Sue Ann Jaffarian - [Granny Apples 01]

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  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 last- minute 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.

  “Emma, did anyone at the hotel see you come in last night?”

  Emma knew what that meant. The detective wanted to know if she had an alibi for the time Ian was murdered. Emma thought through the night before. The hotel had been quiet when she got there, and she hadn’t seen anyone on the way to her room. She’d heard folks come in later, but they hadn’t seen her. Only one person knew she’d been in bed all night and never left: Albert Robinson. But somehow she doubted they’d look him up for verification.

  “No, no one. It was very quiet when I returned. I showered, made a couple
of calls on my cell to friends, then went to bed. I heard people out in the hall a bit later, but I don’t know who they were, and they never saw me.”

  Detective Hallam smiled. “Not uncommon for that hotel. My husband and I have stayed there many times.”

  The detective closed her notepad and got up from the table. “I think that’s all for now, Emma. Are you going home today? Back to Pasadena?”

  “Yes, I am. Shortly.” She’d never told them where she lived. The detective noticed her surprise.

  “We got your contact information from the hotel,” she explained. She rattled off a phone number. It was the number to Emma’s parents’ home. “Is this the best number to reach you?”

  Emma gave Detective Hallam her cell phone number, and the detective jotted it down, saying, “If there is anything else you’d like to tell us or add, just call us or stop by the station.” She handed Emma her card. “We may be contacting you if we have further questions.”

  As the officers were about to leave, Emma was being nagged by a last thought. The police probably didn’t know Ian wasn’t Ian. But then again, how would she explain how she knew? Quickly she reasoned that they would check his fingerprints and know soon enough. She didn’t need to get involved any more than she was already.

  As she watched the sheriff’s vehicle pull away, Granny popped up, her image quickly taking shape right in front of Emma. The ghost did not look happy.

  “You can’t go home yet, Emma.”

  “Oh, yes, I can.” Emma got up and stretched. She’d been sitting on the bench a long time. “I cleared your name. Isn’t that what you wanted?” She put her sunglasses back on and started walking up Washington toward Main Street, pulling out her phone along the way. She dialed Milo, but it went into voice mail. She tucked her phone into a side pocket of her bag so she could hear it better if he called back.

  “But Emma, it’s important. Our land is still in danger.”

  Emma turned and faced the ghost. “Right now, Ish, all I want is to pee and get something to drink, in that order. Then I’m getting into my car and heading home. Besides, it’s not your land anymore—hasn’t been for a long, long time. And the man who was trying to get his hands on it is dead.”

  There were public restrooms just behind city hall. Emma made a beeline for them, then prayed she had a quarter when she noticed they were pay toilets. Granny continued hounding her while she dug out her wallet. Not finding any quarters, she started digging through the bottom of her large leather bag until she produced a stray coin. She quickly entered and shut the door on Granny.

  “Now you listen to me, Emma Whitecastle. I’m still your elder.” Granny had come through the bathroom door and was shaking a finger in Emma’s face.

  “A dead elder,” Emma reminded the spirit. She was sitting on the toilet, praying that Garrett Bell didn’t come in and join them. She finished, pulled up her jeans, and started washing her hands. “Just how old were you anyway, Ish? You know, when you died.”

  Granny crossed her arms in front of her and frowned, letting Emma know that no woman likes to be asked her age, not even a dead one. “I had just passed my forty-first year.”

  “Aha!” Emma dried her hands. “I’m forty-four. That makes me the elder here. And I’m taking my elder butt home, where there are no murders or murderers, past or present.”

  Before leaving the bathroom, Emma put on some lipstick and ran her hands through her short blond hair, trying to bring some order to it. She might be older than Granny, but she wasn’t going to go through the rest of the day looking it.

  She glanced at Granny Apples. The ghost was standing in a corner of the small bathroom wearing a thunderous scowl. Emma hung her head and gripped the side of the sink.

  “Ish, be happy. You’ve been exonerated. You won’t be considered a murderer any longer. Those letters even said who killed you.”

  “They did?” The ghost’s face lightened a bit.

  “Yes. John Winslow confessed in the letters. He confessed in the hope of gaining his wife’s forgiveness for that and for the death of their son Billy. I’ll bet the letters were written shortly before he died. And I’ll bet his wife knew about his part in it. That’s why she left him.”

  “Big John Winslow,” Granny repeated, shaking her head.

  “Yes, he and two other men, a guy named Parker and someone he called Bobcat, did it.”

  “Bobcat Billings,” the ghost added. “He was a good-for-nothing drifter. Tom Parker owned property on the other side of the stream from us. Mean as a snake.”

