Morehouse. He waited on him hand and foot like he was royalty.”

  “Do you know why?” asked Quinn.

  “Not for sure, but it was rumored that he was being paid under the table to give Nemo special attention. He shirked a lot of his other duties, leaving them for the other aides and the nurses.”

  Quinn looked puzzled
. “Did anyone complain?”

  “I’ve heard there were complaints and I complained about him myself. What he did do for the rest of us was sloppy and careless. But nothing was ever done about it.”

  Emma glanced over at Gloria. She was watching them from behind her magazine.

  “Claudine,” Emma asked, “how do you like Gloria over there at the reception desk?”

  Claudine’s lined face lit up. “Gloria is so nice and very professional. She’s been here a long time. But she’s not the receptionist. That’s Maria, who is probably on break right now.” Again she indicated for Emma and Quinn to come closer. “There was a rumor a few months ago that Gloria almost lost her job when she complained about Frankie.”

  Quinn was about to ask something else when an older man came through the front door. Claudine started to rise. “There’s my Edward now.” Quinn gently helped her to her feet.

  Bert Houser floated over to his son, a smile stretched across his ghostly face at the sight of him. Side by side, Emma could see the strong resemblance.

  “Are you ready to go, Mom?” Edward asked.

  “Yes, of course I’m ready. These nice people were keeping me company while I waited.”

  Emma and Quinn made their way out the front door along with Edward and Claudine. Edward’s car was parked in front. While Edward helped his mother into the front seat, Bert sidled up to Emma.

  “We need to talk,” the ghost said to her.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY •

  “I KNEW it!” Quinn exclaimed as soon as they were back in Emma’s SUV. “I knew there was a ghost there while we were with Claudine.”

  “Quinn,” Emma said to him as she buckled up her seat belt. “Meet Bert Houser, Claudine’s dead husband. He’s in the backseat right now.”

  Quinn glanced in the rearview mirror but saw nothing. He was getting used to addressing empty space. “You’re the guy who worked at the Lucky Buck, right?”