Emma nodded, unable to speak.
“Those your snakes?”
She shook her head back and forth.
It was then she heard the laughter. No one else paid attention to it, but she heard it clear as clean water. She turned in the direction of the sound and spotted the ghost of Garrett Bell.
Small sparks ignited in front of her eyes. Just as she fell toward the ground, Phil caught her.
“So this psychic, this—,” the detective looked down at his notes, “Milo Ravenscroft—told you he saw you getting into a bad car accident, so you had your car checked out?”
Emma nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“He didn’t see the snakes?” Detective Martinez looked across the small metal table at her, his face without expression.
“No. He just saw my car weaving and going over a cliff, with me in it.”
“And your car has been parked next to the Julian Hotel the whole time you’ve been here?”
“Except for when I went to the Bowers ranch and to Ramona. But it hasn’t moved since late yesterday afternoon.”
“And you noticed nothing the last time you drove it?”
“Not a thing.”
“How about today, when you put your luggage in the car?”
“I never opened the car, just the trunk. Same thing when I got my bag out to go to the cottage.”
This time the questioning didn’t take place in the park but at the sheriff’s office. Both Detective Martinez and Detective Hallam were present. A third detective was questioning Phil Bowers separately.
Emma told them everything, holding nothing back. She told them that Ian Reynolds, the dead guy, wasn’t really Ian Reynolds, and how she knew. The detectives listened patiently and took notes. One of them left and returned later to confirm that through fingerprints the crime lab had identified the victim as Garrett Bell, a clairvoyant and scam artist.
“You know,” said Detective Hallam, “if you did know this Bell character before coming to Julian, we will find out.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t know who he was. Before yesterday, I’d never heard the name Ian Reynolds, and this morning was the first time I’d ever heard the name Garrett Bell.”
“And the ghost of Bell told you who he was?” asked Hallam.
They’d been over this information time and time again. Emma knew the repeated questions were an attempt to trip her up, but since she was telling the truth, there was nothing to stumble over.
“No,” she said, repeating her story. “As I told you, when he first appeared, the ghost of Garrett Bell only said my name. Milo told me who he was after he was already dead.”
Detective Martinez looked at Emma. He was a tall, attractive Latino in his late thirties, with thick black hair and chocolate eyes. Eyes that bore into her own without mercy in search of the truth.
“We did confirm that an Ian Reynolds died about a month ago of natural causes. He lived in Woodland Hills—same phone number as the one you gave us. We’re following up to see if there was a connection between him and Bell.” He looked down again at the notes he’d taken. “Where can we reach this Milo Ravenscroft?”
“I have his cell phone number, but he’ll be here shortly,” she explained, looking at her watch. “As soon as he had the vision about my accident, he and my friend Tracy got on the road to Julian. They’re going to call me when they reach town.”
Detective Martinez studied her. “You feeling okay? Just let us know if you feel faint again.”
Emma took another drink of the cold soda they’d given her. “Thank you, but I’m fine now.”
Detective Hallam paced the small room. She’d removed the jacket to her pantsuit, revealing a gun tucked into a shoulder holster. “We will want to talk to them as soon as they arrive,” she said, “especially Mr. Ravenscroft. Where are they staying?”
“We’re all staying at a cottage here in town. I rented it today.”
“Emma,” started Martinez, “why would someone you don’t know masquerade as a dead long-lost relative?”
“I honestly think Garrett Bell was impersonating Ian Reynolds long before he knew about me. He told me someone tipped him off that I had met Phil Bowers and was interested in the property. He said he came to Julian to talk to me. He even followed me to the cemetery last night.”
“That’s where you injured your hand, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say what he wanted to talk to you about specifically?”
“No. He never got the chance. He did tell me, though, that he could see the ghosts, same as I could. That’s how I knew he wasn’t Ian Reynolds.” She stopped to take another drink. “He was trying to get the Bowers family to sell him the Reynolds property. I think he was hoping to use his supposed blood tie to the property to get the Bowers family to sell it to him—kind of guilt them into it with the proof that it was stolen from Jacob and Ish through murder. I also think that he was hoping to get me on his side—another blood descendant to help in his cause.”
“How would he know it was stolen? Through these letters?” Martinez tapped copies of the letters Emma had given them.
“Yes. The woman at the museum said a man named Ian Reynolds had called her. From the number she had, I think her contact was with the real Ian Reynolds. She told him about the letters, and he said he would get them from the library. It was in La Habra, I believe.”
Emma took another drink. Her throat was parched from all the talking, and she felt beaten to an emotional pulp by the repetition and events of the day.
“Is the boy, the young man who was in the car, going to be okay? His father said he would be, but I’m still concerned.”
Hallam gave her a faint smile. “Yes, he’s going to be fine.”
“So if this Reynolds/Bell guy had these,” Martinez pressed, “he would know that your ancestors were murdered and the property bought under false pretense. That right?”
Emma shivered in the stale air as a draft hit her. Looking up, she saw Granny. She was alone and came to Emma’s side.
