The ghost sat on his bench, staring out at the town. He didn’t look at her but kept his eyes straight ahead. “Hello, Miss Emma.”
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. That your dog?”
“His name’s Archie.” As he was introduced, Archie moved forward and sniffed Billy Winslow’s spirit. His tail wagged.
“I always did like dogs. Had one once, a shepherd named Jasper.”
As the other ghosts went about their business, Emma sat down next to Billy. She kept still, sensing that he would talk in his own good time, if he talked at all. Archie lay at her feet, waiting, enjoying the evening air. She didn’t know how much time passed before Billy spoke again, but it seemed to her several minutes.
“You come here to ask me more questions?”
“You know I did, Billy.”
“About the man who died here last night?” He turned to look at her. As usual, his face was passive. “Or about something else?”
“I’m here about a few things. That is, if you are willing to tell me.”
“That man,” he started, turning back toward the town, “he came here to ask me questions, too.”
“Had he been here before?”
“Yes, ma’am. Couple of times.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. Didn’t seem right. He said he was Winston’s kin, like you. But I knew he wasn’t, even if he did know a lot about what happened.”
“He knew why you were killed, didn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You were killed by your father’s partners, isn’t that right? Men named Bobcat and Parker.”
“You know more than you did last time.”
“I came across some letters your father wrote to your mother. In them, your father refers to something you did. He doesn’t say what it was, just that you did something you shouldn’t have.”
“Pa told me to fix it and save my skin. But he’s the one who did something wrong. I was just trying to make it right.” Billy sighed, his young, broad shoulders rising and falling like a soft wave. “I thought it would bring Ma and my sister back.”
“You knew your father killed Winston’s parents, didn’t you? And that he got Winston to sell him the property so he could have the gold?”
Billy nodded. “It wasn’t right, Miss Emma. Pa knew better. Those other men were bad. Made him do bad things.”
“What did you do to make them so angry? Did you tell someone about what they did?”
“No, ma’am. I took it.”
“Took it? Took the gold?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was going to find Winston and give it to him. It was rightly his. Wouldn’t bring his ma and pa back, but it still belonged to him.”
“But they killed you to get it back, right?”
“I never gave it back. I hid it.”
It was Emma’s turn to be silent. In the darkness of the graveyard, she rotated this new information this way and that in her brain, blending it with what she already knew, trying to fit the right-shaped peg into the correct slot. Garrett and his partner must have found out about the missing gold.
“Did you hide the gold on the Reynolds property, Billy?”
The ghost remained silent.
“Where, Billy? Where did you hide it? Do you mind telling me?”
“No, Miss Emma. You’re Winston’s kin. It belongs to you now.”
Emma wasn’t so sure about that theory. That might have been true years ago, when Billy took the gold. But if it was hidden on the old Reynolds property, it now legally belonged to the Bowers family. Personally, Emma didn’t care. What she cared about was finishing this and getting home.
They fell into silence once more as Emma waited patiently for Billy to tell her where he’d hidden the gold. At her feet, Archie stirred, his pointed ears sharp in silhouette, his body stiff. She looked around. The ghosts were still milling about, but other than them, Emma heard and saw nothing. Even the small creatures in the trees and bushes were still. But Emma trusted Archie’s instincts, and the dog was definitely on alert.
“I have to be getting back,” she told the ghost. “It might not be safe for me here. Where’s the gold, Billy?”
“It’s not safe, Emma.” It wasn’t Billy’s voice. Emma turned to her right and saw the ghost of Garrett Bell. “You need to leave. Right now. Or you will never leave alive.”
She turned to Billy’s spirit. Like a candle burned to the end of its wick, he was beginning to fade into the darkness. “Billy, please tell me.” The other ghosts were also vanishing.
“Twenty-five paces north,” Billy told her.
“Leave now, Emma,” Garrett cautioned. “Go.”
“Twenty-five paces north,” Emma repeated, ignoring Garrett.
Archie was on his feet, standing at attention, looking off into the darkness. A low growl, like the buzz from an electric shaver, came from his gut. Emma stood up and looked around. Fear as prickly as feasting fire ants blanketed her skin.
“Well.” Billy said the single word and was gone.
“Twenty-five paces north of what, Emma?”
Emma jumped at the voice. It wasn’t the feathery words of a ghost but the full-bodied sound of the living coming from the depths of night. Keeping a tight hold on Archie’s leash, Emma shined the flashlight in the direction of the voice, moving the beam this way and that until it found its mark.
Before her stood a man thick in body, average in height. He held a gun. Next to him was a short, stocky woman also holding a gun. To Emma’s great surprise, it was the Quinns, the older couple staying at the Julian Hotel.
“Twenty-five paces north of what?” Mr. Quinn asked again. His wife remained silent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play games. Just tell me what Billy Winslow had to say.”
“Who are you, and what do you have to do with this?”
“Let’s just say we’re interested parties, folks who are so glad you stumbled into this one-horse town when you did. We’d just about given up on Billy.”
Archie’s growl was deeper now. Emma pulled in a little more of his leash. “Billy?”
