Lainey was free to tell her mother where she was. Even Dr. Kitty had made it clear it was up to Lainey to make that decision. Obviously she had decided not to let Joanna know. Emma didn’t blame Lainey for keeping her mother in the dark, especially knowing Lin had placed a spy at Serenity. Dr. Kitty had informed them on Saturday morning in a quick call that she’d kept an eye on Jamal and when he had finally inquired about Lainey’s whereabouts, she had pulled him into her office for questioning. At first he claimed he had no knowledge of Linwood Reid, but he finally caved under the fierce scrutiny of the two Doctor Garveys, admitting he’d been paid handsomely to keep an eye on Lainey, but that was all it was, watching over her and reporting to her stepfather how she was doing. He lost his job.
The next call was from Kelly—a half apology for being so distant. “I know you’re just trying to help, Mom, but this is pretty bizarre, and I can’t help but worry about you.” She said nothing about Emma coming up to Boston when she was finished in Jim Thorpe.
Emma left a quick message on Phil’s phone, letting him know she’d arrived safely in Pennsylvania and wished he was with her. Her next call was to her mother’s cell phone, to let her parents know the same thing. Elizabeth reported that Lainey was doing fine and that the two of them had gone into town to have lunch. Her father and Phil’s uncle were off playing golf. Her mother even reported that Dr. Kitty had called to say she and Dr. Mike were planning on visiting Julian in a few days and would stop to see Lainey. Emma smiled, knowing her mother was taking good care of her charge. She knew Elizabeth and Susan would gather around Lainey like protective headgear, spoiling and pampering her with kindness while serving up solid common sense. It was what the girl needed.
Following the instructions given by the mechanical voice of the GPS, Emma exited the main highway and continued along a scenic country road lined with thick groves of pines and other trees. Every now and then she’d pass a cluster of roadside businesses or go through the center of a small town. It was a peaceful drive, especially with the weather much cooler than back in California. She zipped up her jacket and lowered her window, taking in the fresh mountain air.
She was nearly to her destination when she entered a large settlement of houses. She’d set the GPS for the Inn at Jim Thorpe, the hotel where she’d be staying in the center of town, so was surprised when she passed a sign proclaiming she’d already reached the town. The homes were mostly ranch style, not Victorian as in her dream or in the photos she’d seen on the website. According to the GPS, she still had several miles to go before reaching her destination.
Driving along, something to the right of the road caught her eye. She found a place to turn around and went back, turning onto a circular gravel drive that surrounded a pink granite monument. Off to the side was a statue of an old-fashioned football player in action, the ball cradled tight in the crook of his arm while he ran. Surrounding the small park like protective hands was a thick grove of tall trees. They swayed gently in the early evening breeze.
Emma parked the car along the drive and got out to confirm what she suspected—the monument was the crypt of Jim Thorpe, the famous athlete. She’d seen photos of it online. It confirmed she was definitely on the right track.
Back in her vehicle, she continued to follow the directions. It led her through a thickly inhabited town and across a bridge. Emma’s breath snagged in her throat as she caught sight of the train station and the clock tower. She tingled from head to foot, as if she’d rubbed a magic lamp or stepped from a time machine. She was in the Mauch Chunk of her dream.
A horn startled Emma. She had been waiting to make a left-hand turn on Broadway and could see the inn from the intersection. It was located on Broadway, just ahead on the right, looking exactly as it had in her dream and in the photos. All the buildings looked the same. She was so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed that the light had turned red, and oncoming traffic was waiting for her to complete her turn.
After pulling into a parking spot in front of the inn, Emma got out of the car and stood for several minutes staring up the slight incline of Broadway. Turning slowly, as if filming a panoramic video, she absorbed the mixture of shops, quaint buildings, and homes, some rundown, others completely restored to their Victorian beauty. When she looked down Broadway, she was facing the same direction she’d taken in her dream. There was the train station and, just beyond it, the river.