“Yes,” Emma answered. “And you will note that in his confession, John Winslow says it was for the gold Jacob Reynolds found on the property.”
Detective Hallam bent forward, placing both of her hands on the table. “So you believe that these century-old murders have a bearing on the murder of Garrett Bell?”
Emma glanced at Granny, who gave her a smile of encouragement.
“I believe it’s highly possible.” She stopped to sort her thoughts. “I’m not sure exactly what Garrett Bell had planned, but it has crossed my mind that it isn’t about building condos, as he claimed, but about the gold. I mentioned that idea to Phil Bowers, and he said there hasn’t been gold found around here for a long time. Maybe Garrett Bell and whoever he was working with didn’t know that.”
Detective Hallam leaned forward even more. She was almost in push-up position across the table. “You’re pretty sure Bell wasn’t working alone. Why?”
Emma knew the police had the same idea, but they continued to come at her theories from all angles. But while their thoughts were based on solid police work and calculated guesses, her information had come from ghosts. Apples and onions.
“I’ve already told you. Someone had to have killed him; my guess is an angry partner. Someone is also trying to hurt me. And the ghost of Ish Reynolds keeps telling me that the property is still in danger. And that was after Garrett was killed.
“Originally,” Emma continued, “I thought it might be the real Ian Reynolds who killed Garrett. But when Granny told me he was already dead, I had to dump that idea.”
“You’d think,” Hallam said, pushing herself up from the table and standing erect, “that one of these ghosts might tell you who did the killing. That would really be helpful.” For the f
irst time, she dropped her professional façade and let her tone slip into mockery mode. “Can’t you ask the ghost of Garrett Bell who killed him? Or don’t you two have that kind of close relationship?”
Emma stiffened at the sarcasm. “I’ve already asked him. He’s not saying. He just said the same person will kill me.”
“But he knows who killed him?” asked Martinez.
“Seems so.”
“This is ridiculous!” Detective Hallam snapped.
Detective Martinez shot her a look of caution. “Doesn’t it make more sense,” he asked, returning his attention to Emma, “that if he told you, you’d be able to get help to stop him?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he was a jerk in real life, and I’m not so sure people change after death. His ghost seems to be taking pleasure in watching me squirm.”
She took another long drink from her soda and looked from one detective to the other. “Look, I know this seems hard to swallow. It still is a bit for me. But don’t some police departments use psychics from time to time to help them solve crimes? I mean, this can’t be all that far-fetched in your line of work.”
“Some police departments,” answered Martinez, “do use unconventional means when a trail gets cold. But the psychic isn’t usually involved in the case.”
“I’m not a psychic,” said Emma, sticking her strong chin out. “For some reason, I can communicate with ghosts. I believe that’s called being clairvoyant.”
“You tell them, Emma,” chimed in Granny, getting steamed up. “You’re not a fake.”
As much as Emma wanted to say something to Granny, she held back. It was bad enough she sounded like a lunatic, she didn’t need to look like one, too.
Martinez glanced at Detective Hallam. “You have any more questions for her?”
Detective Hallam threw up her hands in frustration. “No, not as this time.” She arched a brow at Emma. “But as soon as your psychic friend arrives in town, we’ll want to see him.”
Emma pulled out her cell phone. “He might be trying to reach me. May I turn it on now?”
As soon as she got the okay, Emma turned on her phone. There was a voice mail from Milo that had just come in a few minutes earlier. She called him back while the detectives watched.
“Milo, it’s me,” she said into the phone. “Where are you?”
“We just passed a place called Santa Ysabel. I don’t think we’re that far away.”
“No, you’re not.” Emma paused before giving him the bad news. “Something’s come up, Milo. I’m at the sheriff’s office in Julian. There was an attempt on my life—in the car, as you predicted.”
He gasped. “You okay?”
“What?” Tracy yelled from the driver’s side. “What’s going on?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t in the car, but someone else was. But he’s going to be okay.”
Emma caught a signal from Martinez telling her to get on with it. “Milo, the detectives handling the Garrett Bell murder want to talk to you. You need to stop by the sheriff’s office as soon as you get into Julian.”
“Okay,” he said, with hesitation.
“They want to ask you questions about your visions and what you might know about Garrett.”
“Emma, I really don’t like police. They make me nervous.”
“I understand, Milo, but this is important.”
Emma gave him directions to the sheriff’s office, which they’d have to pass as they came into town anyway. She said she would be waiting for them.
While Detectives Martinez and Hallam questioned Milo Ravenscroft, Emma and Tracy walked an energetic Archie. Emma took the opportunity to fill Tracy in on everything.
“You have any idea who killed this guy?” Tracy asked.
“None. But I’m thinking it might be someone connected in some manner to the real Ian Reynolds. Someone who knew about the old family property and its possible value.”
Tracy, wearing a long, flowing Indian-print skirt and tank top, knitted her brows in thought. “You really think there might be gold on the property?”
“Not sure, though Phil says no. Says the gold mining here tapped out in the late 1800s, even before Granny was killed. It’s one of the reasons Jacob’s find might have been so exciting and dangerous.”
