Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “We practically live together now—at least we do when I’m here at the cabin.”

  Emma’s “cabin” was a spacious three-bedroom, two-story home with two stone fireplaces, a combination office/den, and a state-of-the-art kitchen. It was directly across from the entrance to the ranch and shared the same access road. The cabin was located on the property where Granny’s homestead had been built back in the late 1800s—property Phil and his family deeded over to Emma, returning it back to its original family.

  From the time Emma had started building the cabin, she’d driven down to Julian at least twice a month. As soon as it was near completion, she and Phil started staying at the cabin in domestic bliss. When she wasn’t in Julian, Phil looked after the place. He drove up to Julian from San Diego almost every Thursday night and often worked from Julian if there was no need for him to be physically at his law firm. Emma knew that he often stayed at the cabin without her and worked from the cabin, preferring the quiet over the hustle and bustle at the ranch. Sometimes Phil drove up to Pasadena, where Emma lived with her parents, but it wasn’t the same as when they stayed at the cabin. Over time and without her really realizing it, the cabin had become their home.

  “True,” was all Susan replied, but she studied Emma with a frankness that announced living together wasn’t what she meant.

  Emma knew Phil wanted to marry her. They had talked about it several times. She loved Phil Bowers deeply, with a mature love she’d never had for the arrogant and vain Grant Whitecastle. Phil made her feel safe and secure and in a heartbeat could turn her insides to jelly like a lovesick teenager. More importantly, she trusted him as she had never trusted Grant.

  “Susan,” Emma began, “I love Phil; please don’t ever doubt that.”

  Phil’s aunt looked at Emma, her rosy cheeks softened with understanding. “I know that, dear. You wear it like those tight jeans you favor.”

  Emma laughed. “Are you saying my jeans are too tight?”

  Susan leaned forward, saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “Not one bit. If I had your figure, I’d be wearing them, too.”

  She straightened and took a drink of lemonade, keeping her twinkling eyes on Emma. “I know you two will never have a traditional marriage with both of you in one spot night and day, like me and Glen. You have your career in Los Angeles, and Phil has his down here. You seem to have worked out the logistics of being together, and your kids get along fine, but I’m just old-fashioned enough to want to see you two wed.” She lightly slapped the table with the hand not holding the glass. “There, now I’ve said it.”

  “It’s about time someone did.”

  Emma whipped her head around at the voice only she heard—she and Killer. The little dog hopped up and started dancing on his hind legs.

  “Granny must be here,” Susan announced. Her voice was even, but a slight shiver ran through it. “That’s how that fool dog behaves when she’s around.”

  Emma looked over at the railing, where Killer was circling like a whirling dervish around a slim, hazy column only Emma and the dog could see. In short order, the column materialized into the outline of a diminutive pioneer woman dressed in a floor-length skirt, long-sleeved blouse, and boots. Her face was weathered and slightly pinched. A thick braid of hair circled her head. “You and Phil need to get hitched. He’s a darn fine man.”

  “You show up now?” Emma said to the ghost. “Just in time for this conversation? How convenient.”

  “Don’t get testy with me,” the apparition shot back. “I’m just giving my opinion.” The ornery ghost stuck out her pointed chin. “And I didn’t just show up. I was listening while you told Phil about that Max ghost. Then I disappeared, seeing he was getting all mushy with you.”

  Emma sighed and turned back to Susan. “Seems Granny agrees with you and Mother about Phil and me.” Emma put her glass down. “Susan, I’ve come to think of you like a second mother, so I’m going to tell you what I told my own mother.” She fiddled with a stray leaf that had drifted onto the table. “I love Phil so much, I worry about hurting him.”

  “That’s only natural, dear. No one wants to hurt those they love, but sometimes it happens.”

  “I’ve only known two men in my life, and I’ve loved both—Grant and Phil.” Emma paused to put her thoughts in order, worried about coming off as tacky with a verbal misstep. “I worry about Phil being a rebound, since I met him while in the middle of my divorce from Grant.” She paused to take a breath. “Maybe I should date more—see other men before deciding he’s the one I want to be with forever. The last thing I want is another divorce.”