Tugging on a chain around her neck, Emma pulled Lainey’s ring out from beneath her sweater and fingered it. Before leaving home, she had run a sturdy gold chain through the ring and hung it around her neck. She’d been worried that if someone stole her purse during her travels, the ring would be lost, and Addy would be up to more menace. Emma didn’t know if wearing the ring in this manner would have the same impact as wearing it on her finger, but she was willing to take the chance. “Behave, Addy,” she’d said to the ring just before tucking it inside one of her bra cups, snug against her skin. “I’m here to help you.”
Now in Jim Thorpe, Emma checked the ring. It was warm but only body temperature. She wondered if Addy knew where she was. “You’re home, Addy. Now let’s find out if you’re happy to be here.”
Squaring her shoulders, Emma tucked the ring back under her sweater. With one more look at the front of the red brick inn with its cream-colored, scrolled ironwork, she mounted the steps to the entrance.
The lobby was small and quaint and decorated with Victorian furnishings. Across from the main entrance was a wooden staircase, and to the right was the entry to the dining room. A man, his head buried in a newspaper, was seated next to the elevator on a red velvet chair. Emma walked up to the small counter and gave the woman behind the desk her name. The desk clerk registered her, gave her pamphlets on things to do while in town, and handed her a room key.
“Guest parking is behind the inn,” the woman told Emma with a smile. “Your room is on the third floor. It’s one of our mini suites. The restaurant will be open until nine for dinner.”
“Is it okay to leave my car out front until I get settled in?”
“Absolutely, but remember to move it into our parking lot for the evening.”
Emma thanked the woman and rolled her suitcase to the small elevator. As she waited, the man seated with the newspaper asked, “You need help with your bag, Miss?”
Turning, ready to thank him yet turn down the offer, she was surprised to see Dr. Quinn Keenan. “What—what are you doing here?”
Quinn calmly folded the paper and placed it on a nearby table before standing up. Dressed in jeans and a sweater the color of wheat, he looked even better than she had remembered. He was wearing glasses with tortoiseshell rectangular frames, adding an appealing bookishness to his devil-may-care adventure image.
“I thought you were in New York visiting your son.”
“I was, but you know how it is. After two days, the kid wants the old man gone and his life back.” He gave off an easy chuckle. “So I called Betty Lou to see how you two were hitting it off, and she told me you were arriving today. I thought it might be fun to see you in action.”
“In action?” Emma shook her head. “Not sure what you mean by that.”
He stepped closer. A woodsy soap smell, clean and natural, wafted from him.
“Come on, Emma, you’re a ghost hunter. That’s why you’re here, and I know a lot about Mauch Chunk.”
“You mean Jim Thorpe?”
“Except for the movie they made about him, I don’t know much.” He smiled at his own joke. “But seriously, I do know a lot about the history of this burg. Even did a detailed report on it and the Molly Maguire trials while in school. I’m from Pennsylvania, and I’m Irish. Knowing about this place was mandatory.”
The elevator came. Emma stepped into it, rolling her bag behind her. Quinn followed without an invitation. They rode in silence to the third floor. He made her nervous, but not necessarily in a bad way. When they reached her floor, she got out. He followed.
“You
r room is down this way,” he told her, indicating the corridor to the left.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I asked for the room next to yours, although mine is actually across the hall, and it’s not a mini suite. And it doesn’t have a view.”
Emma stopped short and glared at him, forgetting for the moment how sexy he looked. “Are you stalking me?”
“Yes.” The word was blunt, delivered with a deadpan face and no further explanation.
“Dr. Keenan, I am not a ghost hunter.”
“You’re following up on a dream you had that is leading you to a haunted jail. Ghost groupie, maybe?” He looked around. “By the way, did your dead grandmother come with you?”
“Are you mocking me?” She fumed and added with a huff, “And Granny is my great-great-great-grandmother.”