  “It was over the gold, Ish, just like you thought. They did it knowing Winston would probably sell and leave town.”

  “Winston would never have sold the land to Parker or Bobcat.”

  “But he trusted John Winslow, didn’t he? He was his best friend’s father.”

  Granny nodded, her face down, her eyes locked on the cement floor of the public toilet.

  “Billy was probably killed by Parker and Bobcat because his father was about to go to the authorities and confess. They did it to keep him quiet, making it look like a suicide. According to Winslow’s letters, they also threatened to find Winslow’s wife and daughter.”

  Her head still down, Granny said, “Senseless killings, all over some fool gold.”

  Emma leaned over and kissed Granny’s cheek. Her lips fell through the air, but she knew Granny would appreciate the gesture.

  “Who you talking to in there, Fancy Pants?”

  Startled, Emma spun around. She’d just walked out of the public toilet when she heard Phil Bowers’ voice. He was standing next to the door to the bathroom, leaning against the building, one foot up behind him flat against the wall. He was dressed in jeans and a light blue polo shirt and wore his cowboy hat pushed slightly back. He was relaxed and confident, a man sure of his place in the world. In spite of herself, Emma thought he looked finger-licking good.

  “Are you following me now?”

  “Just wanted to talk to you. I was walking back from the sheriff’s office when I spotted you up ahead and saw you duck in here.”

  “Nothing to talk about, Phil. Now leave me alone. I’m leaving for home as soon as I get to my car.”

  She put on her sunglasses. Looking for the quickest way out of the city hall parking lot, she saw it was the way she’d come in, past him. She started walking that way. Phil left his post and fell in step next to her. Before they reached the street, he took her gently by the arm, stopping her.

  “First, tell me who you were talking to in there.”

  Emma yanked her arm away. “It’s none of your business, but since you insist on making it so, I was on the phone.”

  “Difficult to talk on the phone without one, isn’t it?”

  He held out his hand. In his palm was a cell phone just like hers. Emma dug around in her bag. She was phoneless.

  “I found it on the ground,” he explained, “just outside the bathroom.”

  Emma realized the phone must have fallen out of the side pocket of her purse when she was rooting around for a quarter and arguing with Granny.

  “Were you talking to your ghost buddies, Emma? Did they follow you into the bathroom?” He shook his head. “Man, don’t you just hate when that happens?”

  She started to say something but held her tongue.

  “Come on, Emma. Let’s talk. I’d like to know what you told the detectives. I want to know more about Ian Reynolds.”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “What? You want me to give you an alibi for last night?”

  “First of all, I have—” He stopped short as a couple of older women strolled into the parking lot in search of the public restrooms. He smiled at them and moved closer to Emma before continuing. “I have an alibi for last night. The whole night. When I heard a guy named Reynolds was found dead i
n the old cemetery, I went to talk to the sheriff—to tell what I knew about him.”

  “And to point a finger at me.”

  He studied her. “Do you have an alibi for last night?”

  “Do I need one? Am I a suspect?”

  “Not that I know of. At least, not yet.”

  In spite of his abrasiveness, there was something solid, even trustworthy, about Phillip Bowers. But what if he had killed Ian and manufactured an alibi? He could be using her to make sure he wasn’t nailed for the murder. Milo didn’t think Phil had killed Garrett, but even he admitted he could be wrong.

  “And if I do become a suspect, I suppose you’ll want to represent me. Is that right, counselor?”

  Bowers shook his head. “Sorry, but since I’m a witness, it’d be a conflict of interest. Besides, I specialize in estate planning. Wouldn’t do a murder suspect a lick of good.”

  She looked him up and down, taking in the jeans, knit shirt, boots, and hat. He didn’t look like any estate planner she’d ever met.

  “So, if you’re not my attorney and you’re a witness, anything I tell you could go straight to the authorities. There’d be no attorney-client privilege, would there?”

  “Afraid not. I just want to know about Ian Reynolds—who he was and where he came from. Seems odd that after all these years, suddenly the two of you come sniffing around that old property. And now one of you is dead.”

  Phil Bowers took a booted step closer to her. She could feel warmth from his body mingling with the heat of the air. Her nostrils flared, sucking in the earthy and sensual scents of sweat and sweet hay. She shook herself to break its spell.

  “I want to make sure my family doesn’t go through anything like this again.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Bowers.” Emma stood her ground, not backing down from his invasion into her personal space. “I have no intention of messing with that property. Frankly, I’d rather see it remain with you than have some cardboard condos destroying the landscape. It’s nice out there; it should remain that way. I’m just someone interested in her family’s past. Like I’ve said many times, I didn’t know Ian Reynolds even existed until yesterday.”