  Emma looked from Susan to Granny. “Do you both understand that?”

  The ghost scowled. “What I understand is Phil is a good man, and you’re a fool if you let him get away.”

  Emma smiled and turned back to Susan. “Granny just reminded me that good men don’t grow on trees.”

  “And Granny would be right.” Susan smiled at Emma. “Good women don’t grow on trees either.”

  Susan stood up and went to the railing. She looked out over the trees and rolling land a moment before turning back around. “Do you want to date someone else? Have you met someone, Emma?”

  “No to both of those questions. It’s not so much wanting to date others as wondering if I should.” Confused herself about her feelings, Emma hoped she was explaining herself clearly.

  Granny looked at Susan. “Would you talk some sense into the little fool?”

  Susan thought it only a two-way conversation. “Believe it or not, Emma, I understand what you’re saying.”

  “That’s not what she needs to hear.” Granny stomped her left foot in frustration. Emma was glad Susan couldn’t see or hear the ghost.

  “The last thing I want for Phil,” Susan continued, “would be another divorce. The first one near about killed him. I know you both love each other, but I also know that, in time, what you have now won’t be enough for him.”

  “That’s exactly what my mother advised me.”

  “You’re mother is a very smart woman, and I’m sure, like me, she worried about making a mistake when she married. I don’t know of a sensible bride who doesn’t.” Susan pushed off from the railing and stood over Emma, lightly touching her shoulder. “Follow your heart, Emma, and it will tell you what it needs, not just what it wants.”

  Susan turned to look back over the rail. Phil, done with tending the horses, was heading for the house. “But,” Susan said, watching Phil walk toward them, “you hurt my nephew any more than is usual and customary in such matters, and I’ll skin you alive myself.”

  Granny crossed her arms. “I don’t know what all that customary gibberish meant, but I’ll skin ya, too.”

  four

  After spending a little more time with Susan, Phil suggested he and Emma clean up and go into town to have dinner.

  “There goes that rocker again,” Phil noted as they strolled toward Emma’s cabin. He indicated one of several large wooden rockers on the porch. “Does that quite often, breeze or no breeze.”

  Emma smiled. “Must be Granny enjoying some down time. Could be that’s why she’s not in Pasadena as often—she might be spending more time here.”

  Phil shook his head while keeping a close eye on the rocker. “I’m not so sure that’s Granny. Not too long ago, Granny and I were having one of our little chats in the kitchen, and I could see that rocker going back and forth through the window.”

  “Really?” Emma studied the rocker, which continued to move in a steady, rhythmic back-and-forth sweep, but she couldn’t make out any spirit.

  “It’s my man, Jacob,” a disembodied voice said. It moved along with Phil and Emma but didn’t materialize.

  Emma halted and signaled for Phil to stop. “Granny just told me that’s Jacob on the porch—her husband and my great-great-great-grandfather.”

  “Have you ever seen him before?” Phil asked with interest, his eyes glued to the gently moving chair.

&n
bsp; “Never. Granny always said he had no interest in coming back from the other side.”

  “Shortly after you put those rockers out,” Granny explained, materializing into a faint outline, “he started coming back here. He used to love sitting on the porch of our cabin. Our porch wasn’t as big and our rockers not as fine, but they did the job. After chores, we’d sit in quiet. I’d knit, and he’d whittle or clean and fix tools until it was too dark to see. On Sundays our son would sit on the stoop and read to us.”

  “You can’t read, Granny?” It had never occurred to Emma that the ghost couldn’t.

  “I can read as long as it ain’t fancy words, but Jacob never learned. He loved hearing Winston read from the storybooks he got from school.”

  As Emma watched, Granny’s hazy image made its way to the porch. Granny disappeared as the second rocker synchronized its movements with the first.

  Phil took Emma’s hand. “I take it Granny and Jacob are both on the porch now.”

  Touched by the scene, Emma nodded in silence.