“I’m not mocking you at all, fair lady. Like I told you, I’ve witnessed some pretty amazing things in my travels and research, but none have come in such a charming package.” His eyes scanned her quickly, assessing the slim-cut jeans, leather boots, and bomber jacket over a pale green cotton sweater. “Usually I find such interesting abilities in gnarled medicine men and toothless tribal matriarchs. Not to mention, again, I’m Irish.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
He looked astounded at her ignorance. “The Irish believe in all kinds of creatures, like fairies and leprechauns—even pookas. Maybe this granny of yours is really a pooka.”
Speechless, she stood cemented to the hallway carpet, staring at him like he’d gone mad.
“Didn’t you ever see Harvey, the James Stewart movie?” he asked when she showed no signs of movement.
“I know what a pooka is, Dr. Keenan,” she said, finally finding her voice. “We did a show on pookas and other mythical creatures last spring. And, believe me, Granny Apples is no six-foot rabbit or any other imagined creature.” Emma stepped closer and poked toward his chest with an index finger, stopping just short of hitting him with it. “She’s the spirit of a woman who really lived and who died shortly after those railroaded miners of yours. And she was hanged, just like them, and for a crime she didn’t commit. Sound familiar?”
“Simmer down. I wasn’t implying she wasn’t real, just that maybe she was something other than a ghost.”
“Look,” Emma said, trying to get a handle on Quinn’s motives while battling her growing attraction to him. “I may not be an archeologist, but I do my research. I almost always visit sites I consider doing a show about. That’s why I’m here.”
“Liar.” He made the accusation with a light, teasing voice, accompanied by a grin.
“I beg your pardon! I certainly do travel to sites. I’ve even been to Stonehenge.” She conveniently left out the part that her visit to the famed ancient site had been years ago.
“I’m sure you do, Emma. You’re definitely a professional when it comes to your work.” He gave her a smug smile. “But I think you’re fibbing about this being part of a future show. I mean, in the end it might be, but for now this is a personal quest.” His smile widened. “You’re not the only one who can sense things.”
Without responding, she grabbed the handle of her bag and pulled it down the short hall, checking doors for her room number. Quinn followed. “It’s the last one on the right,” he told her. As he passed a door on the left, he rapped his knuckles on it lightly. “This one’s mine, in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m not wondering anything of the sort, Dr. Keenan.”
“Aw, come on, loosen up and drop the Dr. Keenan bit. You can’t stay mad at me forever.”
“Try me.”
Stopping in front of the door she was seeking, Emma slipped in the key and opened it. The room was modest but comfortable-looking. Like the rest of the hotel, it was done in the Victorian style, and Emma noted that many of the furnishings looked like genuine antiques. There was a kitchenette with microwave and fridge, a small table with two chairs, a loveseat facing a large TV, and a queen-size bed. Off to the side of the bed, near the entrance to the small but cute bathroom, was a whirlpool tub. Not knowing how long she’d be in Jim Thorpe, she’d chosen the suite for its amenities.
She lifted her bag to the bed and went to one of the lace-covered widows. Pulling the curtain aside, she looked down onto Broadway.
“Good thing you took a mini suite,” Quinn told her as he followed her in. “The other rooms are generally quite small. Some, like mine, are rather tiny.”
That brought a smile to Emma’s face as she remembered her stay at the Julian Hotel. “I’ve stayed in Victorian-era hotels before. They aren’t exactly known for their spaciousness.”
Quinn walked deeper into the room. “Yeah, and I bet those Victorians just loved their whirlpools.”
In spite of her resolve to remain aloof, Emma laughed.
Encouraged, Quinn joined her at the window and looked out. “Just behind those buildings across the way is Race Street, and on Race is Moya, one of the best restaurants in town.” He looked at Emma. “Freshen up and meet me downstairs in ten minutes. You still owe me a dinner.”
She turned. His face was close to hers. She knew there were reasons why she shouldn’t go to dinner with him, but for the moment they eluded her. “I’ll need more than ten minutes.”
“No, you won’t. You’re dressed fine. This town is pretty casual. Ten minutes.”
She nodded, giving in. A nice dinner in good company sounded great, and she was as curious about him as he was about her.