“Don’t play the wide-eyed ingénue with me. You know I’m talking about the ghost of Billy Winslow. And you know about the gold.”
“You killed Garrett, didn’t you?”
“That was an unfortunate accident. We argued. He lost. But he’d outlived his usefulness anyway.”
“Emma.”
She cut her eyes a few inches to the right of Mr. Quinn and saw Garrett’s ghost. Quinn noticed her movement.
“You seeing ghosts, Emma?”
“There are many ghosts up here. It’s a graveyard.”
Quinn gave off a deep chuckle. “So true.” His wife also laughed.
“You put the snakes in my car, didn’t you?”
“Actually, that was an idea I’m glad didn’t pan out. I thought Billy had already given you the information, and we certainly couldn’t have you claiming the prize, not after all the time and money we’ve spent to get to this point. It wasn’t until last night, after the snakes were set, that Garrett Bell told us he didn’t think Billy told you squat about the gold. But now that Bell’s dead, you’re our only hope of getting that information. Billy wouldn’t talk to Bell—seems Bell had some bad karma or some other shit with the spirit world. We didn’t know that when we hired him. They all clammed up every time we tried to get them to talk, especially Billy.”
Archie strained on his leash and gave out a short couple of yips.
“If you don’t want that dog dead, I’d advise keeping him in line.”
Emma tugged the leash and shushed the animal. Archie got quiet but stayed on alert.
/> “How’d you know I was up here? Did Garrett’s ghost tell you?”
“His ghost? Figures he’d come back to ruin everything. But alas, if one of us could see and talk to ghosts, we wouldn’t have needed Bell in the first place, or you. But you did save us a lot of trouble by coming up here tonight. We were all set to bust into that cottage and take you by force when we saw you leave for your stroll.”
Emma’s heart stopped. They were going to invade the cottage at gunpoint? She thought about Milo and Tracy, thankful they weren’t in harm’s way.
Quinn took a step closer to Emma. The woman stayed where she was. Two guns against a Scottish terrier. Emma was definitely at a disadvantage.
“So? Twenty-five paces north of where, Emma? Tell us so we can all go home.”
“He’ll kill you, Emma.” Garrett stepped closer.
“He’s going to kill me anyway.” Emma didn’t think about the words, they just came out of her instinctively, like a cough or sneeze. But as soon as she said them, she knew it was true. She would die whether or not she told them where the gold was, unless she could convince them otherwise.
In the moonlight, Emma caught Quinn’s smirk. “Kill you? Let’s just say it’s fifty-fifty on that at this point.”
“Look, I personally don’t care who gets the gold. I didn’t know about it before I got here, and I don’t care about it now.”
Quinn appraised her top to bottom and back to the top. “You know, I actually believe you.”
“Then let’s make a deal.” Emma shifted from foot to foot on the uneven ground. “I’ll tell you what Billy said. You get the gold and leave Julian. I won’t say anything in return for my life and the safety of my friends, including the Bowers family. Just take the gold and disappear. It’s blood money anyway.”
“Is the gold on the Reynolds property?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it.” His voice was smug. “She said it wasn’t. Said it would have been too obvious, and Bobcat and Parker would have found it soon after killing Billy.”
Mrs. Quinn had the long-suffering look of a wife who’d been told she was wrong most of her marriage.
“Where on the property?”
“We don’t have a deal yet.”
“It’s a deal with the devil, Emma.” Garrett drifted between her and Quinn. She ignored him, knowing a deal with the devil was her only chance of survival.
“You’re coming with us,” Quinn said after giving the situation some thought. “If the gold’s there, you can go. If it’s not, we’ll have to have another talk—this time with a gun to the head of one of those friends of yours.”
He started forward to grab Emma, but Archie growled. He aimed the gun at the dog.
“No, please,” Emma begged. “He’ll behave.”
“He’s not coming with us. Tie him to a tree.”
“But there are other animals out here. It’s not safe.”
“The tree or a bullet. Your choice.”
Emma bent to tie Archie’s leash to a nearby small bush, but she didn’t fasten it completely. “Stay,” she ordered the dog as she walked away. Archie took a step to follow. “Sit. Stay.”
This time, Archie sat down and stayed put, his posture vigilant as he watched his mistress being spirited away in the night.
Phil Bowers was having a bad night. He kept dreaming of pioneer women hanging from trees and snakes driving cars, of ghosts dancing, and bulldogs with flatulence. Or was it dancing bulldogs and ghosts with flatulence? When his cell phone first rang, he thought it was just another crazy extension of his dreams.
He reached for the phone resting on the nightstand. He always kept it on, even when he slept, just in case one of his kids needed him. The last time it rang in the middle of the night, Tom, his youngest, had wrapped his car around a tree on his way home from a party. Like most parents, his heart was in his throat as he answered.
In under a minute, he had jumped into jeans and a tee shirt, shoved his feet into boots, and started running down the stairs.
“Phillip,” his aunt called. She was leaning over the banister as he pulled open the door. Her hair was disheveled, and she was in her nightgown. “Is it Tom again?”
“It’s Emma. Call 911 and get the sheriff over to the cemetery.”