Tracy thought about it for a minute before answering. “But if these men did finally get their hands on the property way back then, you’d think they would have done the mining at that time. Even if there was gold then, it doesn’t mean there’s any now.”
They had strolled up the street to the small park just past the museum. Archie, drunk with freedom after being cooped up in the car for hours, was pulling on his leash to run. Then Emma saw another reason for Archie’s enthusiasm. Granny, who had disappeared right after the questioning, was back, waiting by a picnic table. Smiling, Emma bent down and unhooked the dog’s leash. Archie made straight for the ghost, wagging his tail with gusto. Watching him, Emma was glad they’d brought the animal. He reminded her of home and her parents. His presence assured her that she had a normal life waiting for her elsewhere.
“Well, there has to be something about that land that made Garrett masquerade as a dead man to get it.” Emma stretched. It felt good to be free of the intense questioning, at least for now. “You’ll see it tonight,” she said to Tracy. “Phil’s aunt invited us all over for dinner. They live across from it.”
Tracy eyed her friend as they walked to the picnic table. “About this Phil guy. What’s up with him?”
Phil, after meeting Tracy and Milo, had left for home to help his aunt. Emma and her friends would follow in Tracy’s car as soon as Milo was through answering questions.
“Nothing. He’s involved with this like I am, on the fringes.”
“I don’t mean that,” Tracy prodded. “I mean what’s up between the two of you?”
Emma kept her eyes on the dog. “There’s nothing between us.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You don’t have to be psychic or clairvoyant or whatever to see that there’s a spark between you and the ranch hand.”
“Lawyer,” Emma corrected. “Phil’s a lawyer in San Diego. Lives here.”
“Lawyer or cowboy, who cares? He’s pretty cute and nicely put together. Not a bad caboose for a middle-aged guy.”
Emma laughed. “Aren’t you forgetting that we’re middle-aged, too?”
“And aren’t you forgetting that I look at college beefcake almost every day? Makes a woman my age appreciate a fine specimen over forty, believe me.”
“Your friend is right, Emma,” chimed in Granny.
Emma almost jumped, not realizing the ghost had moved in close to them. She’d been lost in thought about Phil’s caboose herself.
“That Phil Bowers is a fine-looking man,” Granny continued. “A good man. You could do worse.”
Emma turned to the spirit. “In case you’ve forgotten, Granny, I have done worse.”
“Oh my God!” cried Tracy, before catching herself and toning her voice down. “You’re talking to that ghost, aren’t you?”
Talking to Granny had become so natural, Emma was starting to do it without thinking about who might be near. She would have to watch that in the future, thankful she hadn’t popped off in front of the detectives.
“Yes, Tracy, I was talking to Granny Apples. She seems to think Phil’s a hunk of middle-aged beefcake, too.”
“She kissed him, you know,” Granny said to Tracy. “A couple of times.” But Tracy couldn’t hear.
Emma laughed out loud and plopped herself down on a bench. “Granny’s tattling on me,” she said to Tracy. “She just reported to you that Phil and I have kissed.”
“Damn, I wish I could hear and see her li
ke you do.” Tracy sat down next to Emma. Archie settled at the feet of the ghost.
Emma shook her head and giggled. “No, you don’t. She can be a real pest.” She looked up at the misty image. “Right, Granny?”
“Humph.” The ghost moved away but didn’t disappear. Archie followed her, his tail wagging.
“See that?” Emma pointed Archie’s movements out to Tracy. “The ghost is right there. Archie has a thing for her. Followed her around at Kelly’s party, too.” Emma thought about Killer. “Come to think of it, so did one of the dogs at Phil’s house. Not all of them, though, just one of them. Maybe animals are like people. Some have the gift, some don’t. Interesting theory, don’t you think?”
“What I’m thinking is that I want you to speak at that class I’m giving next semester. You know, the one I went to the séance for as research?”
“Oh, please, what do I have to say on the subject? You should ask Milo.”
“I think the perspective of someone surprised suddenly by this ‘gift’ would be much more interesting.” Tracy patted Emma’s knee. “We’ll talk more about it later. Meanwhile, I want to know more about this kissing business.” Tracy flashed her a devilish grin.
“Okay, you got me. We do find each other attractive. Like me, he’s in the middle of a divorce. But he also lives down here, and I live up there. Not exactly conducive to building a relationship.”
“Who said anything about a relationship, Emma? Have a fling. It will do you good. Especially after everything you’ve been through with Grant.”
Emma flushed. “I don’t know how to have a fling, Tracy. I don’t think it’s in my makeup. I think I’ve been genetically programmed to be flingless.”
Tracy stared at Emma. “But certainly in college? Before Grant?”
Emma shook her head. “Nope.”
“Are you telling me that Grant Whitecastle is the only man who’s ever scaled your tower?” Tracy looked at her bug-eyed.
“Pretty much, yes.”
“After all the years we’ve known each other, why am I just finding this out now? Seriously, I figured with all the dating you did in college, you might have … you know.”
Sue Ann Jaffarian - [Granny Apples 01] Page 19