He turned just as he reached the door. “Give me your car keys, and I’ll move your rental into the hotel lot while you clean up.”
With only a slight hesitation, she tossed him the keys to her rental car. If he turned out to be a crook and stole it, it was insured. Quinn was full of surprises, but her astute gut told her grand theft auto wasn’t one of his talents.
Moya was a wonderful restaurant. Emma feasted on an apple salad followed by perfectly cooked grouper with crab meat. Quinn had the yellowfin tuna entrée preceded by a goat cheese and asparagus appetizer. They also killed off a particularly fine bottle of wine.
During dinner Quinn tried to pry out of Emma what exactly she was researching in Jim Thorpe, but she’d managed to keep him at bay.
“So, tomorrow,” he said, divvying up the last of the wine between their glasses, “how about we have an early breakfast in the hotel dining room, provided you’re an early riser. Then I’ll show you around the town before you meet Betty Lou at eleven.”
“How do you know I’m meeting Betty Lou at eleven?” She sat back in her chair with mild frustration. “Oh, never mind. I’m sure you just charmed it out of her like you did my arrival.”
“My charm had nothing to do with it.” He motioned the waiter over. “Would you like coffee, Emma? Or any dessert?”
“No dessert, but coffee, please. And make it decaf. I’d better not have anything else or I’ll never get to sleep.”
“Then how about a little brandy or something else in the coffee to help you?”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” She said it with a slight smile, in spite of herself.
“Not at all.” He winked at her. “At least not on our first date.
I was raised better than that.”
Emma sat up straight. “This is not a date, Quinn.”
“Okay, then I would never get you drunk during our first business meal. How’s that?”
“Much better.” Emma looked up at the waiter, who stood patiently by. “I’d like a little Grand Marnier in my coffee.”
After watching Emma a second, Quinn turned to the waiter. “Make that two decaf coffees with Grand Marnier.”
When the waiter left to fetch the coffee, Emma leaned slightly forward. “But you are not coming with me tomorrow.”
“Why not? I’m the perfect guide.” He leaned forward. “You see, I’m related to the McBrides, on Betty Lou’s side. That’s why she gave me the information. When they bought this pla
ce several years back, out of curiosity I did additional research on its history. I know that jail and this town inside out. Whatever you saw in your dream, with my knowledge, I might be able to help you piece it together.”
“I’ve spent the last few days reading everything I could get my hands on about this place.”
“Frankly, Emma, I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, but I know where all the bodies are buried. The stuff not in the history books.”
Emma looked around the restaurant. There were two other couples left in the place, and one of them was getting up to leave. She watched them. They were a good-looking elderly couple and reminded her of her parents. Her parents would love visiting Jim Thorpe. She made a mental note to remember to tell them about it.
She turned her eyes back to Quinn and found him watching her. He always seemed to be studying her like a specimen—a curiosity he unearthed on one of his digs and wanted to know more about.
“Something’s bothering me, Quinn.”
“About me or Jim Thorpe?”
“You.”
He gestured toward himself with his right hand. “Then let’s hear it.”
“When we were in my office that day and I was trying to find the library in my dream, you knew all along it was the Dimmick Library here in Jim Thorpe, didn’t you?”
“Not entirely, but I had my suspicions it might be.” He shrugged. “Victorian, red brick, the sound of the name—it all added up.”
“But you didn’t suggest it to me. You let me find it on my own, when you could have saved me time. Why?”
Their coffee came. He took a small sip. “Be careful,” he told her. “It’s quite hot.”
He looked across the table at Emma. Her arms were crossed in front of her, her jaw set. She was settled in, waiting for his answer, letting him know she wouldn’t move on until she got it. He surrendered. “Because I wanted to see how you worked. You know, how you processed things and problem-solved.”
“And?”
“And I’m quite impressed—have been since first meeting you on the set of your show. When I realized it was Jim Thorpe you were looking for, especially Betty Lou’s jail, wild horses couldn’t keep me from finding out why.”
Gem of a Ghost: A Ghost of Granny Apples Mystery Page 18