  Still holding Emma’s hand, Phil started down the path to the porch. “It’s nice to see that love can even survive death.” When they climbed the steps to the porch, Phil tipped his cowboy hat toward the rockers.

  “How about dinner at the Julian Grill?” Phil asked.

  “Not the Rong Branch, where we met?”

  “I considered it.” Picking up his watch from the large pine dining table, Phil slipped it onto his wrist. “But the Grill is more romantic than beer and burgers. Besides, I didn’t have enough time to choreograph a brawl to make it authentic.”

  Both had showered and dressed. Finished first, Emma had placed another call to Kelly but again only reached her voicemail. Now she watched Phil from an overstuffed chair in the living room while weighing Susan’s words. She was crazy about Phil, and their relationship was so satisfying; she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Her feelings didn’t seem like a rebound reaction at all, but while her heart said to let go, her head told her to be cautious when it came to men in general. Susan had told her to follow her heart, but for the time being her head was running a blockade.

  Getting up, she stepped behind Phil and encircled his waist with her arms, resting her chin on his brawny shoulder. He smelled of shaving cream, a special blend he ordered online and applied with a badger hair brush. She took a deep breath, imprinting it into her memory forever.

  “Do you mind it very much that we’re not married?” she asked.

  He didn’t turn around or break her embrace, but he hesitated before answering. “Did my aunt say something to you?”

  “Your aunt, my mother, Granny—even my father has made a lightly veiled comment or two.”

  “I’ll talk to Susan.”

  “No, Phil, don’t. Susan—all of them—just want what they think is best for us.” She squeezed her arms tighter around him. “I love you, Phil Bowers.”

  “And I you, Emma Whitecastle. But I don’t want you feeling pressured to marry me. It’s not like you need to make an honest man out of me—long past time for that.”

  She giggled, kissing and nuzzling his left ear.

  “Better watch yourself, Fancy Pants, or we’ll never make it to dinner.”

  “Hmm, I could always scramble us up some eggs … later.”

  Phil removed his watch, placed it back on the table, and turned around to face her. Enfolding her in his arms, it was his turn to whisper into her ear. “Later sounds right up my alley.”

  A hour and a half later, while Emma was cracking eggs and separating the whites and yolks for an egg white vegetable omelet, Kelly called. Phil worked nearby, chopping onions and slicing mushrooms. Emma rinsed her hands and wiped them on a kitchen towel before answering.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Emma said into the phone.

  “Hey, Mom. Whatcha doing?”

  “Just whipping up a little dinner.”

  “Should I call back?”

  “No, not at all. We’re just making omelets and haven’t started cooking yet.”

  When Phil signaled he could handle it without her, she walked into the living room and hunkered down on the large, comfy sofa, curling her legs up under her. A few minutes later, she returned to the kitchen, her face distraught. She put the phone down on the breakfast bar and hit the speaker feature, then hopped up on one of the high stools to listen.

  “Kelly, I’m putting you on speaker. I want Phil to hear this. Start from the beginning.”

  “Hi, Phil.”

  “Hi, beautiful,” he called to her. Emma smiled. Phil adored Kelly and treated her like his own. He leaned across the counter to listen better.

  “Like I told you, Mom,” Kelly began, her voice serious and clear, “it’s just so weird that you asked about Elaine Naiman, because I was going to call you about her this weekend.” Kelly paused. “Do you remember a few months ago, when I told you she got engaged?”

  “Yes,” responded Emma. “I congratulated Joanna about it this afternoon, and she shrugged it off. Didn’t even give me a polite thank you. Is Lainey still engaged?”

  “I don’t know, but when she got engaged, that was all she gushed about on Facebook. She said her mother was planning this really big wedding. Then, about a month or so ago, she hardly talked about it at all. I emailed her privately about it, and she didn’t respond. Now her Facebook page is gone.”

  Emma glanced up at Phil. They exchanged concerned looks, both knowing going silent wasn’t normal behavior for a young engaged woman.