“Oh no! Is she all right?”
“Not sure, just make the call. Tell them to be cautious. The killer might be back.”
His truck kicked up a cloud of gravel as it sped down the long drive to the access road. From there, it was nearly another a mile before it turned onto the road that led to the main highway into town. Worried about Emma, to Phil Bowers the drive seemed interminable.
In the middle of the night, the two-lane, twisting highway to town was usually empty. Phil pushed his foot against the accelerator and sent his truck speeding through the deserted countryside as fast as he dared, taking the turns as only a homegrown local could. A couple of miles from town, he saw headlights coming toward him. He slowed down until the dark Honda sedan safely passed, then opened up the throttle full tilt.
The middle-of-the night phone call had been from Milo Ravenscroft. He’d been woken up by Granny Apples. She’d put her face as close to his as possible and yelled his name with her ghostly voice until she got his attention. It was the only way she knew to help Emma. Immediately, Milo had called Phil Bowers.
“Wake up, Tracy.” Milo shook her roughly by the shoulder. “Emma’s in trouble.”
“Huh?”
“It’s Emma. She’s gone to the cemetery. Granny just told me. The dog’s gone, too.”
Tracy sat up and glanced over at Emma’s empty bed. Seeing the rumpled sheets woke her like a bucket of cold water. “What should we do?”
“I called Phil. He’s on his way over there now with the police. He said to stay put until he called us back.”
Tracy threw back the covers. “Like hell I’m sitting still.” She had been sleeping in a tee shirt. Grabbing a pair of jeans from her overnight bag, she pulled them on and slipped into her sandals. “Come on. Let’s get over there.”
From the back of the Honda where Emma was bunched like a sack of potatoes across the back seat, she tried her best to conjure up Granny. She’d never called the ghost to her before in silence and wondered if it was possible. There was no time like the present to find out, and she had nothing to lose. If she could get Granny to pay attention, she might be able to send her for help. She had no way of knowing the ghost was way ahead of her. Before stuffing her into the back seat of the car, the woman had bound Emma’s hands in front of her.
In the dark of the car, Emma’s other senses were as sharp as a stick pin. She felt every turn in the road. Heard every breath of her kidnappers. At one point, she felt the car swerve hard to the right, then straighten.
“Damn fool,” she heard the woman say. “That truck had to be going at least seventy. On these back roads, it’s a good way to get killed.”
Just as Emma was losing the battle with motion sickness, the car came to a stop. She heard both car doors open. The one at her feet was also opened, and the rush of cool mountain air refreshed her. Strong hands grabbed her ankles and dragged her halfway out of the car. As soon as hard-packed earth was under her feet, she was yanked upright by the waist of her jeans.
She turned this way and that, letting her eyes adjust to the night. She looked up. Stars covered the sky like sequins on a soft velvet dress. To her right, in the distance, she could just make out the Bowers ranch house. A whimper caught in her throat at the thought of the lovely meal and good company she’d shared there with friends just a few hours before. She’d wanted to show Kelly this place of peace and history. And her mother—her mother would like it here, at least for a few days. Then she might get restless. But she knew Elizabeth would find it fascinating to explore where her family ha
d settled after migrating from Kansas.
After retrieving a flashlight and shovel from the trunk of the car, the Quinns marched her from the road to the fence. The man held open the wire, and the woman helped Emma through.
“Okay,” Quinn said, “we’re here. What did Billy tell you?”
“Twenty-five paces north.”
“We know that.” His voice was heavy with impatience. “Twenty-five paces north of what ?”
“From the well.”
He held the shovel up in front of Emma like a flag. “We thought it might be buried. Never hurts to be prepared, does it?”
The three of them trekked over to the old covered well. “Seems we weren’t far off,” he said to the woman. He turned toward Emma. “Originally, we thought it might be in the well. Bell managed to break the lock and get the lid off a few weeks ago, but there was nothing inside. Would have looked around more, but someone came down the road heading for the Bowers place.” He jiggled the shiny new padlock. “Looks like they replaced the lock.”
He undid Emma’s wrists and handed the shovel to her. “As soon as I say where, start digging.”
“Help is coming, Emma.” It was Granny, standing almost in front of her. “Don’t fret, help’s coming.” Emma stared straight ahead, not wanting to give any indication to the others that they were not alone.
After gazing up at the sky from several vantage points, the man gave a grunt of satisfaction. He paced off twenty-five steps from the rim of the well and pointed the beam of light at a spot on the ground. “Here.”
When she hesitated, the woman nudged Emma in the back with her gun. Emma walked over to where Quinn indicated. She stuck the pointed end of the shovel into the dirt and scooped away a cupful. She repeated the process a few times before he snatched the shovel from her.
“It’s going to take all night that way. Haven’t you ever used a shovel before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Shit. Just our luck we’d get a hothouse flower.”
After pushing her out of the way, the man stuck the end of the spade into the dirt and pushed down on its top edge with his foot, forcing the sharp end deeper into the ground. When he pulled the shovel out, a large chunk of dirt came with it.
Sue Ann Jaffarian - [Granny Apples 01] Page 22