  “Maybe,” Emma said, “the wedding was called off, and she’s either hurt or embarrassed about it. Maybe she found out something about her fiancé she doesn’t want people to know. It certainly would fit with how her mother acted today.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, Mom. Then Summer Perkins texted me that Lainey dropped out of school. They were both going to UCLA. This morning Summer sent me another text, saying she’d heard Lainey tried to kill herself.”

  Emma sucked in a gulp of air as if she’d been punched. It stuck in her throat like a gag.

  “Mom, it gets worse. Summer heard Lainey has tried suicide more than once in the past few months and is now in some sort of facility.”

  Emma’s hand went to her mouth. Lainey was the same age as Kelly. To think of someone so young going through something that horrible was unthinkable. “Oh, no! That poor child.”

  Phil reached out a hand and stroked Emma’s arm. As a father, Lainey’s situation was affecting him, too.

  “Mom, can you do something for me?”

  Emma leaned close to the phone, wanting a way to hug her daughter through the lines. “Of course, dear, anything.”

  “Since I can’t be there, would you go visit Lainey? She always thought you were such a cool mom, and I think it might cheer her up.”

  “Of course I will. Don’t think twice about it. What’s the name of the place she’s at?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll find out and text it to you.”

  They chatted a few minutes more before Kelly had to go. Emma reluctantly ended the call. After hearing about Elaine Naiman, she didn’t want to let go of Kelly, not even electronically. More than ever, she wanted to know that her daughter was safe and stable.

  “What do you make of that?” asked Phil, going back to preparing their dinner.

  “It certainly explains why Joanna looked so haggard and brittle today. It probably had nothing to do with Max.” She played with the phone, as if caressing Kelly through its case. “Joanna gave no indication that anything was wrong with Lainey. When I congratulated her on Lainey’s engagement, she could have said something then.”

  “Like you said to Kelly, maybe it’s embarrassment.” Phil started blending the egg yolks back into the carefully separated egg whites. “Folks are always afraid that if something emotional is wrong with their kids, they’ll be blamed for bad parenting. And often that’s the case.”

  “Hey,” Emma protested. “I separated those eggs for a reason. Egg whit
e omelets are better for your cholesterol.”

  “Cholesterol or not, I prefer whole eggs over wimpy egg whites.” He started beating the eggs, adding some milk to the mixture. “And, frankly, you look like you could use the extra calories in the yolks. You look a bit pale. Did you eat anything today?”

  “Cereal and then half a seafood salad when I met Joanna.”

  Phil was right, she hadn’t eaten enough, especially with the exercise of riding and sex thrown in. She looked after his cholesterol, and he looked after her in general. Grant never took notice of anything she ate unless it was to comment that she’d get fat if she ate too many sweets. Considering her naturally active metabolism and her enjoyment of exercise, she stayed slim as a reed and so far had managed to avoid middle-age spread.

  Phil gave her a scolding look as he started sautéing the onions. They hit the hot, buttery pan with a loud sizzle.

  “Let me help you,” Emma told him.

  “You just keep your cute keister on that stool. I can manage.” After stirring the onions around until they were near done, he threw in the sliced mushrooms and got some chopped spinach ready to add just before the eggs.

  “I have to do something, Phil. That phone call made me jumpy as a Chihuahua.”

  “Then why don’t you make us some toast.”

  She got up off the stool and came around the counter. “Okay, but no butter. You put enough in the pan.” When Phil made a face, she added, “There’s some nice organic marmalade in the fridge. You can think of it as a little bite of dessert.”

  “Quit being such a pain in my ass, Fancy Pants.”

  “I’m just trying to keep you around long enough to get some use out of you.” She gave him a wide grin. “You know, like taking care of an old car so it will last longer.”

  “Vintage, darling,” he corrected. “I’m not old. I’m vintage.”

  Emma popped slices of whole-grain, high-fiber bread into the large four-slot toaster on the counter, filling each opening. “I wonder if Joanna thinks Max’s ghost has something to do with Lainey’s suicide attempts. Maybe Max is haunting Lainey, too.” She pulled the jar of marmalade out of the refrigerator and placed it on the breakfast bar before starting a pot of decaf coffee.